- Tapa dura: 336 páginas
- Editor: OUP USA (5 de febrero de 2015)
- Idioma: Inglés
- ISBN-10: 0199357579
- ISBN-13: 978-0199357574
- Valoración media de los clientes: Sé el primero en opinar sobre este producto
- Clasificación en los más vendidos de Amazon: nº849.687 en Libros en idiomas extranjeros (Ver el Top 100 en Libros en idiomas extranjeros)
- Ver el Índice completo
Compara Precios en Amazon
+ Envío GRATIS
+ Envío GRATIS
+ EUR 3,15 de gastos de envío
Love Songs: The Hidden History (Inglés) Tapa dura – 5 feb 2015
Descripción del producto
Extremely comprehensive, covering a huge swath of global music history in a conversational yet knowledgeable style. (The Australian, John McBeath)
Gioia's book covers a tremendous amount of ground and gives you something to remember on almost every page. (New Yorker, Adam Gopnik)
[Gioia] is one of those rare writers who [is] as comfortable with the comprehensive picture as with the telling example: clear-headed and persuasive as the overall argument of this intriguing book is, it is also packed with fascinating detail about everything from the love story of Dido and Aeneas to the twerking of Miley Cyrus... [Overall] this is an absorbing, provocative but consistently thoughtful study of a somewhat neglected area of musical history, a pioneering and useful complement to Gioias existing studies of Work Songs and Healing Songs. (London Jazz News, Sebastian Scotney)
An illuminating and entertaining book... . As with his previous book on work songs, and his well-known history of jazz, Gioia shows a gift for condensing a vast mass of detail into a graceful narrative... . Vast and fascinating. (Telegraph, Ivan Hewett)
[A] richly researched and heartfelt song book of the ages... Gioia boldly and brilliantly enters the space between the noises of ancient fertility rites and the sexualised music videos of YouTube to discover how melody and love songs, like hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate, are never out of date. (Times)
A fascinating new book... clearly a work of love itself. (Daily Express, Jenny Selway)
Reseña del editor
The love song is timeless. From its beginnings, it has been shaped by bohemians and renegades, slaves and oppressed minorities, prostitutes, immigrants and other excluded groups. But what do we really know about the origins of these intimate expressions of the heart? And how have our changing perceptions about topics such as sexuality and gender roles changed our attitudes towards these songs?
In Love Songs: The Hidden History, Ted Gioia uncovers the unexplored story of the love song for the first time. Drawing on two decades of research, Gioia presents the full range of love songs, from the fertility rites of ancient cultures to the sexualized YouTube videos of the present day. The book traces the battles over each new insurgency in the music of love―whether spurred by wandering scholars of medieval days or by four lads from Liverpool in more recent times. In these pages, Gioia reveals that the tenderest music has, in different eras, driven many of the most heated cultural conflicts, and how the humble love song has played a key role in expanding the sphere of individualism and personal autonomy in societies around the world.
Gioia forefronts the conflicts, controversies, and the battles over censorship and suppression spurred by such music, revealing the outsiders and marginalized groups that have played a decisive role in shaping our songs of romance and courtship, and the ways their innovations have led to reprisals and strife. And he describes the surprising paths by which the love song has triumphed over these obstacles, and emerged as the dominant form of musical expression in modern society.
No es necesario ningún dispositivo Kindle. Descárgate una de las apps de Kindle gratuitas para comenzar a leer libros Kindle en tu smartphone, tablet u ordenador.
Obtén la app gratuita:
Detalles del producto
Si eres el vendedor de este producto, ¿te gustaría sugerir ciertos cambios a través del servicio de atención al vendedor?
Opiniones de clientes
|5 estrellas (0%)|
|4 estrellas (0%)|
|3 estrellas (0%)|
|2 estrellas (0%)|
|1 estrella (0%)|
Opiniones de clientes más útiles en Amazon.com
Gioia’s book ostensibly marks the first published survey of love songs, tracing humanity’s complex relationship with romantic and erotic music from our biological roots to the modern age of rap and music videos. As with any such survey, much potential content must be left unincluded for the sake of brevity, and the author’s burden is that of accurately assessing the infinite complexities of human history and sociology within a finite word-count. Eager to don the role of historical sleuth, Gioia takes on a number of musically significant epochs from an intimate perspective, often focusing on individual composers and songs that exemplify, in his opinion, the conventions of each successive musical epoch. This inevitably leads to a pattern of cherry-picked examples and gap-filled rhetoric, sprinkled with pseudoscience. For a notable instance of all three, readers need look no further than the first chapter (“Birds do it!”) during the course of which Gioia superimposes Darwin’s theory of evolution onto modern music-making via citing vasopressin (he calls it the “monogamy hormone”) as the “missing link” between animal sexuality and affinity for song, as evidenced by studies connecting vasopressin levels with reactions to music (5). Curiously, he fails to mention that the main function of vasopressin is not sexual or romantic stimulation, but rather increasing urine concentration. Gioia goes on to cite an eclectic collection of correlations between music and sex, concluding that anything from vocal timbre to guitars in Facebook profile pictures to the fact that Gene Simmons has slept with “a staggering 4,897 women” somehow justifies that love music is a biological, rather than intellectual, exercise (7).
Nonetheless, there certainly is validity in Love Songs’ biological and social conceits. Still, inconsistency of argument obscures their ultimate impact. In particular, Gioia presents a model of love songs’ assimilation into popular culture, one which he claims repeats with “mind-numbing predictability:” when faced with scandalous music, says Gioia, those in power will employ “reinterpretation, suppression, ridicule, destruction, and [as a last resort]... a wary and watchful tolerance” (41). It is comforting, in a way, to ascribe to a theory that legitimizes all song, crass or crude as it may be, since it is all a product of biology and all valid in some future, more progressive iteration of our current culture. It’s too bad, then, that in his last two chapters Gioia changes gear completely, seemingly unable to fit music of the past three decades into his mold, and ultimately reaching a regressive and unsatisfying conclusion. Rather than address the seemingly paradoxical popularity of non-sexual music in the modern day, Gioia glosses over the punk and prog movements as things that simply were, and then moves on to lambast internet culture for its commercialization of sex and essentially call for a separation of love music from sex music, a distinction which apt readers will notice Gioia has just spent 257 pages arguing is not only pointless, but in most cases impossible to make.
Furthering the pattern of inconsistency is the nebulous nature of this book’s purpose. In early chapters the text reads almost like a dictionary, and it is made very clear that early music is Gioia’s specialty. Later, the book takes on more of a memoir quality - ironically, as Gioia moves towards more relatable musical epochs his arguments come off as decreasingly grounded in objective fact. Perhaps the issue lies in the fact that the intended audience is not entirely defined. To Gioia’s credit, he does not pretend to present a global history of love songs, nor a politically correct one. He writes confidently and evenhandedly from his own perspective. That being said, even the most callous modern Western readership would have a number of grievances to air: Gioia simultaneously infantilizes and idealizes the past and social minorities; in the same breath that he lauds women for their musical contributions he treats them as social and political objects; he equivocates etymology in order to argue that slaves, in some ways, were more liberated than their masters; in one particularly unfortunate passage he romanticizes the teen suicide epidemic, theorizing that perhaps mental illness and suicidal tendencies are simply part of the “nature of love” (182). That is, Gioia tends to wax problematic in the throes of revisionism.
Still, “Love Songs” is very accessible and, minding the flaws in content, educational. Anyone, from the amateur music scholar to the storied music historian, can likely find some new tidbit to consider, or at least some solid debate fodder. Perhaps the book is no masterpiece, but it holds much to be gleaned by any reader with an open mind and a skeptical eye.
In my opinion, Gioia is at his worst in the final chapter of the book, which discusses modern music and is jam-packed with sexist language, slut-shaming, and general hypocrisy. He makes his contempt for the provocative images that are commonplace in contemporary music videos all too clear: at one point he refers to backup dancers in a Robert Palmer music video as “miniskirted and braless lovelies,” which is a disgusting and objectifying way to describe women (249). Also, his issue always appears to be with the women portrayed in the videos, not the men who put them in that position. In an analysis of Robin Thicke’s song “Blurred Lines,” Gioia says that “the real controversy came in the visual images accompanying the Thicke recording” rather than any of the song’s content. He makes the assumption that the controversy surrounding Robin Thicke’s song was entirely due to the naked women in the music video rather than the disturbing lyrics that attempt to coerce a woman in a relationship into having sex with the speaker. The title of the song itself, “Blurred Lines,” implies a disregard for consent. And yet, Gioia puts none of the blame on Thicke for writing the lyrics; rather, he chooses to discuss how shameful it is that the video has two nude women in it who had given their consent to be filmed, unlike the subject of the song who has not given her consent to be harassed by the speaker. It’s incredibly hypocritical that he has such disdain for modern erotic music, yet he has such veneration for early music that was just as erotic as what is produced today.
If a reader can get past Gioia’s problematic ideals, they may be able to glean some helpful context. But if they’d prefer not to suffer through all of that, perhaps they should look elsewhere for their information.