Cover image for America's musical life : a history
Title:
America's musical life : a history
Author:
Crawford, Richard, 1935-
Personal Author:
Edition:
First edition.
Publication Information:
New York : Norton, 2001.
Physical Description:
xv, 976 pages : illustrations ; 25 cm
Language:
English
ISBN:
9780393048100
Format :
Book

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Summary

Summary

Richard Crawford gives us the story of music in the United States, from the sacred music of its earliest days to the jazz and rock that enliven the turn of the millennium. His book leads us along the widely varied paths taken by American music, beginning with that of the Native Americans; continuing with traditions introduced by Spanish, French and English colonizers, Africans brought to America as slaves, and other immigrants. He shows how the three spheres of folk, popular and classical music continually interact to form a variegated whole. Throughout, the music is set in historical and social context.


Author Notes

Richard Crawford is Hans T. David Distinguished University Professor at the University of Michigan. A past president of the American Musicological Society, Crawford has published ten books on American music and won numerous honors, fellowships, and awards, including election to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences


Reviews 3

Publisher's Weekly Review

In 1846, the director of the Paris Opera told American composer William Henry Fry that Europeans "looked upon America as an industrial countryÄexcellent for electric telegraphs, but not for Art." Over a century and a half later, Crawford (The American Musical Landscape), a professor of music at the University of Michigan and former president of the American Musicological Society, has thoroughly debunked that myth, at least in regard to music. In this ambitious, comprehensive history, Crawford speaks with equal authority on colonial psalmody and ragtime, minstrelsy and Gilded Age classical, and in an effort to highlight forgotten history, sketches biographies of influential individuals and the movements in which they participated. Through 40 chapters, he firmly roots each song, symphony or hymnal in its era, showing the political, environmental and social forces that have shaped composers and musicians, both professional and amateur. From an examination of Native American music to the church-centered song of the Puritan colonies, from the wildly popular minstrel shows to jazz and rock, the reader gets a fuller understanding of the America that produced and listened to the widely varied musical forms of our past. Crawford's book is egalitarian and accessible, and the occasional appearance of musicological jargon won't deter lay readers. This definitive history of music in the U.S. is sure to delight music aficionados and history buffs alike, and is a must for anyone interested in what music has meant to America and what America has meant to music. B&w photos and illus. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Library Journal Review

Here, Crawford (Glen McGeoch Collegiate Professor of Music, Univ. of Michigan; former president, American Musicological Society) has assembled a comprehensive tome poised to supersede all previous single-volume histories on both American music and American's use of music from other parts of the world. Like Gilbert Chase (America's Music, 1955) before him, Crawford believes in the quintessence of this country's folk and popular traditions. His goal is to "reconcile" that belief with the emphasis of 19th- and early 20th-century music historians on the performance of classics by European composers. Although his treatment of Native American music is somewhat limited, Crawford covers virtually every musical baseDblues, jazz, swing, pop, rock, hip hopDin a highly readable style with economics and history as cultural backdrops. Well researched and sensitively constructed, this is highly recommended for all public and academic libraries.DJames E. Perone, Mount Union Coll., Alliance, OH (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Choice Review

Crawford's superb book presents the whole sweep of US cultivated and traditional musics--from 16th-century Native American music through late 20th-century hip-hop culture. The author (Univ. of Michigan) approaches America's music from the standpoint of "composer's music," i.e., classical music in which the performer rather strictly follows the composer's intentions; "performer's music," popular music where the "notation is intended as an outline to be shaped by performers as they see fit"; and folk music, music handed down through oral tradition. Crawford has the ability to make broad connecting leaps between and among his subjects, and his felicitous writing style invites the listener deep into his narrative. Abundant illustrative materials and a sweeping, inclusive bibliography add substantially to this excellent history. John Tasker Howard's Our American Music (1931), Gilbert Chase's America's Music: From the Pilgrims to the Present (1955; Crawford wrote the introduction for th e third revised edition, 1987), and Charles Hamm's Music in the New World (CH, Jun'83) stand as early models of studies of music in America. Crawford's book is every bit their equal and, in its own way, it establishes a new model for inclusiveness. An impressive summation of the vast musical "stew" that constitutes American music, this book is indispensable for all music collections. C. W. Henderson Saint Mary's College (IN)


Excerpts

Excerpts

Chapter One The First Song Native American Music AMONG OTHER THINGS, historians search for origins. But if we take history to mean stories about the past that can be supported by facts, the origins of music will always be elusive. Music is an art of sounding, not writing. And the making of musical sounds is a human activity, like dance, that must be much older than written proof of its existence. In Western civilization, with its profound respect for the written record, the origins of music are a subject of speculation. But in many American Indian cultures, the origins of music are a matter of deep-seated belief.     A comparison of Native and Western musical practices reveals different conceptions of history. In literate, record-keeping Western traditions, musicians seldom feel the need to ground their performing in a consciousness of the history of their art. Many Indian people, on the other hand, participate in their music's history through rituals, legends, and parables shared from one generation to the next. They carry with them some understanding of how their singing, dancing, and playing connect with ancestral custom.     The preservation and study of Indian music by Western scholars since the 1880s forms an important part of the story of American anthropology and ethnomusicology (see Chapter 20). In fact, outsiders' accounts date all the way back to the beginnings of European contact. These accounts are usually anecdotal; they are also both fragmentary and rare. Their value is that they preserve most of the factual evidence about Indian music that survives from the remote past. But where do Native historical explanations fit in a modern understanding of Indian music making?     Because it cannot be documented, much of the historical knowledge valuable to a Native musician falls more readily into the category of myth than of fact. Indian musicians carry their beliefs about origins forward because such beliefs are integral to their tradition. A knowledge of origins can supply not merely a colorful dose of background lore but a reason to sing, play, or dance. Blackfoot singers, for example, know that in Blackfoot cosmology music was given to humans to help them solve the problems they must face in life. Thus, they sing with a specific purpose in mind. By the same token, according to the traditional belief system of the Havasupai nation, before humans existed, supernatural beings sang to communicate among themselves. When humans arrived on the earth, they were given music so that they could communicate with the supernatural world. In Havasupai tradition, therefore, singing establishes a sacred context. In the 1970s, Navajo singer Frank Mitchell explained a parallel belief about music, tracing some of his songs back to the origins of the Navajo people: According to what I learned, a group came up from under the earth--they must have been some kind of supernatural beings. They were given this area of land within the four sacred mountains. It was in this area that the Navajos had their beginnings. The whole place was covered with water at that time. Then the water was removed so something could be planted and grow on the earth. The water was all removed to the ocean, perhaps. And from there the first songs and prayers of the Blessingway had their start. They were for the planting of crops. The first thing the Holy People did was to make a song and a prayer for the plants on the earth so the earth would be fruitful. That was the first song and the first prayer to be performed, and they were the first ones that I learned.     European and Native cosmologies could hardly be more different. From the time of their arrival in North America, Europeans have tended to treat human interaction--whether as part of God's plan or outside it--as the chief drama of existence, played out against the backdrop of nature. American Indians, on the other hand, have traditionally held that the central fact of human existence has been its location in a natural world replete with significance. Animals, trees, weather, water, and topography, like supernatural beings, all play a role in human existence too, because all are related parts of the same whole. This is not to say that Native Americans have undervalued human life. Rather, they have experienced it as one strand in a fabric of interconnectedness, not a force claiming dominion over the rest of the natural order. It seems only logical, then, that people holding such beliefs would invest their music making with specific functions, and that music would be judged not by its abstract beauty but by its ability to serve those functions.     All human interaction contains a perception of difference and a perception of similarity. A weighing and monitoring of both is part of the human condition. But when members of two completely separate cultures come into contact on a massive scale, and in circumstances where each is pursuing a different goal, perceptions of difference and similarity can carry vast historical consequences. That was certainly true of the contact between Native peoples and Europeans on the North American continent. And because the history of Indian music making depends heavily on the way Europeans perceived the Natives--on how they compared themselves with the people they were encountering and displacing--the musical information that survives can only be understood in light of those perceptions.     European's perceptions of Natives were formed in a framework of political struggle in which they held the advantage, and which was marked by profound human suffering: for Europeans carried with them to the New World infectious diseases to which Native Americans had no resistance. Estimates hold that chiefly because of disease, Mexico's population dropped by more than 90 percent in the first century of Spanish-Indian contact. The Native population, while trying to cope with overseas invaders, experienced sudden, drastic, and disastrous demographic decline. Biology, then, played a decisive role in the cultural encounters that accompanied the process of settlement.     Economics played another role. North America was colonized by imperial powers eager to tap into New World wealth, whether in gold, furs, agricultural products, or, eventually, markets for Old World goods. And there is evidence that early commercial exchanges were not all weighted in the Europeans' favor. Cultural development in the Old and New Worlds had been so completely separate that each side possessed goods highly desirable to the other. Yet Natives and Europeans held very different positions in the economics of settlement. Europeans had initiated contact in the first place, and the urge to expand their influence placed them in the role of aggressors. It was inevitable that those who resisted their invasion would be considered enemies. Therefore, an imperial relationship was assumed from the start. Because the Europeans, with their biological advantage, superior commercial know-how, and technological skill, prevailed in the New World, their perceptions of the Natives, far more than the Natives' perception of them, set the terms for cultural encounters. And because the spirit of those encounters filtered what was written about Indian music making during that time period, white attitudes toward the Native population deserve attention here.     Two contrasting attitudes have been distinguished in Europeans' perception of Natives, one emphasizing similarity, and the other difference. When Europeans, in taking over and colonizing lands already occupied by others, encountered those they hoped to displace, they were struck most of all by the Indians' resemblance to themselves. Here, in the wilds of a supposedly unoccupied continent, the first European explorers found walking, talking, communicating human beings. Living beyond the reach of Western civilization, these people had developed customs different from the colonizers' own. But their obviously human essence made them fascinating and to some degree sympathetic. At the same time, although it was impossible to deny that Indians shared with Europeans certain traits of appearance and what could pass for language and a certain vocabulary of emotion, their manner of life, customs, dress, land behavior differed so dramatically from white Europeans' conceptions of humanness that they seemed a different order of being altogether.     European reactions to these contrasting perceptions of Natives' "otherness" shaped the history of Indians' lives in North America after European contact. The perception of similarity led settlers to dwell on the Natives' capacity for human virtue as the settlers defined it. If Indians had capacities similar to those of Europeans, then Europeans could supply what Indians needed to reach a fully human state: education to civilize them and religious instruction to save their souls from the damnation that lay in store for heathens. Beginning especially in the Southwest (where the Spanish, moving north from Mexico, had formed settlements) and in the Northeast (where the French had set up trading posts in Canada), Roman Catholic missionaries traveled from the Old World to convert the Natives and to set up mission schools for their education.     The perception of difference, however, suggested an unbridgeable gulf between Natives and settlers; against a scale of European values, the Indians were found wanting. This attitude fueled contempt, which in disputes could provide license to disparage, cheat, brutalize, kill, or remove the Natives from land the settlers wanted to occupy. Yet not even the first attitude left room for much curiosity about the Indians as they actually were. In their contact with the Indians, European settlers showed a consistent inability to grasp the idea that there might be people truly different from themselves. Thus, they tended to equate similarity with good qualities and difference with bad.     Euroamericans' imagery of Indians spans more than four centuries, and any attempt to summarize it risks oversimplifying. Yet the categories of "good Indian" and "bad Indian" were used consistently enough in the past to become paradigms for Euroamerican perceptions. The so-called good Indians were seen to be friendly, modest, dignified, and brave, and to lead simple lives devoted to their families and closely in tune with nature. It was this idealized perception that inspired European attempts to educate and Christianize Native peoples. Settlers who favored the "bad Indian" image tended, when they considered the way Indians lived, to see nakedness and sexual promiscuity, superstition, laziness, cannibalism and human sacrifice, constant warfare, desire for revenge, and cruelty to captives. Nor did Europeans' observations of Indian cookery and personal hygiene do much to raise their opinion of Indian life.     The historical record reflects the destructiveness that followed when dichotomies like the good Indian/bad Indian images took hold. Drawing on observations that made no claim of completeness or balance, neither was more than a notion improvised from a small selection of facts, "Image" is the right word to register their lack of depth. Yet both hardened into beliefs from which flowed courses of action that failed, at every point, to take, either the diversity or the uniqueness of Native cultures into account. Music     Our knowledge about the early history of Native American music depends on reports by non-Natives. The character and usefulness of those reports varies, not only with the observers' own musical knowledge but with their empathy for the Indians. One of the earliest observations was made in the 1530s by a Spanish chronicler who, along with three countrymen, had landed years earlier in Florida and undertaken a long journey west, providing medical treatment to several Natives along the trail. Upon reaching an Indian settlement in what is now western Texas near Big Spring, they were greeted by "all the people ... with such yells as were terrific, striking the palms of their hands violently against their thighs." (Might another observer have heard the yells and thigh-slapping as music? There is no way of knowing.) The Natives' enthusiasm had been inspired by their guests' reputation as healers. They presented the honored visitors with devices that fit the classification of an idiophone (a musical instrument that produces sound by the vibration of its own substance; by being struck or shaken, for example); one of the Spaniards described them as "gourds bored with holes and having pebbles in them, an instrument for the most important occasions produced only at the dance or to effect cures, and which none dare touch but those who own them. They say there is virtue in them, and because they do not grow in that country, they come from heaven."     Continuing west, the Spaniards found that their fame as medicine men had preceded them. Natives in the Sacramento Mountains of New Mexico gave them more idiophones: a "jingle bell of copper" and two medicine rattles. Another account from New Mexico in 1540 reaffirms the Indians' functional use of musical sound, this time reporting scenes from near where Albuquerque stands today. When a party headed by Captain Hernando de Alvarado approached a Zuñi pueblo in Pecos, they were welcomed "with drums and flageolets, similar to fifes, of which they had many." One Spaniard also described how music served in the Zuñis' ceremonial grinding of corn. Three women come in, each going to her stone. One crushes the maize, the next grinds it, and the third grinds it finer. Before they come inside the door they remove their shoes, tie up their hair and cover it, and shake their clothes. While they are grinding, a man sits at the door playing a flageolet, and the women move their stones, keeping time with the music, and all three sing together.     These reports from the Southwest, less than half a century after Columbus landed in the Western hemisphere, supply some of the first evidence of Native instruments and uses of music. But they say nothing about its sound. On the other hand, when early observers did mention how Indian music sounded, they were more likely to focus on their own response--often negative--than on the sound itself. A case in point is the experience of the Jesuit father Paul Le Jeune with a medicine man in the winter of 1634, as related by nineteenth-century American historian Francis Parkman. Parkman's account makes no attempt to treat the music making on its own terms. Nor is it specific enough to show, as one gathers, that the performance's great length was made possible by much musical repetition. But it does testify to the Hurons' faith that the physical exertion of vocalizing and time beating as part of a healing ritual could help cure a lingering malady. The sorcerer believed in the efficacy of his own magic, and was continually singing and beating his drum to cure the disease from which he was suffering. Toward the close of the winter, Le Jeune fell sick, and, in his pain and weakness, nearly succumbed under the nocturnal uproar of the sorcerer, who, hour after hour, sang and drummed without mercy,--sometimes yelling at the top of his throat, then hissing like a serpent, then striking his drum on the ground as if in a frenzy, then leaping up, raving about the wigwam, and calling on the women and children to join him in singing. Now ensued a hideous din; for every throat was strained to the utmost, and all were beating with sticks or fists on the bark of the hut to increase the noise, with the charitable object of aiding the sorcerer to conjure down his malady, or drive away the evil spirit that caused it. Le Jeune was later to write of the Hurons: "All their religion consists mainly in singing.     Not until later in the seventeenth century did a musically knowledgeable Westerner write down a Native melody heard within the borders of the present United States and describe the circumstances in which he heard it--and these circumstances were very different from those surrounding the Hurons' efforts to drive Father Le Jeune's ailment into submission. The transcriber was another Jesuit priest, Father Claude Dablon, born in France and master of several musical instruments, which, according to a contemporaneous report, he played very well. Dablon and fellow Jesuit Father Claude Allouz had established a mission at Green Bay on Lake Michigan in 1669. In 1670, the two priests visited the present Winnebago County, Wisconsin, where friendly Mascouten, Miami, and Illinois tribes had gathered. Dablon found the Illinois to be polite and their chief especially kind. Sometimes, he reported "some of the oldest men would appear, dressed as if for playing a comedy, and would dance to the music of some very tuneful airs, which they sang in excellent accord."     The music Dablon transcribed accompanied a dance honoring the peace pipe, or "calumet." Among the Illinois, men and women with the best voices were chosen to sing for the occasion; berdaches (transvestites who assumed the dress, social status, and role of woman), "who are summoned to the Councils and without whose advice nothing can be decided," sang as well. According to Dablon, the dancers moved in strict time to the singing, and a mock combat was fought to the slow beat of a drum: "This is done so well--with slow and measured steps, and to the rhythmic sound of the voices and drums--that it might pass for a very fine Entry of a Ballet in France."     Admitting that his transcription failed to do justice to the way the music actually sounded, Dablon wrote: "They give their songs a certain turn which cannot be sufficiently expressed by Note, but which nevertheless endows them with all their grace." Dablon did not explain the double bars that divide the melody into three sections, but one or more of those sections were surely repeated many times in performance. An Illinois calumet dance described by French observers only four years after Dablon made his transcription was long as well as stately. "Everyone, at the outset, takes the Calumet in a respectful manner, and, supporting it with both hands, causes it to dance, in cadence. keeping good time with the air of the songs," reads the account, which goes on to say that the leading dancer causes the pipe to "execute many differing figures; sometimes he shows it to the whole assembly, turning himself from one side to the other." In other words, the dance had a narrative quality that filled a considerable length of time.     It is not hard to imagine why Dablon took the trouble to preserve this melody in notation, for it shows a clarity and regularity that lend themselves well to visual representation. The three sections are themselves parallel in certain ways. All begin high and move downward: all seem to take aim on one pitch, which then, through repetition, becomes a tonic resting place for that section; and all, by mixing with three-beat groupings an occasional two- beat pair, achieve a gentle, prose-like rhythm.     In the next century, Native music and musical activity were noticed more and more by people who were neither government nor church officials but were fascinated by Indian ways. One example is found in recollections published in 1775 by James Adair, a Euroamerican who described himself as "a trader with the Indians, and resident in their country for forty years" and called his chronicle A History of the American Indians, Particularly Those Nations Adjoining to the Mississippi, East and West Florida, Georgia, South and North Carolina, and Virginia (London, 1775). In one passage, the trader recalls a visit paid him by "an old physician, or prophet' from the Chicasaw nation. And he describes the medicine man's performance in detail, though without the help of musical notation. When he came to the door he bowed himself half bent, with his arms extended north and south, continuing so perhaps for the space of a minute. Then raising himself erect, with his arms in the same position, he looked in a wild frightful manner, from the south-west toward the north, and sung on a low bass key Yo Yo Yo Yo , almost a minute, then He He He He , for perhaps the same space of time, and Wa Wa Wa Wa , in like manner; and then transposed, and accented those sacred notes several different ways, in a most rapid guttural manner. Now and then he looked upwards, with his head considerably bent backward;--his song continued about a quarter of an hour. Knowing from experience that the Indians were "tenacious of concealing their religious mysteries," the writer expressed delight in the prophet's song when he learned its purpose: it was the visitor's way of protecting the trader's house "from the power of the evil spirits of the north, south, and west,--and, from witches, and wizards, who go about in dark nights, in the shape of bears, hogs, and wolves, to spoil people."     A round-the-world voyage during the 1780s produced another example of notated Native music, this one from the other side of the continent. In 1787, William Beresford, cargo officer on board the Queen Charlotte , a ship commanded by Captain George Dixon, wrote: "I shall here write down, in notes, a song which I often heard whilst we lay in Norfolk Sound" in the northern Pacific near the present site of Sitka, Alaska. "It will serve," Beresford explained, "to convey a better idea of the music used on the American coast than any other mode of description can do; at the same time it should be observed that they have a great variety of tunes, but the method of performing them is universally the same." Beresford claimed that the Natives generally sang this song "previous to commencing trade." His notation specifies independent parts for "the Chief (who always conducts the vocal concert)" and the chorus, in which both men and women sing.     According to Beresford, the chief wore a robe when leading this song and carried a rattle made of sticks to which "great numbers of birds' beaks and dried berries are tied." Through the singing, the chief shook the rattle gleefully, believing that it made "no small addition to the concert." Beresford borrows the terms "stanza" and "chorus" to suggest Western analogies to the song he has transcribed. He also confirms that this performance, like many others described by non-Native observers, lasted a long time. Their songs generally consist of several stanzas, to each of which is added a chorus. The beginning of each stanza is given out by the Chief alone, after which both men and women join and sing in octaves, beating time regularly with their hands, or paddles: meanwhile the Chief shakes his rattle, and makes a thousand gesticulations, singing at intervals in different notes from the rest; and this mirth generally continues near half an hour without intermission.     From the eighteenth century too come tales of Indian bravery, registered in "death songs" or "war songs" far different in mood from the high-spirited trading songs of Sitka Sound. The circumstances prompting such songs, documented by James Adair in his History and other sources, are grim: a warrior is captured by members of another tribe, subjected to grievous physical torment whose painful effects he defies, and eventually killed. The perpetrators seem to be totally lacking in human goodness. First, they do all they can to prolong their victim's pain: they tie him to a stake, poke and beat him with torches, and then, when suffering and desperation threaten to end their sport, cool him off with water, allowing "a proper time of respite," the trader writes, "till his spirits recover, and he is capable of suffering new tortures." Second, the tormenting of the prisoner is staged as community entertainment, with women and children participating. "Not a soul, of whatever age or sex, manifests the least pity," according to this account. "The women sing with religious joy ... and peals of laughter resound through the crowded theater--especially if he fears to die." This last comment suggest the custom's only redeeming feature: the spectacle gives the prisoner a chance to show courage. "The suffering warrior," the trader writes, "is not dismayed; with an insulting manly voice he sings the war-song ... [He] puts on a bold austere countenance, and carries it through all his pains."     The notion of a dying warrior who sings stoically in the face of torture and imminent death struck a responsive chord with some European Americans in the years following the War of Independence. In fact, a parlor song about such a victim, The Death Song of the Cherokee Indians , appeared in Royall Tyler's The Contrast (1787), the first play by an American-born writer known to have been produced onstage. The song, a thoroughly Europeanized composition with several stanzas of text, each sung to the same music--i.e., a strophic song--was set to a tune claimed by an English source to have originated with the Cherokee tribe. Perhaps its rhythmic repetitiveness made that claim plausible to people unfamiliar with Native music.     As parlor songs are inclined to do, The Death Song of the Cherokee Indians removes a real-life event from its original context and idealizes it. The circumstances that brought the warrior to the stake in the first place are never mentioned. Tormentors appear, but they are shadowy figures, unable to provoke a response. For the protagonist, a symbol of superhuman courage rather than a believable human being, transports himself to a world of memory and devotion to duty Even as the flames rise to consume his body, "the son of Alknomook," maintaining a flow of regular two-bar phrases for four full stanzas, "will never complain."     But the Death Song comes not from the Cherokees nor indeed any other Indian tribe. It is a product of European culture, inspired by Native imagery of the good Indian variety. Its appearance in a stage play of 1787, a collection of published songs in i789, and sheet music from around 1799 is a reminder that by 1800 the new nation called the United States of America had its own means to make and sell cultural products. The Native, or rather the image of the Native, provided material for that industry, as did many other creatures and features of the national landscape.     After long contact with Europeans, much of it violently destructive of Native custom, is it still possible today to find Indian musical traditions that are practiced as they were two or even three centuries ago? For historians, no clear answer exists. But for many Natives, the question is unimportant. As they see it, they are still making the music that was passed on to them by parents and elders, who in turn learned it from generations before them--and they sing, play, and dance for the same reasons. They are engaged in preservation, not of historically significant old songs but of a legacy that connects them to the past and to nature, from which they continue to gain physical and spiritual sustenance. Copyright (c) 2001 W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.. All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Introductionp. IX
Part 1 The First Three Centuries
1. The First Song: Native American Musicp. 3
2. European Inroads: Early Christian Music Makingp. 15
3. From Ritual to Art: The Flowering of Sacred Musicp. 29
4. "Old, Simple Ditties": Colonial Song, Dance, and Home Music Makingp. 56
5. Performing "By Particular Desire": Colonial Military, Concert, and Theater Musicp. 83
6. Maintaining Oral Traditions: African Music in Early Americap. 102
7. Correcting "the Harshness of Our Singing": New England Psalmody Reformedp. 125
Part 2 The Nineteenth Century
8. Edification and Economics: The Career of Lowell Masonp. 139
9. Singing Praises: Southern and Frontier Devotional Musicp. 156
10. "Be It Ever So Humble": Theater and Opera, 1800-1860p. 173
11. Blacks, Whites, and the Minstrel Stagep. 196
12. Home Music Making and the Publishing Industryp. 221
13. From Ramparts to Romance: Parlor Songs, 1800-1865p. 240
14. Of Yankee Doodle and Ophicleides: Bands and Orchestras, 1800 to the 1870sp. 272
15. From Church to Concert Hall: The Rise of Classical Musicp. 293
16. From Log House to Opera House: Anthony Philip Heinrich and William Henry Fryp. 314
17. A New Orleans Original: Gottschalk of Louisianap. 331
18. Two Classic Bostonians: George W. Chadwick and Amy Beachp. 351
19. Edward MacDowell and Musical Nationalismp. 372
20. "Travel in the Winds": Native American Music from 1820p. 387
21. "Make a Noise!": Slave Songs and Other Black Music to the 1880sp. 407
22. Songs of the Later Nineteenth Centuryp. 429
23. Stars, Stripes, and Cylinders: Sousa, the Band, and the Phonographp. 453
24. "After the Ball": The Rise of Tin Pan Alleyp. 471
Part 3 The Twentieth Century
25. "To Stretch Our Ears": The Music of Charles Ivesp. 495
26. "Come On and Hear": The Early Twentieth Centuryp. 524
27. The Jazz Age Dawns: Blues, Jazz, and a Rhapsodyp. 557
28. "The Birthright of All of Us": Classical Music, the Mass Media, and the Depressionp. 580
29. "All That Is Native and Fine": American Folk Song and Its Collectorsp. 597
30. From New Orleans to Chicago: Jazz Goes Nationalp. 619
31. "Crescendo in Blue": Ellington, Basie, and the Swing Bandp. 641
32. The Golden Age of the American Musicalp. 664
33. Classical Music in the Postwar Yearsp. 689
34. "Rock Around the Clock": The Rise of Rock and Rollp. 714
35. Songs of Loneliness and Praise: Postwar Vernacular Trendsp. 736
36. Jazz, Broadway, and Musical Permanencep. 755
37. Melting Pot or Pluralism?: Popular Music and Ethnicityp. 778
38. From Accessibility to Transcendence: The Beatles, Rock, and Popular Musicp. 799
39. Trouble Girls, Minimalists, and The Gap: The 1960s to the 1980sp. 813
40. Black Music and American Identityp. 837
Epiloguep. 853
Notesp. 861
Bibliographyp. 897
Creditsp. 925
Indexp. 931

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