For many Cubans, the internet remains an inaccessible destination. The residents of repartimiento districts – Black Cuban residents from outlying districts across Havana – manage the situation through custom solutions that bridge gaps of technological precarity. Utilizing USB drives to share content with one another, artists and music fans have constructed a complex, alternative internet that allows for the peer-to-peer trade of movies, music, and other media. Pirate digital networks such as el paquete semanal and Zapya, for instance, circulate music across the island without the need to rely on costly and unreliable internet infrastructure. Utilizing interviews, physical and digital ethnographies, and theories of viral musicking, I argue that Black Cuban artists and music fans, despite internet scarcity, use alternative networks to generate viral events. In particular, Cubans in 2021 joined in a transnational expression of sonic protest through the popularity of the politically subversive song ‘Patria y vida’, a song that circulated widely through underground, USB-based networks. In this article, I discuss the song's construction, circulation, and role in sounding the J-11 Cuban protests to demonstrate how Black Cuban artists and fans share music through USB-based networks not only to solve gaps in technologically precarious situations, but also to generate powerful moments of viral musicking.

A travelogue of an Israeli musicologist, descendant of German Jewish émigrés, her real and imaginary sonic journey roams between ruins and rubble in Germany and Israel/Palestine. She takes ruins as iconic, allegoric, and reverberating; partially resisting the ravages of time, enshrining sounds and memory. She deems rubble as formless, plain, and voiceless, devoid of identity, transient, and forgetful. The destruction of Jerusalem in 70 ce by the Romans is her starting point, and the currently occupied East Jerusalem by Israeli armed forces is where she ends. The imaginary soundscapes she unfolds resonates forlorn heavenly voices, Nazi youth's ditties, Israeli pop songs, operatic voices, and redemptive and subversive German and Israeli oratorios.

In May 2021, Brazilian pop-funk superstar Anitta released ‘Girl from Rio’. The song was based on the melodic foundation of the bossa nova song ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ that became a huge international hit at the end of the 1960s bossa nova craze. ‘Girl from Rio’ features trap beats on top of the familiar melody with a clear lyrical message that critiques international stereotypes of women from Brazil. When Anitta attempted to capture the US market through TikTok and a high-profile remix, much of her critique disappeared. This article employs the concept of ‘digital fatigue’ to explore how viral musical content loses crucial aspects of its meaning through circulation and endless embodied repetition. By focusing on how the repetition of viral musical media perpetuates stereotypes, it shows how the environment for transnational success requires easy associations to spread.

Argentine, Chilean, and Uruguayan hinchas (soccer or football supporters) cheer for their teams primarily through contrafacta of popular music. Until recently, chants were mainly composed in stadiums and other physical spaces of fan socialization. However, the increasing dominance of the messaging app WhatsApp has altered these sociomusical relations. Drawing on ethnographic work, I argue that the messaging app has fostered both sociality and anti-sociality within and between fanbases. Hinchas employ its creative affordances to digitally decentre creativity from individuals through the distribution of inventive tasks between different people. However, WhatsApp also contributes to football violence by intimately spreading hate memes, aggressive chants, and videos of torture, among other forms of violent media. In illustrating that the messaging app can immerse and infect subjects in both productive and destructive relationalities, this article ultimately underscores the social and anti-social potentialities of viral media and digital technologies.

Einojuhani Rautavaara's international fame rests largely on pieces celebrated for their apparently non-modernist accessibility. Cantus Arcticus – Concerto for Birds and Orchestra (1972) is greeted with suspicion on account of its wide appeal. This article reconsiders this piece in the context of his complicated and original stylistic development and re-evaluates its relation to Finnish nature and culture. By examining the intersections of nationalism, landscape, and modernism in a late twentieth-century piece, this discussion builds upon established research on early twentieth-century Nordic repertoire, applying it to this contemporary context. It also finds a new perspective by supplementing that approach to include more recent scholarship on post-war tonality. As a result, new insights into musical form and a post-serial renewal of tonal thinking emerge, and through its unique synthesis of seemingly diverse elements, Cantus Arcticus can be seen as a milestone work within Rautavaara's stylistic evolution.

The 2014 film Whiplash depicts successful jazz drumming as an athletic exhibition of speed and endurance, in a manner that reflects its protagonist's idolization of Buddy Rich (1917–87). The crowd-pleasing virtuosity of Rich and Whiplash has drawn critics’ ire, but this article interrogates the ideas of musical authenticity that underpin their complaints, and offers a more productive analysis of the film's drum kit performances and their inspiration, informed by a range of jazz, film, and performance scholarship. Specific attention is drawn to the performances’ visual attractions. Whiplash's fast editing style and shots of exertion – grimacing, sweat, blood – give non-expert viewers a sense of drumming's physical and mental demands, and much the same is true of Rich's exaggerated movements and expressions, whether seen live or (as is commonly the case) amplified by a screen's mediation.

Part of the United Kingdom's national reconstruction following the Second World War was reforming its self-image as a global power in light of imperial decline. This recasting took place across political and cultural spheres and emphasized the Commonwealth, idealized as a friendly collection of current and former colonies linked by British culture. In this article, I demonstrate how music broadcasting functioned as a site of diplomacy, using white, middle-class taste for light entertainment to reinforce British values at the Empire's twilight. I focus on musical depictions of the Commonwealth on the BBC radio programme Commonwealth of Song. Using archival records, I reconstruct debates concerning Commonwealth representation and its importance to British citizens. I argue that Commonwealth of Song was a site of testing and reformulating new sonic constructions of globally minded ‘Britishness’ in the 1950s, yet conflicting messaging about what musics and people should represent the Commonwealth led to a lukewarm reception.