Academic literature on the topic '17c. French music'

- J. Angerler, Jýrg Schneider, From upland to irrigated rice; The development of wet-rice agriculture in Rejang Musi, Southwest Sumatra. Berlin: Reimer, 1995, 214 pp. [Berner Sumatra-Forschungen.] - R.H. Barnes, Janet Hoskins, The play of time; Kodi perspectives on calendars, history, and exchange. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993, xx + 414 pp. - Karin Bras, Christel Lýbben, Internationaler Tourismus als Faktor der Regionalentwicklung in Indonesien; Untersucht am Beispiel der Insel Lombok. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1995, xiv + 178 pp. - Peter Boomgaard, Florentino Rodao, Espaýoles en Siam (1540-1939); Una aportaciýn al estudio de la presencia hispana en Asia Oriental. Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientýficas, 1997, xix + 206 pp. [Biblioteca de Historia 32.] - Hans Hýgerdal, Winarsih Partaningrat Arifin, Babad Sembar; Chroniques de lýest javanais. Paris: Presses de lýýcole Francaise dýExtrýme Orient, 1995, 149 pp. [EFEO monographie 177.] - Els M. Jacobs, Gerrit J. Knaap, Shallow waters, rising tide; Shipping and trade in Java around 1775. Leiden: KITLV Press, 1996. [Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 172.] - Roy E. Jordaan, John Miksic, Ancient history. Singapore: Archipelago Press/Editions Didier Millet, n.d., 148 pp. [The Indonesian Heritage Series 1.] - Victor T. King, Penelope Graham, Iban shamanism; An analysis of the ethnographic literature. Canberra: Department of Anthropology, Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1987 (reprint 1994), x + 174 pp. [Occasional Paper.] - Rita Smith Kipp, Simon Rae, Breath becomes the wind; Old and new in Karo religion. Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 1994, viii + 306 pp. - Niels Mulder, Raul Pertierra, Explorations in social theory and Philippine ethnography. Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1997, xii + 262 pp. - Anthony Reid, Luc Nagtegaal, Riding the Dutch tiger; The Dutch East Indies Company and the northeast coast of Java, 1680-1743 (translated by Beverly Jackson). Leiden: KITLV Press, 1996, x + 250 pp. Index, maps, tables, graphs. - Cornelia M.I. van der Sluys, Signe Howell, For the sake of our future; Sacrificing in eastern Indonesia, Leiden: Centre for Non-Western Studies, 1996, xi + 398 pp. [CNWS Publication 42.] - Jaap Timmer, Bernard Juillerat, Children of the blood; Society, reproduction and cosmology in New Guinea (translated from the French by Nora Scott). Oxford: Berg, 1996, xxx + 601 pp., glossary, bibliography, index. [Explorations in Anthropology.]

The specialists note and highly appreciate the openness to creative dialogue with different European and regional cultures in their works about the artistic history of France. In the introductory section, the article is focused on the importance of the opposite trend, developed in the 19th — early 20th century in all spheres of art. The purpose of the new movement is “national revival”, interest in the ori­gins of the great heritage of the French masters of past epochs. The author concentrates on the peculiarities of interaction between leading composers, musicians-performers and teachers with the traditions of music professionalism of the French compo­ser school. Furthermore, she explains the main reason of “back to the past” addiction by desire to preserve the unique distinction of artistic thinking in the terms of intensive cultural influences in Italy, Germany and Russia. The article provides the facts of creative activity of the leaders of “national renewal”. There are presented some journalistic statements of the leading French composers to confirm their unanimous recognition of the actual value of national classics to the future of French culture. There is explicated the pa­norama of creative experiments (C. Franck, C. Saint-Saëns, E. Satie, impressionists and composers of the “young generation”) on reconstruction of national traditions of distant epochs. The coverage of events and display of artistic phenomena of musical and cultural life of France allowed the author to form a context to consider the problem of aesthetic and stylistic character: new understanding of the phenomenon of “artistic tradition” and “dialogue with tradition” in the epoch of modernism. The comparison of diffe­rent forms of “dialogue with the past” in the Russian culture of the beginning of the 20th century and in creative works of the leader of European retrospectivisme I.F. Stravinsky gave grounds to use the concept of “passeism” to characterize the special French type of inheritance of the “lessons” of the predecessors. Introducing the concept of “passeism” in contrast to the accepted in Russian musicology “musical neoclassicism” and giving reasons of the effectiveness of its application, the author seeks to identify the idea of preser­ving soil foundations of tradition as a way of national self-identity (prosody, rhetoric, form) pertaining to the French composer school.

Background. As it is well-known from the statements by O. Messiaen himself in conversations with K. Samuel [10; 7], the French composer had the phenomenon of “colored hearing” associated with the effect of synesthesia. A prerequisite in modern performing art, as in the work of a musicologistresearcher, is the introduction to the worldview of an author-composer. The study of Messiaen’s synesthetic associations helps the interpreter to expand his timbre range in connecting with emotional “immersion” in the essence of the work, and the researcher of his music – to interpret correctly (often – to “decipher”) and convey to the listener the author’s intention. That why consideration of the synesthetic aspect of the works of the French Master appears relevant. The purpose of this study is to reveal some features of the musical-visual ideas of O. Messiaen, the understanding of which is necessary for adequate perception and reproduction of his music. The material of the work is, mainly, the composer’s own statements, on which the generalizations made in the article based, and which the main conductors in the infinite multicolor spiritual world of the French composer are. The studies results. The child impressions, when Olivier together with his parents visited monuments, museums, churches – the Notre-Dame, the SaintChapel, the Chartres Cathedral, the Cathedral in Bourge – became the sources of the sound-color visions of the French genius. Magical colors of the MiddleAges stained glasses left an amazing feeling, an imprint, which did not disappear during his whole life. Stained-glasses as “the light, captured by the human” [7] are the constant awe and the love of O. Messiaen. In childhood, while reading W. Shakespeare, Olivier made stained glass-like scenery using transparent wrappers and packaging materials painted in different colors, then put the decorations to the windows. The sunshine, going through them, was lightening the little boy’s theater like the footlights. Later, the light, as something Divine, will become the main semantic emphasis in the works of the composer. Messiaen puts the color music above the church and religious, the color music, according him, does the same as medieval stained glass: “it brings us blinding admiration .... All sacred art ... should be, first of all, something like a rainbow of sounds and colors” [6]. Like a stained glass window consists of pieces of glass, so music consists of “pieces-cadres”, but, unlike cinematic montage, a stained glass has a mystical nature. From the inside, a stained glass shows one picture of the world, from the outside – another; it is a rosy view of the world and, at the same time, a prism, through which one can see the musical diversity. So, for O. Messiaen, the basis of the foundations is a religion related closely to philosophy; they serve music, and music serves the color music. A musicologist K. Zenkin defines the color music of O. Messiaen as the highest form of sacred music, as “the answer of human to God” [2, p. 171]. Being 11 and having become a student of Paris Conservatory, Olivier for the first time heard the opera by his teacher, Paul Dukas, “Ariadne and Bluebeard”. Messiaen was amazed by the episodes, where the main heroine consistently opens seven doors and finds herself in seven halls, filled with seven different kinds of precious stones; each one was characterized by different tone and timbre. Later, O. Messian continued the searches of his teacher in area of color-sound. About incredible enjoyment by the color the composer says in connection with painter-orphist Robert Delaunay, calling his paintings “colored dreams”. In the pictures of latter, he was most attracted by the principle of simultaneous contrast. The concept of “simultaneous contrast” refers to the phenomenon, in which our eyes, perceiving any color, involuntarily require a different color addition. For example, red requires green, yellow – purple, since these colors are diametrically opposed to each other on the color wheel, etc. If there is no such addition, the eye can simultaneously find (generate) it. As O. Messian had such rare natural quality as synesthesia, while listening to music, in his imagination different colors, corresponding to different sounds, appeared. Borrowing the painting principle of the simultaneous contrast, the composer applied it in his musical works, for example, in chord constructions. Messian’s “colour hearing” was connected not with tones, like to N. Rimsky-Korsakov or A. Skryabin, but with chords. Chords, in understanding of French composer, are the analogues of colors; changing of the chords leads to the changing of the colors and its patterns. The composer is characterized by the “vertical” perception of the sound-color range, but the “chord” factor does not exhaust his color perception, since O. Messiaen operates with the frets, which he calls “systems”. Each system is associated with a specific coloring of sounds. Colors and sounds are arranged for him on the principle of gamma. In the color scheme of O. Messiaen, there is no yellow color, instead of it an orange-golden one is introduced. Especially the composer likes violet or lilac color, belonging to the category of complex, which includes extremely cold blue and extremely warm red. This color has a lot of shades: with the dominance of red-scarlet, with the dominance of blue-hyacinth. In the Middle Ages, in the symbolism of stained glass windows, the first one identified Love to Truth, and the latter – Truth of Love. O. Messian perceived the laws of the universe through the prism of “infinite colors”. For the composer, painting becomes the basis of his artistic method and generates musical images. He felt the colors in the music by the “inner vision”. The subjective vision of sound colors was using by O. Messiaen in the process of creating musical canvases, called, in its turn, to affect the “inner vision” of the listeners.

-Virginia R. Dominguez, Louis A. Pérez, Jr., On becoming Cuban: Identity, nationality, and culture. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999. xiv + 579 pp.-Solimar Otero, Kali Argyriadis, La religión à la Havane: Actualités des représentations et des pratiques culturelles havanaises. Paris: Éditions des Archives Contemporaines,1999. 373 pp.-Jane Desmond, Jane Blocker, Where is Ana Mendieta?: Identity, performativity, and exile. Durham NC: Duke University Press, 1999. xvi + 166 pp.-Richard Handler, Amílcar A. Barreto, Language, elites, and the state: Nationalism in Puerto Rico and Quebec. Westport CT: Praeger, 1998. x + 165 pp.-Juan Flores, Lillian Guerra, Popular expression and national identity in Puerto Rico: The struggle for self, community, and nation. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1998. xi + 332 pp.-Eileen J. Findlay, Rafael L. Ramírez, What it means to be a man: Reflections on Puerto Rican masculinity. New Brunswick NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1999. xv + 139 pp.-Arlene Torres, Eileen J. Suárez Findlay, Imposing decency: The politics of sexuality and race in Puerto Rico, 1870-1920. Durham NC: Duke University Press, 1999. xii + 316 pp.-Rita Giacalone, Humberto García Muñiz ,Fronteras en conflicto: Guerra contra las drogas, militarización y democracia en el Caribe, Puerto Rico y Vieques. San Juan: Red Caribeña de Geopolítica, Seguridad Regional y Relaciones Internacionales, afiliada al Proyecto AT-LANTEA, 1999. 211 pp., Jorge Rodríguez Beruff (eds)-Bonham C. Richardson, q , Polly Pattullo, Fire from the mountain: The tragedy of Monserrat and the betrayal of its people. London: Constable, 2000. xvii + 217 pp.-Aisha Khan, Gillon Aitken, Between father and son: Family letters. V.S. Naipaul. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2000. xi + 297 pp.-J. Michael Dash, Marie-Hélène Laforest, Diasporic encounters: Remapping the Caribbean. Naples Liguori, 2000. 271 pp.-Jeanne Garane, Renée Larrier, Francophone women writers of Africa and the Caribbean. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2000. ix + 156 pp.-Julian Gerstin, Brenda F. Berrian, Awakening spaces: French Caribbean popular songs, music, and culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. xvi + 287 pp.-Halbert Barton, Steven Loza, Tito Puente and the making of Latin music. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1999. xvi + 258 pp.-Mark Moberg, Anne Sutherland, The making of Belize: Globalization in the margins. Westport CT: Bergin & Garvey, 1998. x + 203 pp.-Daniel A. Segal, Kevin K. Birth, 'Any time is Trinidad time' : Social meanings and temporal consciousness. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1999. xiv + 190 pp.-Samuel Martínez, Michele Wucker, Why the cocks fight: Dominicans, Haitians, and the struggle for Hispaniola. New York: Hill and Wang, 1999. xxi + 281 pp.-Paul E. Brodwin, Terry Rey, Our lady of class struggle: The cult of the virgin Mary in Haiti. Trenton NJ: Africa World Press, 1999. x + 362 pp.-Robert Fatton, Jr., Elizabeth D. Gibbons, Sanctions in Haiti: Human rights and democracy under assault. Westport CT: Praeger, with the Center for Strategic and International Studies, Washington DC, 1999. xviii + 138 pp.-Robert Fatton, Jr., David M. Malone, Decision-making in the UN security council: The case of Haiti, 1990-1997. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. xxi + 322 pp.-James Sanders, César J. Ayala, American sugar kingdom: The plantation economy of the Spanish Caribbean, 1898-1934. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999. xii + 321 pp.-James Sanders, Alan Dye, Cuban sugar in the age of mass production: Technology and the economics of the sugar central, 1899-1929. Stanford CA: Stanford University Press, 1998. xiii + 343 pp.-Linden Lewis, Richard Hart, Towards decolonisation: Political, labour and economic developments in Jamaica 1938-1945. Kingston: Canoe Press, 1999. xxii + 329 pp.-John Smolenski, John W. Pulis, Moving on: Black loyalists in the Afro-Atlantic world. New York: Garland, 1999. xxiv + 224 pp.-Rosemarijn Hoefte, Clem Seecharan, Bechu: 'Bound coolie' Radical in British Guiana 1894-1901. Kingston: University of the West Indies Press, 1999. x + 315 pp.-Bonno Thoden van Velzen, C.N. Dubelaar ,Het Afakaschrift van de Tapanahoni Rivier in Suriname. Utrecht: Thela Thesis, 1999. 183 pp., André R.M. Pakosie (eds)-Bonno Thoden van Velzen, André R.M. Pakosie, Gazon Matodja: Surinaams stamhoofd aan het einde van een tijdperk. Utrecht: Stichting Sabanapeti, 1999. 172 pp.-Geneviève Escure, Peter L. Patrick, Urban Jamaican Creole: Variation in the Mesolect. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1999. xx + 331 pp.

This variable describes what kind of concept of culture underlies the cultural coverage at a certain point of time or across time. The variable dissects the concept of culture into cultural forms that are being journalistically covered. It presupposes that each article predominantly focuses on one cultural genre or discipline, such as literature, music, or film, which is the case in most articles in the cultural beat that are written according to cultural journalists’ areas of specialization. By identifying the cultural forms covered, the variable delivers an answer to the question of what kind of culture has been covered, or what kind of culture has been represented. Forms of culture are sometimes also called artistic or cultural disciplines (Jaakkola, 2015) or cultural genres (Purhonen et al., 2019), and cultural classification (Janssen et al., 2011) or cultural hierarchy (Schmutz, 2009). The level of detail varies from study to study, according to the need of knowledge, with some scholars tracing forms of subculture (Schmutz et al., 2010), while others just identify the overall development of major cultural forms (Purhonen et al., 2019; Jaakkola, 2015a). The concepts of culture can roughly be defined as being dominated by high cultural, popular cultural, or everyday cultural forms (Kristensen, 2019). While most culture sections in newspapers are dominated by high culture, and the question is rather about which disciplines, in the operationalization it is not always easy to draw lines between high and popular forms in the postmodern cultural landscape where boundaries are being blurred. Nevertheless, the major forms of culture in the journalistic operationalization of culture are literature, classical music, theatre, and fine arts. As certain forms of culture – such as classical music and opera – are focused on classical high culture, and other forms – such as popular music and comics – represent popular forms, distribution of coverage according to cultural forms may indicate changes in the cultural concept. Field of application/theoretical foundation The question of the concept of culture is a standard question in content analyses on arts and cultural journalism in daily newspapers and cultural magazines, posed by a number of studies conducted in different geographical areas and often with a comparative intent (e.g., Szántó et al., 2004; Janssen, 1999; Reus & Harden, 2005; Janssen et al., 2008; Larsen, 2008; Kõnno et al., 2012; Jaakkola, 2015a, 2015b; Verboord & Janssen, 2015; Purhonen et al., 2019; Widholm et al., 2019). The essence of culture has been theorized in cultural studies, predominantly by Raymond Williams (e.g., 2011), and sociologists of art (Kroeber & Kluckhohn, 1952). In studying journalistic coverage of arts and culture, the concept of culture reveals the anatomy of coverage and whether the content is targeting a broader audience (inclusive concept of culture) or a narrow audience (exclusive or elitist concept of culture). A prevalent motivation to study the ontological dimension of cultural coverage is also to trace cultural change, which means that the concept of culture is longitudinally studied (Purhonen et al., 2019). References/combination with other methods of data collection Concept of culture often occurs as a variable to trace cultural change. The variable is typically coupled with other variables, mainly with representational means, i.e., the journalistic genre (Jaakkola, 2015), event type (Stegert, 1998), or author gender (Schmutz, 2009; Jaakkola, 2015b). Quantitative content analyses may also be complemented with qualitative analyses (Purhonen et al., 2019). Sample operationalization Cultural forms are separated according to the production structure (journalists and reviewers specializing in one cultural form typically indicate an increase of coverage for that cultural form). At a general level, the concept of culture can be divided into the following cultural forms: literature, music – which is, according to the newsroom specialization typically roughly categorized into classical and popular music – visual arts, theatre, dance, film, design, architecture and built environment, media, comics, cultural politics, cultural history, arts education, and other. Subcategories can be separated according to the interest and level of knowledge. The variable needs to be sensitive towards local features in journalism and culture. Example study Jaakkola (2015b) Information about Jaakkola, 2015 Author: Maarit Jaakkola Research question/research interest: Examination of the cultural concept across time in culture sections of daily newspapers Object of analysis: Articles/text items on culture pages of five major daily newspapers in Finland 1978–2008 (Aamulehti, Helsingin Sanomat, Kaleva, Savon Sanomat, Turun Sanomat) Timeframe of analysis: 1978–2008, consecutive sample of weeks 7 and 42 in five year intervals (1978, 1983, 1988, 1993, 1998, 2003, 2008) Info about variable Variable name/definition: Concept of culture Unit of analysis: Article/text item Values: Cultural form Description 1. Fiction literature Fiction books: fictional genres such as poetry, literary novels, thrillers, detective novels, children’s literature, etc. 2. Non-fiction literature Non-fiction books: non-fictional genres such as textbooks, memoirs, encyclopedias, etc. 3. Classical music Music of more high-cultural character, such as symphonic music, chamber music, opera, etc. 4. Popular music Music of more popular character, such as pop, rock, hip-hop, folk music, etc. 5. Visual arts Fine arts: painting, drawing, graphical art, sculpture, media art, photography, etc. 6. Theatre Scene art, including musicals (if not treated as music, i.e. in coverage of concerts and albums) 7. Dance Scene art, including ballet (if not treated as music, .e. in coverage of concerts and albums) 8. Film Cinema: fiction, documentary, experimental film, etc. 9. Design Design of artefacts, jewelry, fashion, interiors, graphics, etc. 10. Architecture Design, aesthetics, and planning of built environment 11. Media Television, journalism, Internet, games, etc. 12. Comics Illustrated periodicals 13. Cultural politics Policies, politics, and administration concerning arts and culture in general 14. Cultural history Historical issues and phenomena 15. Education Educational issues concerning different cultural disciplines 16. Other Miscellaneous minor categories, e.g., lifestyle issues (celebrity, gossip, everyday cultural issues), and larger categories developed from within the material can be separated into values of their own Scale: nominal Intercoder reliability: Cohen's kappa > 0.76 (two coders) References Jaakkola, M. (2015a). The contested autonomy of arts and journalism: Change and continuity in the dual professionalism of cultural journalism. Tampere: Tampere University Press. Jaakkola, M. (2015b). Outsourcing views, developing news: Changes of art criticism in Finnish dailies, 1978–2008. Journalism Studies, 16(3), 383–402. Janssen, S. (1999). Art journalism and cultural change: The coverage of the arts in Dutch newspapers 1965–1990. Poetics 26(5–6), 329–348. Janssen, S., Kuipers, G., & Verboord, M. (2008). Cultural globalization and arts journalism: The international orientation of arts and culture coverage in Dutch, French, German, and U.S. newspapers, 1955 to 2005. American Sociological Review, 73(5), 719–740. Janssen, S., Verboord, M., & Kuipers, G. (2011). Comparing cultural classification: High and popular arts in European and U.S. elite newspapers. Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, 63(51), 139–168. Kõnno, A., Aljas, A., Lõhmus, M., & Kõuts, R. (2012). The centrality of culture in the 20th century Estonian press: A longitudinal study in comparison with Finland and Russia. Nordicom Review, 33(2), 103–117. Kristensen, N. N. (2019). Arts, culture and entertainment coverage. In T. P. Vos & F. Hanusch (Eds.), The international encyclopedia of journalism studies. Wiley-Blackwell. Kroeber, A. L., & Kluckhohn, C. (1952). Culture: A critical review of concepts and definitions. Meridian Books. Larsen, L. O. (2008). Forskyvninger. Kulturdekningen i norske dagsaviser 1964–2005 [Displacements: Cultural coverage in Norwegian dailies 1964–2005]. In K. Knapskog & L.O. Larsen (Eds.), Kulturjournalistikk: pressen og den kulturelle offentligheten (pp. 283–329). Scandinavian Academic Press. Purhonen, S., Heikkilä, R., Karademir Hazir, I., Lauronen, T., Rodríguez, C. F., & Gronow, J. (2019). Enter culture, exit arts? The transformation of cultural hierarchies in European newspaper culture sections, 1960–2010. Routledge. Reus, G., & Harden, L. (2005). Politische ”Kultur”: Eine Längsschnittanalyse des Zeitungsfeuilletons von 1983 bis 2003 [Political ‘culture’: A longitudinal analysis of culture pages, 1983–2003]. Publizistik, 50(2), 153–172. Schmutz, V. (2009). Social and symbolic boundaries in newspaper coverage of music, 1955–2005: Gender and genre in the US, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Poetics, 37(4), 298–314. Schmutz, V., van Venrooij, A., Janssen, S., & Verboord, M. (2010). Change and continuity in newspaper coverage of popular music since 1955: Evidence from the United States, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Popular Music and Society, 33(4), 505–515. Stegert, G. (1998). Feuilleton für alle: Strategien im Kulturjournalismus der Presse [Feuilleton for all: Strategies in cultural journalism of the daily press]. Max Niemeyer Verlag. Szántó, A., Levy, D. S., & Tyndall, A. (Eds.). (2004). Reporting the arts II: News coverage of arts and culture in America. National Arts Journalism Program (NAJP). Verboord, M., & Janssen, J. (2015). Arts journalism and its packaging in France, Germany, the Netherlands and the United States, 1955–2005. Journalism Practice, 9(6), 829–852. Widholm, A., Riegert, K., & Roosvall, A. (2019). Abundance or crisis? Transformations in the media ecology of Swedish cultural journalism over four decades. Journalism. Advance online publication August, 6. Journalism. https://doi.org/10.1177/1464884919866077 Williams, R. (2011). Keywords: A vocabulary of culture and society. Routledge. (Original work published 1976).

Al Gore brought climate change into … our living rooms. … The 2008 oil price hikes [and the global financial crisis] awakened the world to potential economic hardship in a rapidly urbanising world where the petrol-driven automobile is still king. (Mouritz 47) Six hundred million cars (Urry, “Climate Change” 265) traverse the world’s roads, or sit idly in garages and clogging city streets. The West’s economic progress has been built in part around the success of the automotive industry, where the private car rules the spaces and rhythms of daily life. The problem of “automobile dependence” (Newman and Kenworthy) is often cited as one of the biggest challenges facing countries attempting to combat anthropogenic climate change. Sociologist John Urry has claimed that automobility is an “entire culture” that has re-defined movement in the contemporary world (Urry Mobilities 133). As such, it is the single most significant environmental challenge “because of the intensity of resource use, the production of pollutants and the dominant culture which sustains the major discourses of what constitutes the good life” (Urry Sociology 57-8). Climate change has forced a re-thinking of not only how we produce and dispose of cars, but also how we use them. What might a society not dominated by the private, petrol-driven car look like? Some of the pre-eminent writers on climate change futures, such as Gwynne Dyer, James Lovelock and John Urry, discuss one possibility that might emerge when oil becomes scarce: societies will descend into civil chaos, “a Hobbesian war of all against all” where “regional warlordism” and the most brutish, barbaric aspects of human nature come to the fore (Urry, “Climate Change” 261). Discussing a post-car society, John Urry also proffers another scenario in his “sociologies of the future:” an Orwellian “digital panopticon” in which other modes of transport, far more suited to a networked society, might emerge on a large scale and, in the long run, “might tip the system” into post-car one before it is too late (Urry, “Climate Change” 261). Amongst the many options he discusses is car sharing. Since its introduction in Germany more than 30 years ago, most of the critical literature has been devoted to the planning, environmental and business innovation aspects of car sharing; however very little has been written on its cultural dimensions. This paper analyses this small but developing trend in many Western countries, but more specifically its emergence in Sydney. The convergence of climate change discourse with that of the global financial crisis has resulted in a focus in the mainstream media, over the last few months, on technologies and practices that might save us money and also help the environment. For instance, a Channel 10 News story in May 2009 focused on the boom in car sharing in Sydney (see: http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=EPTT8vYVXro). Car sharing is an adaptive technology that doesn’t do away with the car altogether, but rather transforms the ways in which cars are used, thought about and promoted. I argue that car sharing provides a challenge to the dominant consumerist model of the privately owned car that has sustained capitalist structures for at least the last 50 years. In addition, through looking at some marketing and promotion tactics of car sharing in Australia, I examine some emerging car sharing subjectivities that both extend and subvert the long-established discourses of the automobile’s flexibility and autonomy to tempt monogamous car buyers into becoming philandering car sharers. Much literature has emerged over the last decade devoted to the ubiquitous phenomenon of automobility. “The car is the literal ‘iron cage’ of modernity, motorised, moving and domestic,” claims Urry (“Connections” 28). Over the course of twentieth century, automobility became “the dominant form of daily movement over much of the planet (dominating even those who do not move by cars)” (Paterson 132). Underpinning Urry’s prolific production of literature is his concept of automobility. This he defines as a complex system of “intersecting assemblages” that is not only about driving cars but the nexus between “production, consumption, machinic complexes, mobility, culture and environmental resource use” (Urry, “Connections” 28). In addition, Matthew Paterson, in his Automobile Politics, asserts that “automobility” should be viewed as everything that makes driving around in a car possible: highways, parking structures and traffic rules (87). While the private car seems an inevitable outcome of a capitalistic, individualistic modern society, much work has gone into the process of naturalising a dominant notion of automobility on drivers’ horizons. Through art, literature, popular music and brand advertising, the car has long been associated with seductive forms of identity, and societies have been built around a hegemonic culture of car ownership and driving as the pre-eminent, modern mode of self-expression. And more than 50 years of a popular Hollywood film genre—road movies—has been devoted to glorifying the car as total freedom, or in its more nihilistic version, “freedom on the road to nowhere” (Corrigan). As Paterson claims, “autonomous mobility of car driving is socially produced … by a range of interventions that have made it possible” (18). One of the main reasons automobility has been so successful, he claims, is through its ability to reproduce capitalist society. It provided a commodity around which a whole set of symbols, images and discourses could be constructed which served to effectively legitimise capitalist society. (30) Once the process is locked-in, it then becomes difficult to reverse as billions of agents have adapted to it and built their lives around “automobility’s strange mixture of co-ercion and flexibility” (Urry, “Climate Change” 266). The Decline of the Car Globally, the greatest recent rupture in the automobile’s meta-narrative of success came about in October 2008 when three CEOs from the major US car firms (General Motors, Ford and Chrysler) begged the United States Senate for emergency loan funds to avoid going bankrupt. To put the economic significance of this into context, Emma Rothschild notes “when the listing of the ‘Fortune 500’ began in 1955, General Motors was the largest American corporation, and it was one of the three largest, measured in revenues, every year until 2007” (Rothschilds, “Can we transform”). Curiously, instead of focusing on the death of the car (industry), as we know it, that this scenario might inevitably herald, much of the media attention focused on the hypocrisy and environmental hubris of the fact that all the CEOs had flown in private luxury jets to Washington. “Couldn’t they have at least jet-pooled?” complained one Democrat Senator (Wutkowski). In their next visit to Washington, most of them drove up in experimental vehicles still in pre-production, including plug-in hybrids. Up until that point no other manufacturing industry had been bailed out in the current financial crisis. Of course it’s not the first time the automobile industries have been given government assistance. The Australian automotive industry has received on-going government subsidies since the 1980s. Most recently, PM Kevin Rudd granted a 6.2 billion dollar ‘green car’ package to Australian automotive manufacturers. His justification to the growing chorus of doubts about the economic legitimacy of such a move was: “Some might say it's not worth trying to have a car industry, that is not my view, it is not the view of the Australian government and it never will be the view of any government which I lead” (The Australian). Amongst the many reasons for the government support of these industries must include the extraordinary interweaving of discourses of nationhood and progress with the success of the car industry. As the last few months reveal, evidently the mantra still prevails of “what’s good for the country is good for GM and vice versa”, as the former CEO of General Motors, Charles “Engine” Wilson, argued back in 1952 (Hirsch). In post-industrial societies like Australia it’s not only the economic aspects of the automotive industries that are criticised. Cars seem to be slowly losing their grip on identity-formation that they managed to maintain throughout “the century of the car” (Gilroy). They are no longer unproblematically associated with progress, freedom, youthfulness and absolute autonomy. The decline and eventual death of the automobile as we know it will be long, arduous and drawn-out. But there are some signs of a post-automobile society emerging, perhaps where cars will still be used but they will not dominate our society, urban space and culture in quite the same way that they have over the last 50 years. Urry discusses six transformations that might ‘tip’ the hegemonic system of automobility into a post-car one. He mentions new fuel systems, new materials for car construction, the de-privatisation of cars, development of communications technologies and integration of networked public transport through smart card technology and systems (Urry, Mobilities 281-284). As Paterson and others have argued, computers and mobile phones have somehow become “more genuine symbols of mobility and in turn progress” than the car (157). As a result, much automobile advertising now intertwines communications technologies with brand to valorise mobility. Car sharing goes some way in not only de-privatising cars but also using smart card technology and networked systems enabling an association with mobility futures. In Automobile Politics Paterson asks, “Is the car fundamentally unsustainable? Can it be greened? Has the car been so naturalised on our mobile horizons that we can’t imagine a society without it?” (27). From a sustainability perspective, one of the biggest problems with cars is still the amount of space devoted to them; highways, garages, car parks. About one-quarter of the land in London and nearly one-half of that in Los Angeles is devoted to car-only environments (Urry, “Connections” 29). In Sydney, it is more like a quarter. We have to reduce the numbers of cars on our roads to make our societies livable (Newman and Kenworthy). Car sharing provokes a re-thinking of urban space. If one quarter of Sydney’s population car shared and we converted this space into green use or local market gardens, then we’d have a radically transformed city. Car sharing, not to be confused with ‘ride sharing’ or ‘car pooling,’ involves a number of people using cars that are parked centrally in dedicated car bays around the inner city. After becoming a member (much like a 6 or 12 monthly gym membership), the cars can be booked (and extended) by the hour via the web or phone. They can then be accessed via a smart card. In Sydney there are 3 car sharing organisations operating: Flexicar (http://www.flexicar.com.au/), CharterDrive (http://www.charterdrive.com.au/) and GoGet (http://www.goget.com.au/).[1] The largest of these, GoGet, has been operating for 6 years and has over 5000 members and 200 cars located predominantly in the inner city suburbs. Anecdotally, GoGet claims its membership is primarily drawn from professionals living in the inner-urban ring. Their motivation for joining is, firstly, the convenience that car sharing provides in a congested, public transport-challenged city like Sydney; secondly, the financial savings derived; and thirdly, members consider the environmental and social benefits axiomatic. [2] The promotion tactics of car sharing seems to reflect this by barely mentioning the environment but focusing on those aspects which link car sharing to futuristic and flexible subjectivities which I outline in the next section. Unlike traditional car rental, the vehicles in car sharing are scattered through local streets in a network allowing local residents and businesses access to the vehicles mostly on foot. One car share vehicle is used by 22-24 members and gets about seven cars off the street (Mehlman 22). With lots of different makes and models of vehicles in each of their fleets, Flexicar’s website claims, “around the corner, around the clock” “Flexicar offers you the freedom of driving your own car without the costs and hassles of owning one,” while GoGet asserts, “like owning a car only better.” Due to the initial lack of interest from government, all the car sharing organisations in Australia are privately owned. This is very different to the situation in Europe where governments grant considerable financial assistance and have often integrated car sharing into pre-existing public transport networks. Urry discusses the spread of car sharing across the Western world: Six hundred plus cities across Europe have developed car-sharing schemes involving 50,000 people (Cervero, 2001). Prototype examples are found such as Liselec in La Rochelle, and in northern California, Berlin and Japan (Motavalli, 2000: 233). In Deptford there is an on-site car pooling service organized by Avis attached to a new housing development, while in Jersey electric hire cars have been introduced by Toyota. (Urry, “Connections” 34) ‘Collaborative Consumption’ and Flexible, Philandering Subjectivities Car sharing shifts the dominant conception of a car from being a ‘commodity’, which people purchase and subsequently identify with, to a ‘service’ or network of vehicles that are collectively used. It does this through breaking down the one car = one person (or one family) ratio with one car instead servicing 20 or more people. One of Paterson’s biggest criticisms concerns car driving as “a form of social exclusion” (44). Car sharing goes some way in subverting the model of hyper-individualism that supports both hegemonic automobility and capitalist structures, whereby the private motorcar produces a “separation of individuals from one another driving in their own private universes with no account for anyone else” (Paterson 90). As a car sharer, the driver has to acknowledge that this is not their private domain, and the car no longer becomes an extension of their living room or bedroom, as is noted in much literature around car cultures (Morris, Sheller, Simpson). There are a community of people using the car, so the driver needs to be attentive to things like keeping the car clean and bringing it back on time so another person can use it. So while car sharing may change the affective relationship and self-identification with the vehicle itself, it doesn’t necessarily change the phenomenological dimensions of car driving, such as the nostalgic pleasure of driving on the open road, or perhaps more realistically in Sydney, the frustration of being caught in a traffic jam. However, the fact the driver doesn’t own the vehicle does alter their relationship to the space and the commodity in a literal as well as a figurative way. Like car ownership, evidently car sharing also produces its own set of limitations on freedom and convenience. That mobility and car ownership equals freedom—the ‘freedom to drive’—is one imaginary which car firms were able to successfully manipulate and perpetuate throughout the twentieth century. However, car sharing also attaches itself to the same discourses of freedom and pervasive individualism and then thwarts them. For instance, GoGet in Sydney have run numerous marketing campaigns that attempt to contest several ‘self-evident truths’ about automobility. One is flexibility. Flexibility (and associated convenience) was one thing that ownership of a car in the late twentieth century was firmly able to affiliate itself with. However, car ownership is now more often associated with being expensive, a hassle and a long-term commitment, through things like buying, licensing, service and maintenance, cleaning, fuelling, parking permits, etc. Cars have also long been linked with sexuality. When in the 1970s financial challenges to the car were coming as a result of the oil shocks, Chair of General Motors, James Roche stated that, “America’s romance with the car is not over. Instead it has blossomed into a marriage” (Rothschilds, Paradise Lost). In one marketing campaign GoGet asked, ‘Why buy a car when all you need is a one night stand?’, implying that owning a car is much like a monogamous relationship that engenders particular commitments and responsibilities, whereas car sharing can just be a ‘flirtation’ or a ‘one night stand’ and you don’t have to come back if you find it a hassle. Car sharing produces a philandering subjectivity that gives individuals the freedom to have lots of different types of cars, and therefore relationships with each of them: I can be a Mini Cooper driver one day and a Falcon driver the next. This disrupts the whole kind of identification with one type of car that ownership encourages. It also breaks down a stalwart of capitalism—brand loyalty to a particular make of car with models changing throughout a person’s lifetime. Car sharing engenders far more fluid types of subjectivities as opposed to those rigid identities associated with ownership of one car. Car sharing can also be regarded as part of an emerging phenomenon of what Rachel Botsman and Roo Rogers have called “collaborative consumption”—when a community gets together “through organized sharing, swapping, bartering, trading, gifting and renting to get the same pleasures of ownership with reduced personal cost and burden, and lower environmental impact” (www.collaborativeconsumption.com). As Urry has stated, these developments indicate a gradual transformation in current economic structures from ownership to access, as shown more generally by many services offered and accessed via the web (Urry Mobilities 283). Rogers and Botsman maintain that this has come about through the “convergence of online social networks increasing cost consciousness and environmental necessity." In the future we could predict an increasing shift to payment to ‘access’ for mobility services, rather than the outright private ownerships of vehicles (Urry, “Connections”). Networked-Subjectivities or a ‘Digital Panopticon’? Cars, no longer able on their own to signify progress in either technical or social terms, attain their symbolic value through their connection to other, now more prevalently ‘progressive’ technologies. (Paterson 155) The term ‘digital panopticon’ has often been used to describe a dystopian world of virtual surveillance through such things as web-enabled social networking sites where much information is public, or alternatively, for example, the traffic surveillance system in London whereby the public can be constantly scrutinised through the centrally monitored cameras that track people’s/vehicle’s movements on city streets. In his “sociologies of the future,” Urry maintains that one thing which might save us from descending into post-car civil chaos is a system governed by a “digital panopticon” mobility system. This would be governed by a nexus system “that orders, regulates, tracks and relatively soon would ‘drive’ each vehicle and monitor each driver/passenger” (Urry, “Connections” 33). The transformation of mobile technologies over the last decade has made car sharing, as a viable business model, possible. Through car sharing’s exploitation of an online booking system, and cars that can be tracked, monitored and traced, the seeds of a mobile “networked-subjectivity” are emerging. But it’s not just the technology people are embracing; a cultural shift is occurring in the way that people understand mobility, their own subjectivity, and more importantly, the role of cars. NETT Magazine did a feature on car sharing, and advertised it on their front cover as “GoGet’s web and mobile challenge to car owners” (May 2009). Car sharing seems to be able to tap into more contemporary understandings of what mobility and flexibility might mean in the twenty-first century. In their marketing and promotion tactics, car sharing organisations often discursively exploit science fiction terminology and generate a subjectivity much more dependent on networks and accessibility (158). In the suburbs people park their cars in garages. In car sharing, the vehicles are parked not in car bays or car parks, but in publically accessible ‘pods’, which promotes a futuristic, sci-fi experience. Even the phenomenological dimensions of swiping a smart card over the front of the windscreen to open the car engender a transformation in access to the car, instead of through a key. This is service-technology of the future while those stuck in car ownership are from the old economy and the “century of the car” (Gilroy). The connections between car sharing and the mobile phone and other communications technologies are part of the notion of a networked, accessible vehicle. However, the more problematic side to this is the car under surveillance. Nic Lowe, of his car sharing organisation GoGet says, “Because you’re tagged on and we know it’s you, you are able to drive the car… every event you do is logged, so we know what time you turned the key, what time you turned it off and we know how far you drove … if a car is lost we can sound the horn to disable it remotely to prevent theft. We can track how fast you were going and even how fast you accelerated … track the kilometres for billing purposes and even find out when people are using the car when they shouldn’t be” (Mehlman 27). The possibility with the GPS technology installed in the car is being able to monitor speeds at which people drive, thereby fining then every minute spent going over the speed limit. While this conjures up the notion of the car under surveillance, it is also a much less bleaker scenario than “a Hobbesian war of all against all”. Conclusion: “Hundreds of Cars, No Garage” The prospect of climate change is provoking innovation at a whole range of levels, as well as providing a re-thinking of how we use taken-for-granted technologies. Sometime this century the one tonne, privately owned, petrol-driven car will become an artefact, much like Sydney trams did last century. At this point in time, car sharing can be regarded as an emerging transitional technology to a post-car society that provides a challenge to hegemonic automobile culture. It is evidently not a radical departure from the car’s vast machinic complex and still remains a part of what Urry calls the “system of automobility”. From a pro-car perspective, its networked surveillance places constraints on the free agency of the car, while for those of the deep green variety it is, no doubt, a compromise. Nevertheless, it provides a starting point for re-thinking the foundations of the privately-owned car. While Urry makes an important point in relation to a society moving from ownership to access, he doesn’t take into account the cultural shifts occurring that are enabling car sharing to be attractive to prospective members: the notion of networked subjectivities, the discursive constructs used to establish car sharing as a thing of the future with pods and smart cards instead of garages and keys. If car sharing became mainstream it could have radical environmental impacts on things like urban space and pollution, as well as the dominant culture of “automobile dependence” (Newman and Kenworthy), as Australia attempts to move to a low carbon economy. Notes [1] My partner Bruce Jeffreys, together with Nic Lowe, founded Newtown Car Share in 2002, which is now called GoGet. [2] Several layers down in the ‘About Us’ link on GoGet’s website is the following information about the environmental benefits of car sharing: “GoGet's aim is to provide a reliable, convenient and affordable transport service that: allows people to live car-free, decreases car usage, improves local air quality, removes private cars from local streets, increases patronage for public transport, allows people to lead more active lives” (http://www.goget.com.au/about-us.html). References The Australian. “Kevin Rudd Throws $6.2bn Lifeline to Car Industry.” 10 Nov. 2008. < http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/business/story/ 0,28124,24628026-5018011,00.html >.Corrigan, Tim. “Genre, Gender, and Hysteria: The Road Movie in Outer Space.” A Cinema Without Walls: Movies, Culture after Vietnam. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1991. Dwyer, Gwynne. Climate Wars. North Carlton: Scribe, 2008. Featherstone, Mike. “Automobilities: An Introduction.” Theory, Culture and Society 21.4-5 (2004): 1-24. Gilroy, Paul. “Driving while Black.” Car Cultures. Ed. Daniel Miller. Oxford: Berg, 2000. Hirsch, Michael. “Barack the Saviour.” Newsweek 13 Nov. 2008. < http://www.newsweek.com/id/168867 >. Lovelock, James. The Revenge of Gaia: Earth’s Climate Crisis and the Fate of Humanity. Penguin, 2007. Lovelock, James. The Vanishing Face of Gaia. Penguin, 2009. Mehlman, Josh. “Community Driven Success.” NETT Magazine (May 2009): 22-28. Morris, Meaghan. “Fate and the Family Sedan.” East West Film Journal 4.1 (1989): 113-134. Mouritz, Mike. “City Views.” Fast Thinking Winter 2009: 47-50. Newman, P. and J. Kenworthy. Sustainability and Cities: Overcoming Automobile Dependence. Washington DC: Island Press, 1999. Paterson, Matthew. Automobile Politics: Ecology and Cultural Political Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Rothschilds, Emma. Paradise Lost: The Decline of the Auto-Industrial Age. New York: Radom House, 1973. Rothschilds, Emma. “Can We Transform the Auto-Industrial Society?” New York Review of Books 56.3 (2009). < http://www.nybooks.com/articles/22333 >. Sheller, Mimi. “Automotive Emotions: Feeling the Car.” Theory, Culture and Society 21 (2004): 221–42. Simpson, Catherine. “Volatile Vehicles: When Women Take the Wheel.” Womenvision. Ed. Lisa French. Melbourne: Damned Publishing, 2003. 197-210. Urry, John. Sociology Beyond Societies: Mobilities for the 21st Century. London: Routledge, 2000. Urry, John. “Connections.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 22 (2004): 27-37. Urry, John. Mobilities. Cambridge, and Maiden, MA: Polity Press, 2008. Urry, John. “Climate Change, Travel and Complex Futures.” British Journal of Sociology 59. 2 (2008): 261-279. Watts, Laura, and John Urry. “Moving Methods, Travelling Times.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 26 (2008): 860-874. Wutkowski, Karey. “Auto Execs' Private Flights to Washington Draw Ire.” Reuters News Agency 19 Nov. 2008. < http://www.reuters.com/article/newsOne/idUSTRE4AI8C520081119 >.

Game of Thrones (GoT) has become the most popular way of referring to a universe that was previously known under the title A Song of Ice and Fire by fans of fantasy novels. Indeed, thanks to its huge success, the TV series is now the most common entry into what is today a complex narrative constellation. Game of Thrones began as a series of five novels written by George R. R. Martin (first published in 1996). It was adapted as a TV series by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss for HBO in 2011, as a comic book series (2011—2014), several video games (Blood of Dragons, 2007; A Game of Thrones: Genesis, 2011; Game of Thrones, 2012; Game of Thrones Ascent, 2013; Game of Thrones, 2014), as well as several prequel novellas, a card game (A Game of Thrones: The Card Game, 2002), and a strategy board game (2003), not to mention the promotional transmedia developed by Campfire to bring the novels’ fans to the TV series. Thus, the GoT ensemble does indeed look like a form of transmedia, at least at first sight.Game of Thrones’ UniverseGenerally, definitions of transmedia assemble three elements. First, transmedia occurs when the content is developed on several media, “with each new text making a distinctive and valuable contribution to the whole. … Each franchise entry needs to be self-contained so you don’t need to have seen the film to enjoy the game, and vice versa” (Jenkins 97-98). The second component is the narrative world. The authors of Transmédia Dans Tous Ses États notice that transmedia stories “are in some cases reduced to a plain link between two contents on two media, with no overall vision” (Collective 4). They consider these ensembles weak. For Gambarato, the main point of transmedia is “the worldbuilding experience, unfolding content and generating the possibilities for the story to evolve with new and pertinent content,” what Jenkins called “worldmaking” (116). The third ingredient is the audience. As the narrative extends itself over several platforms, consumers’ participation is essential. “To fully experience any fictional world, consumers must assume the role of hunters and gatherers, chasing down bits of the story across media channels” (Jenkins 21).The GoT constellation does not precisely match this definition. In the canonical example examined by Jenkins, The Matrix, the whole was designed from the beginning of the project. That was not the case for GoT, as the transmedia development clearly happened once the TV series had become a success. Not every entry in this ensemble unfolds new aspects of the world, as the TV series is an adaptation of the novels (until the sixth season when it overtook the books). Not every component is self-contained, as the novels and TV series are at the narrative system’s centre. This narrative ensemble more closely matches the notion of “modèle satellitaire” conceived by Saint-Gelais, where one element is the first chronologically and hierarchically. However, this statement does not devalue the GoT constellation, as the canonical definition is rarely actualized (Sepulchre “La Constellation Transmédiatique,” Philipps, Gambarato “Transmedia”), and as transmedia around TV series are generally developed after the first season, once the audience is stabilized. What is most noticeable about GoT is the fact that the TV series has probably replaced the novels as the centre of the ensemble.Under the influence of Jenkins, research on transmedia has often come to be related to fan studies. In this work, he describes very active and connected users. Research in game studies also shows that gamers are creative and form communities (Berry 155-207). However, the majority of these studies focused on hardcore fans or hardcore gamers (Bourdaa; Chen; Davis; Jenkins; Peyron; Stein). Usual users are less studied, especially for such transmedia practices.Main Question and MethodologyDue to its configuration, and the wide spectrum of users’ different levels of involvement, the GoT constellation offers an occasion to confront two audiences and their practices. GoT transmedia clearly targets both fiction lovers and gamers. The success of the franchise has led to heavy consumption of transmedia elements, even by fans who had never approached transmedia before, and may allow us to move beyond the classical analysis. That’s why, in that preliminary research, by comparing TV series viewers in general with a quite specific part of them, ordinary gamers of the videogame GOT Ascent, we aim to evaluate transmedia use in the GOT community. The results on viewers are part of a broader research project on TV series and transmedia. The originality of this study focuses on ordinary viewers, not fans. The goal is to understand if they are familiar with transmedia, if they develop transmedia practices, and why. The paper is based on 52 semi-structured interviews conducted in 2012 (11) and 2013 (41). Consumers of fictional extensions of TV series and fans of TV series were selected. The respondents are around twenty years old, university students, white, mostly female (42 women, 10 men), and are not representative outside the case study. Therefore, the purpose of this first empirical sample was simply to access ordinary GOT viewers’ behaviours, and to elaborate an initial landscape of their use of different media in the same world.After that, we focused our analysis on one specific community, a subset of the GOT’s universe’s users, that is, players of the GoT Ascent videogame (we use “gamers” as synonym for “players” and “users”). Through this online participative observation, we try to analyse the players’ attitudes, and evaluate the nature of their involvement from a user perspective (Servais). Focusing on one specific medium in the GOT constellation should allow us to further flesh out the general panorama on transmedia, by exploring involvement in one particular device more deeply. Our purpose in that is to identify whether the players are transmedia users, and so GoT fans, or if they are firstly players. During a three month in-game ethnography, in June-August 2013, we played Aren Gorn, affiliated to House Tyrell, level 91, and member of “The Winter is Dark and Full of Terrors” Alliance (2500 members). Following an in-game ethnography (Boellstorff 123-134), we explored gamers’ playing attitudes inside the interface.The Users, TV Series, and TransmediaThe respondents usually do not know what transmedia is, even if a lot of them (36) practice it. Those who are completely unaware that a narrative world can be spread over several media are rare. Only ten of them engage in fan practices (cosplay, a kind of costuming community, fan-fiction, and fan-vidding, that is fans who write fiction or make remix videos set in the world they love), which tends to show that transmedia does not only concern fans.Most of the ordinary viewers are readers, as 23 of them cite books (True Blood, Gossip Girl, Pretty Little Liars, Les Piliers de la Terre), one reads a recipe book (Plus Belle la Vie), and seven consume comics (The Walking Dead, Supernatural). They do not distinguish between novelisation (the novel adapted from a TV series) and the original book. Other media are also consumed, however a lot less: animation series, special episodes on the Internet, music, movies, websites (blogs, fictional websites), factual websites (about the story, the production, actors), fan-fiction, and cosplay.Transmedia does not seem to be a strong experience. Céline and Ioana respectively read the novels adapted from Plus Belle la Vie and Gossip Girl, but don’t like them. “It is written like a script … There’s no description, only the dialogues between characters” (Ioana). Lora watched some webisodes of Cougar Town but didn’t find them funny. Aurélie has followed the Twitter of Sookie Stackouse (True Blood) and Guilleaume D. sometimes consumes humoristic content on 9gag, but irregularly. “It’s not my thing” (Aurélie). The participants are even more critical of movies, especially the sequels of Sex and the City.That does not mean the respondents always reject transmedia components. First, they enjoy elements that are not supposed to belong to the world. These may be fan productions or contents they personally inject into the universe. Several have done research on the story’s topic: Alizée investigated mental disorders to understand United States of Tara; Guilleaume G. wandered around on Google Earth to explore Albuquerque (Breaking Bad); for Guilleaume D., Hugh Laurie’s music album is part of the character of Gregory House; Julie adores Peter Pan and, for her, Once Upon A Time, Finding Neverland, and Hook are part of the same universe. Four people particularly enjoy when the fictional characters’ couples are duplicated by real relationships between actors (which may explain all the excitement surrounding Kit Harrington and Rose Leslie’s real-life love story, paralleling their characters’ romance on GOT). If there is a transmedia production, it seems that there is also a kind of “transmedia reception,” as viewers connect heteroclite elements to build a coherent world of their own. Some respondents even develop a creative link to the world: writing fan-fiction, poetry, or building scale models (but that is not this paper’s topic, see Sepulchre “Les Constellations Narratives”, “Editorial”).A second element they appreciate is the GOT TV series. Approximately half of the respondents cite GoT (29/52). They are not fundamentally different from the other viewers except that more of them have fan practices (9 vs. 1), and a few more develop transmedia consumption (76% against 61%). To the very extent that there is consensus over the poor quality of the novels (in general), A Song of Ice and Fire seems to have seduced every respondent. Loic usually hates reading; his relatives have pointed out to him that he has read more with GoT than in his entire lifetime. Marie D. finds the novels so good that she stopped watching the TV series. Marine insists she generally reads fan-fiction because she hates the novelisations, but the GoT books are the only good ones. The novels apparently allow a deeper immersion into the world and that is the manifest benefit of consuming them. Guilleaume G. appreciates the more detailed descriptions. Céline, Florentin, Ioana, and Marine like to access the characters’ thoughts. Julie thinks she feels the emotions more deeply when she reads. Sometimes, the novels can change their opinions on a character. Emilie finds Sansa despicable in the TV series, but the books led her to understand her sensibility.Videogames & TransmediaThe vast majority of transmedia support from the GoT universe primarily targets “world lovers,” that is, users involved in media uses because they love the fantasy of the universe. However, only video games allow a personalized incarnation as a hero over a long term of time, and thus a customized active appropriation. This is in fact undoubtedly why the GoT universe’s transmedia galaxy has also been deployed in video games. GOT Ascent is a strategy game edited by Disruptor Beam, an American company specialising in TV games. Released in February 2013, the franchise attracted up to 9,000,000 players in 2014, but only 295,107 monthly active users. This significant difference between the accumulated number of players and those actually active (around 3 %) may well testify that those investing in this game are probably not a community of gamers.Combining role playing and strategy game, GoT Ascent is designed in a logic that deeply integrates the elements, not only from the TV series, but also from books and other transmedia extensions. In GoT Ascent, gamers play a small house affiliated to one of the main clans of Westeros. During the immersive game experience, the player participates in all the GoT stories from an insider’s point of view. The game follows the various GoT books, resulting in an extension whenever a new volume is published. The player interacts with others by PVE (Player versus Environment) or PVP (Player versus Player) alliances with a common chat and the possibility of sending goods to other members. With a fair general score (4,1 on 10), the game is evaluated weakly by the players (JeuxOnLine). Hence a large majority of them are probably not looking for that kind of experience.If we focus on the top players in GoT Ascent, likely representing those most invested, it is interesting to examine the names they choose. Indeed, that choice often reveals the player’s intention, either to refer to a gamer logic or the universe of GoT. During our research, we clearly distinguished two types of names, self-referential ones or those referring to the player’s general pseudonym. In concrete terms, the name is a declination of a pseudonym of more general avatars, or else refers to other video game worlds than GoT. In GoT Ascent, the second category of names, those very clearly anchored in the world of Martin, are clearly dominant.Is it possible to correlate the name chosen and the type of player? Can we affirm that people who choose a name not related to the GoT universe are players and that the others are GoT fans? Probably not obviously, but the consistency of a character’s name with the universe is, in the GoT case, very important for an immersive experience. The books’ author has carefully crafted his surnames and, in the game, assuming a name is therefore very clearly a symbolically important act in the desire to roleplay in that universe. Choosing one that is totally out of sync with the game world clearly means you are not there to immerse yourself in the spirit of GoT, but to play. In short, the first category is representative of the gamers, but the players are not restricted to those naming their avatar out of the world’s spirit.This intuition is confirmed by a review of the names related to the rank of the players. When we studied high-level players, we realized that most of them use humorous names, which are totally out of the mood of the GoT universe. Thus, in 2013, the first ranked player in terms of power was called Flatulence, a French term that is part of a humorous semantics. Yet this type of denomination is not limited to the first of the list. Out the top ten players, only two used plausible GoT names. However, as soon as one leaves the game’s elite’s sphere, the plausible names are quickly in the majority. There is a sharp opposition between the vast majority of players, who obviously try to match the world, and pure gamers.We found the same logic for the names of the Alliances, the virtual communities of players varying from a few to hundreds. Three Alliances have achieved the #1 rank in the game in the game’s first two years: Hear Me Roar (February 2013), Fire and Blood (January 2014), and Kong's Landing (September 2014). Two of those Alliances are of a more humoristic bent. However, an investigation into the 400 alliances demonstrates that fewer than 5 % have a clear humoristic signification. We might estimate that in GoT Ascent the large majority of players increase their immersive experience by choosing a GoT role play related Alliance name. We can conclude that they are mainly GoT fans playing the game, and that they seek to lend the world coherence. The high-level players are an exception. Inside GOT Ascent, the dominant culture remains connected to the GoT world.ConclusionA transmedia story is defined by its networked configuration, “worldmaking,” and users’ involvement. The GoT constellation is clearly a weak ensemble (Sepulchre, 2012). However, it has indeed developed on several platforms. Furthermore, the relationship between the novels and the TV series is quite unprecedented. Indeed, both elements are considered as qualitative, and the TV series has become the main entry for many fans. Thus, both of them acquire an equal authority.The GoT transmedia storyworld also unfolds a fictional world and depends on users’ activities, but in a peculiar way. If the viewers and gamers are analysed from fan or game studies perspectives, they appear to be weak users. Indeed, they do not seek new components; they are mainly readers and do not enjoy the transmedia experience; the players are not regular ones; and they are much less creative and humorous than high-level gamers.These weak practices have, however, one function: to prolong the pleasure of the fictional world, which is the third characteristic of transmedia. The players experiment with GoT Ascent by incarnating characters inserted into Alliances whose names may exist in the original world. This appears to be a clear attempt to become immersed in the universe. The ordinary viewers appreciate the deeper experience the novels allow. When they feed the world with unexpected elements, it is also to improve the world.Thus, transmedia appropriation by users is a reality, motivated by a taste for the universe, even if it is a weak consumption in comparison with the demanding, creative, and sometimes iconoclastic practices gamers and fans usually develop. It is obvious, in both fields, that they are new TV series fans (they quote mainly recent shows) and beginners in the world of games. For a significant part of them, GoT was probably their first time developing transmedia practices.However, GoT Ascent is not well evaluated by gamers and many of them do not repeat the experience (as the monthly number of gamers shows). Likewise, the ordinary viewers neglect the official transmedia components as too marketing oriented. The GoT novels are the exception proving the rule. They demonstrate that users are quite selective: they are not satisfied with weak elements. The question that this paper cannot answer is: was GoT a first experience? Will they persevere in the future? Yet, in this preliminary research, we have seen that studying ordinary users’ weak involvement (series viewers or gamers) is an interesting path in elaborating a theory of transmedia user’s activities, which takes the public’s diversity into account.ReferencesBerry, Vincent. L’Expérience Virtuelle: Jouer, Vivre, Apprendre Dans un Jeu Video. Rennes: UP Rennes, 2012.Boellstorff, Tom. “A Typology of Ethnographic Scales for Virtual Worlds.” Online Worlds: Convergence of the Real and the Virtual. Ed. William Sim Bainbridge. London: Springer, 2009.Bourdaa, Mélanie. “Taking a Break from All Your Worries: Battlestar Galactica et Les Nouvelles Pratiques Télévisuelles des Fans.” Questions de Communication 22 (2012) 2014. <http://journals.openedition.org/questionsdecommunication/6917>.Chen, Mark. Leet Noobs: The Life and Death of An Expert Player Group in World of Warcraft. New York: Peter Lang, 2012.Collective. Le Transmédia Dans Tous Ses États: Les Cahiers de Veille de la Fondation Télécom. Paris: Fondation Télécom, 2012. 29 Dec. 2017 <https://www.fondation-mines-telecom.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/2012-cahier-veille-transmedia.pdf\>.Davis, C.H. “Audience Value and Transmedia Products.” Media Innovations. Eds. T. Storsul and A. Krumsvik. Gothenburg: Nordicom, 2013. 179-190.Gambarato, Renira. “How to Analyze Transmedia Narratives?” Conference New Media: Changing Media Landscapes. Saint Petersburg, 2012. 2017 <http://prezi.com/fovz0jrlfsn0/how-to-analyze-transmedia-narratives>.Gambarato, Renira. “Transmedia Storytelling.” Serious Science, 2016. 2017 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thZnd_K8Vfs>.Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture. Where Old and New Media Collide. Updated ed. New York: New York UP, 2006.JeuxOnLine. “Game of Thrones Ascent.” 2013. <http://www.jeuxonline.info/jeu/Game_of_Thrones_Ascent>.Peyron, David. Culture Geek. Limoges: FYP Editions, 2013.Philipps, Andrea. A Creator’s Guide to Transmedia Storytelling: How to Captivate and Engage Audiences across Multiple Platforms. New York: McGraw-Hill Education, 2012.Saint-Gelais, Richard. Fictions Transfuges. La Transfictionnalité et Ses Enjeux. Paris: Seuil, 2011.Sepulchre, S. Le Transmédia Dans Tous Ses États: Les Cahiers de Veille de la Fondation Télécom. Paris: Fondation Télécom, 2012. 29 Dec. 2017 <https://www.fondation-mines-telecom.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/2012-cahier-veille-transmedia.pdf>.———. “La Constellation Transmédiatique de Breaking Bad: Analyse de la Complémentarité Trouvée entre la Télévision et Internet.” ESSACHESS-Journal for Communication 4.1 (2011). 29 Dec. 2017 <http://www.essachess.com/index.php/jcs/article/view/111>. ———. “Les Constellations Narratives: Que Font les Téléspectateurs des Adaptations Multimédiatiques des Séries Télévisées?” TV/Series 3 (2013). 29 Dec. 2017 <http://journals.openedition.org/tvseries/729>. ———. “Editorial.” Inter Pares: Revue Électronique de Jeunes Chercheurs en Sciences Humains et Sociales 6 (2016). 29 Dec. 2017 <https://epic.univ-lyon2.fr/medias/fichier/inter-pares-6-maquette-v8web_1510576660265-pdf>.Servais, Olivier. “Funerals in the “World of Warcraft”: Religion, Polemic, and Styles of Play in a Videogame Universe.” Social Compass 62.3 (2015): 362-378.Stein, Louisa Ellen, and Kristina Busse. Sherlock and Transmedia Fandom: Essays on the BBC series. Jefferson: McFarland, 2014.

"The eye altering, alters all." - Blake In his essay "How Culture Conditions the Colours We See," Umberto Eco claims that chromatic perception is determined by language. Regarding language as the primary modeling system, Eco argues for linguistic predominance over visual experience: ". . . the puzzle we are faced with is neither a psychological one nor an aesthetic one: it is a cultural one, and as such is filtered through a linguistic system" (159). Eco goes on to explain that he is 'very confused' about chromatic effect, and his arguments do a fine job of illustrating that confusion. To Eco's claim that color perception is determined by language, one can readily point out that both babies and animals, sans language, experience--and respond to--color perception. How then can color be only a cultural matter? Eco attempts to make a connection between the "negative concept" of a geopolitical unit (e.g., Holland or Italy defined by what is not Holland or Italy) and a chromatic system in which "units are defined not in themselves but in terms of opposition and position in relation to other units" (171). Culture, however, is not the only determinant in the opposition that defines certain colors: It is a physiological phenomenon that the eye, after staring at one color (for example, red) for a long time, will see that color's complement, its opposite (green), on a white background. Language is a frustrating tool when discussing color: languages throughout the world have only a limited number of words for the myriad color-sensations experienced by the average eye. Though language training and tradition have an undoubtedly profound effect on our color sense, our words for color constitute only one part of the color expression and not always the most important one. In his Remarks on Colour (1950-51), Wittgenstein observed: 'When we're asked 'What do the words 'red', 'blue', 'black', 'white' mean?' we can, of course, immediately point to things which have these colours,--but our ability to explain the meanings of these words goes no further!' (I-68). We can never say with complete certainly that what this writer meant by this color (we are already in trouble) is understood by this reader (the woods are now officially burning). A brief foray into the world of color perception discloses that, first and foremost, a physiological process, not a cultural one, takes place when a person sees colors. In his lively Art & Physics (1991), Leonard Shlain observes that "Color is the subjective perception in our brains of an objective feature of light's specific wavelengths. Each aspect is inseparable from the other" (170). In his 1898 play To Damascus I, August Strindberg indicated specifically in a stage direction that the Mourners and Pallbearers were to be dressed in brown, while allowing the characters to defy what the audience saw and claim that they were wearing black. In what may well be the first instance of such dramatic toying with an audience's perception, Strindberg forces us to ask where colors exist: In the subject's eye or in the perceived object? In no other feature of the world does such an interplay exist between subject and object. Shlain notes that color "is both a subjective opinion and an objective feature of the world and is both an energy and an entity" (171). In the science of imaging (the transfer of one color digital image from one technology to another) recent research has suggested that human vision may be the best model for this process. Human vision is spatial: it views colors also as sensations involving relationships within an entire image. This phenomenon is part of the process of seeing and unique to the way humans see. In some ways color terms illustrate Roland Barthes's arguments (in S/Z) that connotation actually precedes denotation in language--possibly even produces what we normally consider a word's denotation. Barthes refers to denotation as 'the last of connotations' (9). Look up 'red' in the American Heritage Dictionary and the first definition you find is a comparison to 'blood.' Blood carries with it (or the reader brings to it) a number of connotations that have long inspired a tradition of associating red with life, sex, energy, etc. Perhaps the closest objective denotation for red is the mention of 'the long wavelength end of the spectrum,' which basically tells us nothing about experiencing the color red. Instead, the connotations of red, many of them based on previous perceptual experience, constitute our first encounter with the word 'red.' I would not be so inclined to apply Barthes's connotational hierarchy when one sees red in, say, a painting--an experience in which some of the subjectivity one brings to a color is more limited by the actual physical appearance of the hue chosen by the artist. Also, though Barthes talks about linguistic associations, colors are more inclined to inspire emotional associations which sometimes cannot be expressed in language. As Gaston Bachelard wrote in Air and Dreams: An Essay on the Imagination of Movement: 'The word blue designates, but it does not render' (162). Still, the 'pluralism' Barthes argues for in reading seems particularly present in the reader's encounter with color terms and their constant play of objectivity/subjectivity. In painting color was first released from the confines of form by the Post-Impressionists Cézanne, Gauguin, and van Gogh, who allowed the color of the paint, the very marks on the canvas, to carry the power of expression. Following their lead, the French Fauve painters, under the auspices of Matisse, took the power of color another step further. Perhaps the greatest colorist of the twentieth century, Matisse understood that colors possess a harmony all their own--that colors call out for their complements; he used this knowledge to paint some of the most harmonious canvases in the history of art. 'I use the simplest colors,' Matisse wrote in 'The Path of Color' (1947). 'I don't transform them myself, it is the relationships that take care of that' (178). When he painted the Red Studio, for example, the real walls were actually a blue-gray; he later said that he 'felt red' in the room--and so he painted red (what he felt), leaving the observer to see red (what she feels). Other than its descriptive function, what does language have to do with any of this? It is a matter of perception and emotion. At a 1998 Seattle art gallery exhibit of predominantly monochromatic sculptures featuring icy white glass objects, I asked the artist why he had employed so little color in his work (there were two small pieces in colored glass and they were not as successful). He replied that "color has a tendency to get away from you," and so he had avoided it as much as possible. The fact that color has a power all its own, that the effects of chromaticism depend partially on how colors function beyond the associations applied to them, has long been acknowledged by more expressionistic artists. Writing to Emile Bernard in 1888, van Gogh proclaimed: 'I couldn't care less what the colors are in reality.' The pieces of the color puzzle which Umberto Eco wishes to dismiss, the psychological and the aesthetic, actually serve as the thrust of most pictorial and literary uses of color spaces. Toward the end of his essay, Eco bows to Klee, Mondrian, and Kandinsky (including even the poetry of Virgil) and their "artistic activity," which he views as working "against social codes and collective categorization" (175). Perhaps these artists and writers retrieved color from the deadening and sometimes restrictive effects of culture. Committed to the notion that the main function of color is expression, Matisse liberated color to abolish the sense of distance between the observer and the painting. His innovations are still baffling theorists: In Reconfiguring Modernism: Exploring the Relationship between Modern Art and Modern Literature, Daniel R. Schwarz bemoans the difficulty in viewing Matisse's decorative productions in 'hermeneutical patterns' (149). Like Eco, Schwarz wants to replace perception and emotion with language and narrativity. Language may determine how we express the experience of color, but Eco places the cart before the horse if he actually believes that language 'determines' chromatic experience. Eco is not alone: the Cambridge linguist John Lyons, observing that color is 'not grammaticalised across the languages of the world as fully or centrally as shape, size, space, time' (223), concludes that colors are the product of language under the influence of culture. One is reminded of Goethe's remark that "the ox becomes furious if a red cloth is shown to him; but the philosopher, who speaks of color only in a general way, begins to rave" (xli). References Bachelard, Gaston. Air and Dreams: An Essay on the Imagination of Movement. Dallas: The Dallas Institute Publications, 1988. Barthes, Roland. S/Z. Trans. Richard Miller. New York: Hill and Wang, 1974. Eco, Umberto. 'How Culture Conditions the Colours We See.' On Signs. Ed. M. Blonsky. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1985. 157-75. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang. The Theory of Colors. Trans. Charles Lock Eastlake. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1970. Lyons, John. 'Colour in Language.' Colour: Art & Science. Ed. Trevor Lamb and Janine Bourriau. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. 194-224. Matisse, Henri. Matisse on Art. Ed. Jack Flam. Rev. ed. Berkeley: University of California, 1995. Riley, Charles A., II. Color Codes: Modern Theories of Color in Philosophy, Painting and Architecture, Literature, Music and Psychology. Hanover: University Press of New England, 1995. Schwarz, Daniel R. Reconfiguring Modernism: Explorations in the Relationship between Modern Art and Modern Literature. New York: St. Martin's, 1997. Shlain, Leonard. Art & Physics: Parallel Visions in Space, Time & Light. New York: Morrow, 1991. Strindberg, August. To Damascus in Selected Plays. Volume 2: The Post-Inferno Period. Trans. Evert Sprinchorn. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986. 381-480. Van Gogh, Vincent. The Letters of Vincent van Gogh. Trans. Arnold Pomerans. London: Penguin, 1996. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Mussari, Mark. "Umberto Eco Would Have Made a Bad Fauve" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.3 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/eco.php>. Chicago Style Mussari, Mark, "Umberto Eco Would Have Made a Bad Fauve" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 3 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/eco.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Mussari, Mark. (2002) Umberto Eco Would Have Made a Bad Fauve. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(3). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/eco.php> ([your date of access]).

This three-volume study considers two major groups of Charpentier's oeuvre: the self-contained musico-dramatic Pastorales composed for his pious patroness, the Duchesse de Guise, and others; and the intermedes and incidental music written for Moliere and the Comedie-Franpise. The Introduction to Volume One sets Charpentier in his milieu in late seventeenth-century France and provides a background to the categories of stage work for which he composed. Chapter one discusses the Pastorale, its history, the de Guise household, and Charpentier's compositions, and chapter two the intermedes and incidental music for the Comedie-Franpise, mentioning the relationship between Moli-ere and Lully, Lully's ordinances, the personnel, and the works. Chapter three discusses the music of all these works in five categories (instrumental music, recitatif and ariose, air, ensemble, and choruses) and attempts to draw some conclusions. Volume one concludes with an appendix which cites the sources of all the works under discussion, and a bibliography. The most important contribution of this thesis is the nine complete transcriptions contained in Volumes Two and Three (five Pastorales in Volume Two and incidental music for four Comedie-Fransaise productions in Volume Three) along with commentary. In addition, Volume Two outlines the editorial procedures adopted for the transcriptions and includes comments on such matters as key signatures, time signatures and tempi, and ornamentation.

L’objectif principal de cette étude est de mettre à jour l’œuvre de Sébastien Le Camus († 1677), un nom derrière lequel se cache également celui de son fils, Charles Le Camus († 1717), lui-même compositeur. Les 32 airs connus du père ont été rassemblés dans un recueil d’auteur posthume publié en 1678 à l’initiative du fils. En faisant appel à la métaphore du cercle avec ce recueil au centre, nous parcourons, en périphérie, l’ensemble des sources écrites qui permettaient la diffusion du genre de l’air, sérieux et spirituel, dans la seconde moitié du XVIIe siècle et au début du XVIIIe siècle : les recueils collectifs musicaux et poétiques imprimés chez Ballard, les manuscrits conservés en France et à l’étranger, un roman – Clélie de Madeleine de Scudéry – et un périodique, le Mercure galant. Les 211 airs de Sébastien et Charles Le Camus collectés à ce jour ont été détachés de ces sources pour être maintenant rassemblés dans un catalogue (vol. 3) et dans une édition musicale moderne (vol. 4). La dynastie en miniature amène à s’interroger à la fois sur l’objet « partition » et sur la notion d’auteur, questionnée puis mise au centre de notre étude (vol. 1 et 2). En maniant finement cette notion plastique, nous offrons au musicien et au musicologue une analyse tant du contexte de création des airs que du matériau musical en tant que tel. Cette analyse, qui propose un va-et-vient entre la théorie et la pratique contemporaines de nos auteurs, amène à voir l’air comme un genre en mouvement dont la vie dépend tant de son succès dans les réseaux de sociabilité que de sa faculté à être composé, décomposé et recomposé pour s’adapter aux circonstances de son exécution
The main goal of this study is to unveil the work of Sébastien Le Camus († 1677), behind whose name one also finds that of his son, Charles Le Camus († 1717), himself a composer. A collection of the father’s 32 known airs was published posthumously in 1678 upon the son’s initiative. By means of a metaphor, where that collection is at the centre of a circle, we navigate on the circle’s periphery through the set of written sources that allowed for diffusion of the genre of the French air, both secular and sacred, in the second half of the 17th century and at the beginning of the 18th century: The collections of airs and song-texts published by Ballard, the manuscripts kept in France and abroad, a novel – Clélie by Madeleine de Scudéry – and a periodical, the Mercure galant. The 211 airs by Sébastien and Charles Le Camus collected to date, extracted from those sources, are now gathered in a catalogue (vol.3) and in a modern music edition (vol.4). The miniature dynasty leads to explore the « score » as an object as well as the notion of author, first questioned and then set at the core of our study (vol.1 and 2). By subtle handling of that flexible notion, we offer to musicians and musicologists an analysis of both the airs’ creation context and the music material itself. This analysis, based on a constant dialogue between the theory and the practice of our authors’ time, leads to viewing the air as a dynamic genre whose life depends on its success within social milieus as much as on its ability to be composed, decomposed and recomposed according to the requirements of its performance context

Le traité de rythmique de Francisco Salinas, seconde partie de son De Musica Libri Septem de 1577, est révélateur de tendances communes à l’ensemble du mouvement humaniste européen du XVIe siècle. En restituant une modélisation « à l’antique » du rythme musical, Salinas prétend résoudre les contradictions du système mensural en vigueur, dans l’économie des agencements de durées sonores organisées par une battue proportionnelle, et suit un impératif de simplification qui concerne également les autres sciences du nombre. Cette entreprise de recadrage épistémologique se double d’une valorisation esthétique de la simplicité du « mètre », en vertu de son pouvoir sur les esprits, et au nom d’objectifs extra-musicaux partagés par tous les courants réformateurs. Le traité sert parallèlement des ambitions pédagogiques et missionnaires, et s’inscrit dans des « politiques du mètre » visant à la maîtrise des outils de contrafacture, comme à la création de « cantiques nouveaux ». Les savoirs-faire dont il promeut l’exercice, et qui culminent dans l’art de faire des vers musicaux et de construire des formes strophiques élaborées, révèlent ses parentés avec les recherches des élites culturelles françaises à la même époque, qui formaient un horizon d’attente particulièrement favorable à ces théories. L’impact du texte de Salinas sur les évolutions des conceptions rythmiques entre la Renaissance et l’âge baroque affecte aussi bien les typologies que les notations des nouveaux langages musicaux, ainsi que les diverses expressions d’une « crise de la conscience rythmique » apparaissant dans les sources théoriques françaises de 1581 à 1640
Francisco Salinas' treatise on rhythm, the second part of his De Musica Libri Septem of 1577, is indicative of trends common to the entire European humanist movement of the sixteenth century. By restoring an "antique" model of musical rhythm, Salinas claims to solve the contradictions of the current mensural system, in the economy of arrangements of sound durations organized by a proportional beat, and follows a simplification imperative which also concerns the other sciences of the number. This epistemological reframing enterprise doubles as an aesthetic valuation of the simplicity of the "meter", by virtue of its power over the spirits, and in the name of extra-musical objectives shared by all reformist currents. The treatise also serves pedagogical and missionary ambitions, and is part of "meter policies" aimed at mastering tools of contrafacture, as at the creation of "new canticles". The know-how he promotes, and which culminates in the art of making musical verses and building up elaborate strophic forms, reveals his kinship with the research of French cultural elites at the same time, which formed a particularly favorable horizon for these theories. The impact that Salinas' text has had on the evolutions of the rhythmic conceptions between the Renaissance and the Baroque age affects both the typologies and notations of new musical languages, as well as the various expressions of a "crisis of rhythmic consciousness" appearing in French theoretical sources from 1581 to 1640

Notre étude de la musique pour orgue en France à l’Âge classique se centre sur sa dimension signifiante, et tout particulièrement sur sa fonction représentative du sacré. Notre intérêt a pour origine un constat : à l’heure actuelle, les travaux les plus importants consacrés à ce répertoire négligent la question, alors que la genèse de cette école organistique coïncide avec l’un des moments historiques les plus remarquables de la spiritualité catholique française (en effet, le XVIIe siècle n’est pas seulement le « Grand Siècle des idées » mais aussi le « Grand Siècle des âmes »). Dans cette optique, et partant du principe que la musique religieuse peut se comprendre comme un produit esthético-théologique façonné en fonction des besoins symboliques et expressifs de la liturgie (au même titre que d’autres manifestations d’art sacré), ce travail cherche à mettre en lumière la manière dans laquelle, grâce à un ensemble de catégories esthétiques et de topiques musicaux dirigés par des principes rhétoriques, la musique des organistes français peut communiquer les notions fondamentales de la doctrine chrétienne. Pour ce faire, nous proposons un parcours en quatre parties, abordant successivement les contextes culturel et spirituel du XVIIe siècle en France, les éléments constitutifs de l’univers signifiant du répertoire, l’organisation stylistique du répertoire, et finalement, d’un point de vue herméneutique, l’œuvre de trois compositeurs majeurs de cette tradition musicale : Nicolas de Grigny, Jean-Adam Guilain et François Couperin
This study of French organ music during the “Classical period” focuses on its signifying dimension, and particularly on its representative function in the liturgy. Our interest springs from an observation: the most important works devoted to this repertoire neglect the question, whereas the genesis of this organ school coincides with one of the most remarkable historical moments of Catholic spirituality. From this point of view, and assuming that sacred music can be understood as an aesthetic-theological product shaped according to the symbolic and expressive topics of the liturgy (in the same way as other manifestations of sacred art), our research seeks to demonstrate the way in which the music of French organists can communicate the fundamental notions of Christian doctrine through a set of aesthetic categories and musical topics directed by rhetorical principles. In this way, our work is divided into four parts, successively highlighting the cultural and spiritual contexts of the seventeenth century in France, the elements of the signifying universe of these music, the stylistic organization of the repertoire, and finally, from a hermeneutic point of view, the analysis of three major composers of this musical tradition: Nicolas de Grigny, Jean-Adam Guilain and François Couperin

La musique française pour clavecin des XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles est-elle jouée de nos jours telle qu’elle devrait l’être ? De quelles sources disposent musicologues et musiciens pour approcher au plus près l’authentique sonorité du clavecin, la technique de son jeu, et la compréhension de son répertoire ? Cette approche nous a conduit à discerner neuf points déterminants, essentiels à la compréhension de la facture du clavecin. La mesure d’octave des claviers français de l’époque était inférieure à celle des instruments des pays voisins, et notamment inférieure à celle appliquée dans la facture de nos jours. Pour mémoire, cette mesure conditionne l’écartement entre le pouce et l’auriculaire, lequel écartement influence le jeu. Si l’écart est de moindre taille, les doigts sont plus rapprochés, et de ce fait, la main gagne en décontraction. Le jeu à la française se distingue aussi depuis ses origines par l’extrême souplesse de l’harmonisation, le peu de tension des cordes et le diapason bas (le La3 à 392 – 406 Hz). Par ailleurs, nous avons pu révéler l’existence de clavecins à trois claviers, la présence du seize pieds et du jeu nasal dans certains instruments (alsaciens notamment), et la paternité française de l’éclisse courbe en forme de « S ». Concernant les claviers, l’évolution de l’ambitus de l’instrument depuis le début du XVIIe jusqu’à la fin du XVIIIe siècle est bien connue des musicologues et des musiciens. Toutefois, aucune étude de cette évolution n’a été réalisée pour démontrer l’élargissement des claviers depuis le premier livre imprimé en 1670, les pièces de clavecin de Chambonnières, jusqu’à l’ambitus définitif des cinq octaves imposées dans les pièces de clavecin en concerts de Rameau en 1741. Notre étude s’est également étendue aux cordes, par la vérification de leur épaisseur et des matières dont elles étaient faites. Il s’avère que les facteurs de l’époque utilisaient des diamètres inférieurs à ceux des cordes actuelles, et qu’elles n’ont jamais été en cuivre dans les basses. Seul le laiton à forte teneur en cuivre était considéré comme satisfaisant pour la sonorité des cordes les plus graves. Quant aux cordes des trois cinquièmes supérieurs du clavier, elles étaient faites en fer mou qui n’avait qu’une faible tension. Il va sans dire que l’acier, employé de nos jours, était inconnu à cette époque. Enfin, il est admis aujourd’hui que le clavecin, une fois le tempérament posé, s’accorde en octaves pures, alors qu’il en était tout autrement au XVIIIe siècle, ainsi que nous l’avons établi à travers un texte de Corrette
Is French harpsichord music of the 17th and 18th centuries played today as it should be ? What sources can help musicologists and musicians to reproduce the authentic harpsichord sound and playing techniques of that epoch, and understand its repertoire, as faithfully and fully as possible ? The mere fact that this music went unplayed for so long prompts that question. In fact, the harpsichord was forgotten overnight. The favoured instrument of court and fashionable society under the ancien régime, it had aristocratic associations which doomed it when the Revolution came. A century later, in June 1889, the noble, silvery sound of its plucked strings made a first, hesitant comeback, thanks to Louis Diémer. But it was only in the 20th century, between the two world wars, that Wanda Landowska’s tireless enthusiasm gave this baroque keyboard instrument a new lease of life. Interest in building “old-style” harpsichords, using traditional techniques, first developed in the late 1950s, and their popularity has grown steadily ever since. Today’s enthusiasts want to go back to the origins, and revive old ideas and techniques, but they still have a long way to go. At an earlier stage, techniques used in making pianos were extended to harpsichords - and some of these “alien” elements and additions are still present. We felt the time had come to clarify the picture by consulting certain contemporary texts, which had been unduly neglected. We found indeed that these were at odds with twentieth- century improvements, had been mistranslated or misunderstood, or were, quite simply, hard to find.Anyone wishing to form an idea of the original harpsichord sound must start with organology, and the various instruments used by French musicians in the 17th and 18th centuries offer valuable clues. X-ray examination reveals their design and shows how they were regulated (keys, jacks, plectra).Thanks to this approach, we have identified nine essential factors which illuminate the design and construction of these instruments. French manuals of the time had a narrower octave span than those of instruments made in neighbouring countries - or today. Span, of course, determines the distance between thumb and little finger, which itself affects playing. The smaller the gap, the closer the fingers, and the more relaxed the hand. From the beginning, the French sound was also distinguished by its highly flexible harmonies,low-tension strings and low pitch (A3 at 392-406 Hz.). We also found that some harpsichords had three manuals, that some (particularly Alsatian instruments) had 16 foot stops and a lute stop, and that the S-shaped bentside was a French innovation. Musicologists and musicians already know in general terms how manuals evolved from the early 17th to the late 18th century, but no specific research has been done on the process by which they became wider, between 1670, when the first book, Chambonnière’s Pièces de clavecin, was published, and 1741, when Rameau’s Pièces de clavecin en concerts made five octaves the norm.We have also studied strings, their thickness and the materials of which they were made. We have found that string diameter was smaller than it is now, and that bass strings were never made of copper. Only brass with high copper content was thought to give the deeper strings a satisfactory sound. Strings on the upper three-fifths of the manual were made of soft iron, which had little tension. Steel, which is used today, was obviously unknown.Finally, harpsichords, once their temperament is established, are today tuned in pure octaves –which, as a text by Corrette has shown us, was far from being the case in the 18th century

Le répertoire profane imprimé dans la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle et au début du XVIIe siècle est riche de multiples objets musicaux, si l'on en croit tout du moins la diversité lexicale des titres de volumes publiés en France. Alors que dans la première moitié du XVIe siècle, le terme « chanson » est le titre incontournable placé en tête de volume par les imprimeurs de musique, à partir des années 1550 fleurissent de nouvelles appellations comme « chanson en forme de voix de ville », « ode », « chanson en façon d'air », « air de cour », « air », « dialogue », « sonnet », « Amours », « poésie », « quatrain », « chansonnette mesurée », « villanelle », « mascarade », « ballet », « récit » ou « vers mesurez ». Ces multiples dénominations ne renvoient toutefois pas nécessairement à des objets musicaux différents : pour exemple, au XVIe siècle, une même pièce peut être indifféremment appelée « chanson » et « ode » selon les publications. Cette observation amène à supposer que ces termes ne désignent pas des catégories s'excluant les unes les autres. Ces différentes rubriques sont au contraire poreuses, et leurs contours paraissent parfois vagues aux yeux du chercheur, notamment parce que les théoriciens de la musique, en particulier à la Renaissance, ne définissent pas les dénominations que l'on trouve dans les imprimés. Pour cette raison, l'enjeu de ce travail consiste à observer et à comprendre quelles sont les réalités éditoriales et musicales que recoupent les classifications et les termes utilisés dans les livres. Ce faisant, il s'agit de mettre en lumière le rôle clef de l'imprimeur de musique dans la fabrication matérielle du livre, et de se demander ainsi quelle est la part qu'il prend dans les mutations musicales
The french repertory printed during the second half of the sixteenth century and at the beginning of the seventeenth century is rich of many musical objects. If in the first half of the sixteenth century, the term « chanson » is the only title used in the editions, other denominations appear from 1552 as « chanson en forme de voix de ville », « ode », « chanson en façon d'air », « air de cour », « air », « dialogue », « sonnet », « Amours », « poésie », « quatrain », « chansonnette mesurée », « villanelle », « mascarade », « ballet », « récit » or « vers mesurez ». These denominations don't designate necessarly differents musical objects : for exemple, during the sixteenth century a same work could sometime be named « chanson » and « ode ». This observation tends to suppose that these terms don't designate indepedant categories. On the contrary, these headings are porous, and their outlines seems sometime vague, in particular because the renaissance music theorists don't define the terms used in the prints. For this reason, the goal of this dissertation consist to observe and understand what are the editorial and musical realities which tally with the classifications and the terms used in the collections. Thus, we would like to highlight the role of the music printer in the making of the book, and to wonder what is the part he takes in the musical mutations

Une somme considérable de légendes véhiculent des images éculées d’Henri IV et Louis XIII. Au premier d’être alors évoqué comme un personnage débonnaire, guerrier, vert galant, préférant les joies populaires de la poule au pot et des chansons licencieuses du Pont Neuf aux fastueux spectacles de cour, quand son fils est appréhendé comme un monarque taciturne, dominé par sa mère puis par le tout-puissant Richelieu. Rarement l’intérêt se porte alors sur leurs personnalités politiques qui pourtant, animées par la passion de la gloire, pleinement conscientes de leur rôle de souverains du royaume, usèrent toutes deux de l’art à des fins d’autorité, ouvrant la voie à leur illustre descendant : Louis XIV. Notre étude a pour ambition première d’analyser quel fut l’initiation, voire l’édification, de ces deux souverains. Les usages politiques des spectacles de cour ont pour beaucoup été mis en exergue, mais le lien entre éducation artistique et politique est, quant à lui, bien moins étudié. Or, apprentissage politique et enseignement artistique passent par la ‘‘rencontre’’ entre l’enfant et les spectacles. De cette rencontre, le prince pourra envisager les potentialités du fastueux et utiliser ces premières expériences comme une référence qu’il accommodera par la suite, à son profit. Quelle place fut alors donnée à la musique dans la formation humaniste que reçut le jeune Henri de Navarre ? Quel fut le rôle confié aux arts dans l’éducation de Louis XIII, tandis que sa mère, digne représentante de la dynastie Médicis, mettait un point d’honneur à entourer sa cour de fêtes perpétuelles ? Ce sont en effet les femmes, c’est indéniable, qui jouèrent un rôle de tout premier plan dans la mise en place et le développement des spectacles utilisés pour servir la propagande royaliste. C’est cette réflexion, autour de la place de ces ‘‘muses’’ dans la formation des souverains au mécénat artistique et plus encore à l’utilisation politique des arts, qui nourrit notre première partie. La seconde est entièrement consacrée à l’utilisation propagandiste de l’art. Sous les premiers Bourbons, la musique se développa sous ses aspects les plus divers, psaumes, cantiques, chansons populaires ou airs de cour, ballets, tous utilisés afin d’ancrer plus fortement leurs règnes au cœur de la tradition monarchiste française. Sous ces souverains, au pouvoir bien controversé, les fêtes firent partie intégrante de la stratégie gouvernementale ; elles ne jouèrent plus seulement le rôle décisif, mais désormais connu, de consolidateurs du pouvoir en place mais le légitimèrent, l’assirent. Ainsi naquit la dynastie Bourbon
A considerable amount of legends conveys hackneyed images of Henri IV and Louis XIII. The first one was then evoked as a good-natured, warlike figure and a Green Gallant who preferred the popular enjoyments of the boiled chicken and the bawdy songs of the Pont Neuf to the celebrations of the Valois court. His son was, as for him, considered as a taciturn monarch, dominated by his mother or by the almighty Cardinal Richelieu. Curiosity is then rarely aroused by their political personalities which, nevertheless livened up by the passion of the glory, conscious of their role as Kings of France, used both the art for authority purposes, opening the way to their illustrious descendant: Louis XIV.The first purpose of this study is to explore the initiation, if not the edification, of these sovereigns. The political uses of the splendoures were largely underlined, but the link between arts and political education is not much studied. Yet political learning and art education are conveyed by the "encounter" between the child and these shows. This encounter enables the prince to consider the potentialities of the luxurious, and to use these early experiences as a reference that he will accommodate to his profit afterward. Then what place was given to the music in the humanist formation received by the young Henri de Navarre? What was the role assigned to arts in the education of Louis XIII, while his mother, deserving representative of the Medici dynasty, made it a point of honor to provide her court with perpetual celebrations? Women undeniably played a first rank role in the implementation and the development of the court’s shows used to serve the royalist propaganda. This reflection around the role of these "muses" concerning the education of the sovereigns in the artistic sponsorship in addition to the political use of the arts will be the main focus of the first part. The second part is entirely dedicated to the propagandist use of the art. Under the first Bourbons, music developed as a wide range of appearances, psalms or hymns, popular songs or ‘‘airs de cour’’, ballets. All these forms emerged, anchoring more strongly their reigns in the tradition of the French monarchy. Under Henri IV and under his son, asserting a controversial power, the fêtes were part of the governmental strategy; they did not only play a decisive role in strengthening the power any more, they legitimized it, they consolidated it. This is how the dynasty of Bourbons was born

Les opéras de Jean-Baptiste de Lully (1632-1687) ont joui d’une diffusion européenne tant de son vivant que de manière posthume. Parmi les pays où ses opéras suscitèrent un véritable engouement, la Hollande bénéficiait d’une situation particulière. En effet, les opéras ont paru aussi bien dans les théâtres que dans l’édition musicale. Concernant l’édition musicale, la ville d’Amsterdam occupa un rôle primordial, où les opéras de Lully furent publiés non seulement en partitions générales et réduites, mais aussi en extraits vocaux et instrumentaux, dont les derniers ont pu être considérés comme les suites instrumentales. Celles-ci constituent un corpus exceptionnel dans la diffusion de l’opéra de Lully, car elles sont arrangées en 4 parties au lieu des 5 originairement présentées et ont joué un rôle intermédiaire entre l’opéra français et la suite d’orchestre allemande. Parmi les éditeurs contribuant à ce phénomène, il faut notamment distinguer un éditeur ayant exercé le commerce extensif : Estienne Roger (1665/66 - 1722). Au sein des recherches sur Roger, la publication de la musique instrumentale italienne et le commerce international représentaient deux enjeux majeurs. Pourtant, la place de la musique française dans ses éditions n’a pas suffisamment été évaluée, bien qu’elle ait atteint jusqu’à un tiers. Cette thèse traite de la particularité commerciale et éditoriale de ce domaine, en se focalisant sur les suites provenant des opéras de Lully. Trois points seront mis en examen : avantage de Roger en tant que libraire huguenot, son utilisation des catalogues lors de la vente des œuvres de Lully, caractéristiques musicales des suites par le biais de l’arrangement
The operas of Jean-Baptiste de Lully (1632-1687) enjoyed a European diffusion both during his lifetime and posthumously. Among the countries where his operas aroused a real enthusiasm, Holland enjoyed a special situation. Indeed, the operas appeared both in theaters and in music publishing. Concerning musical publishing, the city of Amsterdam occupied a primordial role, where Lully's operas were published not only in scores, but also in vocal and instrumental extracts, the last of which could be considered as the instrumental suites. These suites constitute an exceptional corpus in the diffusion of Lully's opera, as they are arranged in 4 parts instead of the 5 originally presented and played an intermediate role between the French opera and the German orchestra suite. Among the publishers contributing to this phenomenon, we must distinguish a publisher who has carried out the extensive marketing: Estienne Roger (1665/66 - 1722). In the researches about Roger, the publication of Italian instrumental music and international trade were two major issues. Yet the place of French music in his editions has not been sufficiently evaluated, although it has reached as much as a third. This thesis deals with the commercial and editorial character of this field, focusing on the suites resulting from the Lully’s operas. Three points will be examined: Roger's advantage as a Huguenot bookseller, his use of catalogs in the sale of Lully's works, musical features of the suites through the arrangement