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Nuanced and multifaceted, Tania León's Stride looks at the life, legacy, and milieu that created and sustained one of the most important figures in American classical music.

Televising Taste: Performing Classical Music on American Screens explores how American television portrayed canonical European classical music in the Cold War era. Situating mid-century TV culture within a history of music visualization efforts, it complicates narratives about the postwar decades as a peak moment of polarity between “high” and “low” cultures, and between ideologies of consensus and rebellion. Drawing on discourse analysis, archival research, and the medium of videographic analysis, Evelyn Kreutzer suggests that the legacies of European classical music played an important part in the formation of an American national identity and that they were interwoven with and negotiated through popular media. Conjunctions of classical music and television occurred in dialogue with aspirations for cultural capital, which were attached to European classical music and inscribed into visions of American cultural literacy and citizenship. Simultaneously, these conjunctions responded to anxieties that popular culture and mass media would diminish “serious” music appreciation and turn audiences into passive consumers.

Through musical mediations on television, Televising Taste addresses larger ideological and historical implications of taste and canon politics, contributing a new interdisciplinary perspective on the interdependence of music and media cultures.

Great music arouses wonder: how did the composer create such an original work of art? What was the artist's inspiration, and how did that idea become a reality? Cultural products inevitably arise from a context, a submerged landscape that is often not easily accessible. To bring such things to light, studies of the creative process find their cutting edge by probing beyond the surface, opening new perspectives on the apparently familiar.

September 12, 1910: The world premiere of Gustav Mahler’s Eighth Symphony and the artistic breakthrough for which the composer had yearned all his life. Munich’s new Musik Festhalle was filled to capacity on two successive evenings for the performances, which were received with rapturous applause. Representatives of many European royal houses were in attendance, along with an array of stars from the musical and literary world, including Thomas Mann and the young Arnold Schoenberg. Also present were Alma Mahler, the composer’s wife, and Alma’s longtime lover, the architect Walter Gropius. Knowledge of their relationship would precipitate an emotional crisis in Mahler that, compounded with his heart condition and the loss of his young daughter Maria, would lead to his premature death the next year.

In The Eighth, Stephen Johnson provides a masterful account of the symphony’s far-reaching consequences and its effect on composers, conductors, and writers of the time. The Eighth looks behind the scenes at the demanding one-week rehearsal period leading up to the premiere—something unheard of at the time—and provides fascinating insight into Mahler’s compositional habits, his busy life as a conductor, his philosophical and literary interests, and his personal and professional relationships. Johnson expertly contextualizes Mahler’s work among the prevailing attitudes and political climate of his age, considering the art, science, technology, and mass entertainment that informed the world in 1910. The Eighth is an absorbing history of a musical masterpiece and the troubled man who created it.

The rare and beautiful Gostling Manuscript is a primary source for the anthems of Henry Purcell and other major composers of the English Restoration period. Listed as missing since its sale to an anonymous buyer in 1935, the manuscript was eventually discovered in the Humanities Research Center at the University of Texas at Austin. This facsimile edition of the Gostling Manuscript (sometimes referred to by scholars as the "W. Kennedy Gostling Manuscript") made the document available to a wide audience for the first time in its history.

The anthems in this volume were assembled by the Reverend John Gostling, a celebrated bass soloist and an assiduous collector of the contemporary music of his day. His musical taste and editorial judgment, not to mention his skill as a copyist, were excellent. The Gostling Manuscript, completed around 1706, is considered essential for collating and editing some of the best anthems of the period. These sixty-four pieces, fair-copied in full score, include seventeen by Purcell; twenty-four by John Blow; four each by William Turner, Pelham Humfrey, and Jeremiah Clark; three each by Matthew Locke and Thomas Tudway; one by both William Child and Francis Pigott; and three arrangements by Henry Aldrich of anthems by Carissimi, Byrd, and Wise.

Gostling appended inscriptions to many of the pieces, giving the date and circumstances of composition, notes of considerable value to the musical historian. This folio-size facsimile edition will serve not only as an invaluable anthology but also as a unique and singularly helpful source of information about English musical life in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.

The foreword by Franklin B. Zimmerman provides a brief history of the Gostling Manuscript.

Eloquently extolled by President John F. Kennedy, the idea that only artists in free societies can produce great art became a bedrock assumption of the Cold War. That this conviction defied centuries of historical evidence--to say nothing of achievements within the Soviet Union--failed to impact impregnable cultural Cold War doctrine.

Joseph Horowitz writes: “That so many fine minds could have cheapened freedom by over-praising it, turning it into a reductionist propaganda mantra, is one measure of the intellectual cost of the Cold War.” He shows how the efforts of the CIA-funded Congress for Cultural Freedom were distorted by an anti-totalitarian “psychology of exile” traceable to its secretary general, the displaced Russian aristocrat/composer Nicolas Nabokov, and to Nabokov’s hero Igor Stravinsky.

In counterpoint, Horowitz investigates personal, social, and political factors that actually shape the creative act. He here focuses on Stravinsky, who in Los Angeles experienced a “freedom not to matter,” and Dmitri Shostakovich, who was both victim and beneficiary of Soviet cultural policies. He also takes a fresh look at cultural exchange and explores paradoxical similarities and differences framing the popularization of classical music in the Soviet Union and the United States. In closing, he assesses the Kennedy administration’s arts advocacy initiatives and their pertinence to today’s fraught American national identity.

Challenging long-entrenched myths, The Propaganda of Freedom newly explores the tangled relationship between the ideology of freedom and ideals of cultural achievement.

Wide-ranging and astute, The Sounds of Place explores high art music's role in the making of national myth and memory.