“Keep it Weird”: Listening with Jonathan Sterne (1970-2025)
Dr. Jonathan Sterne passed away earlier this year. He was, in many ways, a model scholar and colleague.
The intellectual ferment of the field now called “sound studies” is often traced to the sonic ecologists of the 1960s, but the theoretical energy of the early 2000s, generated by figures such as Ana Maria Ochoa, Alexander Weheliye, Emily Thompson, Trevor Pinch (1952-2021), and of course Jonathan Sterne, was necessary for the field to gain interdisciplinary traction in the twenty-first century. Sterne’s The Audible Past: Cultural Origins of Sound Reproduction (Duke University Press: 2003) was perhaps the single-most important book in this regard.
Trained in communications, and working in departments of communication, first at Pitt and later McGill, Sterne oriented his work toward media studies, and indeed, The Audible Past is principally about mediation. It poses questions about the role of sound in the history of mediation that earlier generations of sound studies had tended to elide, especially regarding the contingent and often cultural role of the human ear in reception. These questions opened the door for anthropologists, historians, communications scholars and ethnomusicologists in particular to think and even identify with sound studies, and many of us who were trained in the 2000s did so enthusiastically, with Sterne’s writing a lodestar.
The enduring terms and frameworks that came from The Audible Past alone are remarkable: the audiovisual litany, a critique of the chestnut that hearing and vision are ideological binaries, for example, is practically axiomatic now in sound studies. And its clever expression of the audiovisual binary’s religious undertones (see also “The Theology of Sound: A Critique of Orality” [2011], one of many worthwhile Sternian deep cuts) further thickens the plot. Consider as well the concept of “audile techniques,” or vernacular methods of audition that emerge in response to new sound reproduction technologies, which has been used to frame countless projects in sonic histories of science, medicine, business, and technology. To revisit The Audible Past now is to witness a thinker who anticipated the central questions of an emergent field at the moment of its rekindling, with prescience and depth.
Sterne’s focus on media continued, although his second monograph—and Sounding Out!’s first book review!– MP3: The Meaning of a Format (Duke University Press: 2012) saw a move toward Marxist economic analysis, the kind of methodological shift that he would pull off time and again. The book is almost certainly the most complete treatment of what was (and to some degree remains) the world’s most important audio reproduction format, and once again he introduced a concept, that of “format theory,” that is widely and actively cited (and reviewed by Pitchfork!). The book is also funny! Sterne’s revelation of the Napster cat head logo at the end of a chapter about the role of cat heads in auditory lab experiments is the sort of superb comic timing which, to put it lightly, one doesn’t find much in academic writing.
Sterne was not limited to media-focused work, however. He was responsive to current events: his 2012 “Quebec’s #casseroles: on participation, percussion and protest,” for instance, was an on-the-spot reading of the sonic tactics of local student tuition strikes. He worked ethnographically: a 1997 article, published in Ethnomusicology and called “Sounds Like the Mall of America: Programmed Music and the Architectonics of Commercial Space,” is an immersive study of music in retail space. He was an excellent editor: his 2012 The Sound Studies Reader (Routledge) is superbly curated, remaining a cornerstone assignment. More recently, he turned to disability studies, publishing Diminished Faculties: A Political Phenomenology of Impairment (Duke University Press) in 2022. The book is philosophical as well as reflexive and personal, showcasing yet more of his range. The way that Sterne allowed curiosity to lead his research in many directions suggests a scholar who was in the business for the right reasons.
Yet still this breadth and influence pales compared to what he arguably did best and most enthusiastically – mentoring students. He did not advise me formally, but when I was a graduate student he was friendly and accessible, which since his admission to hospice I have learned he was for many other people as well. Like the enduringly resonant concepts in The Audible Past and other books, bits of his advice still ring in my ears, and I pass those tidbits on to other students now. His letters of recommendation for his own students were inspired, indeed among the most thoughtful I’ve ever read. He respected his students enormously, and on their behalf wrote long, detailed letters in which they were cast as mature thinkers, and their scholarship as a serious project.
There are many scholars whom we might memorialize for their published contributions, but we should reserve a higher space for those whose mentorship commitments were as deep as Sterne’s. For all of his critical insights, he was motivated in the end not by status but by community, which the outpouring of sadness at his passing reveals above all. Farewell, then, to an architect of sound studies who, safe to say, was also widely loved.
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PS: We encourage you to leave “Sterne stories” and other memories of Jonathan in the comments to this post.
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Benjamin Tausig is associate professor of music at SUNY-Stony Brook University, and author of Bangkok Is Ringing: Sound, Protest, and Constraint (Oxford, 2019) and Bangkok After Dark: Maurice Rocco, Transnational Nightlife, and the Making of Cold War Intimacies (Duke, 2025).
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REWIND!…If you liked this post, you may also dig:
Quebec’s #casseroles: on participation, percussion and protest–Jonathan Sterne
Sounding Out! Podcast #27: Interview with Jonathan Sterne
This is What It Sounds Like . . . . . . . . On Prince (1958-2016) and Interpretive Freedom–Benjamin Tausig
SO! Amplifies: The Electric Golem (Trevor Pinch and James Spitznagel)—Qiushi Xu
SO! Reads: Jonathan Sterne’s MP3: The Meaning of a Format–-Aaron Trammell
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The Sounds of Equality: Reciting Resilience, Singing Revolutions
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SO! Amplifies. . .a highly-curated, rolling mini-post series by which we editors hip you to cultural makers and organizations doing work we really really dig. You’re welcome!
When the pandemic hit the world in late 2019, the concept of lockdown ceased the social life of the people and their communities. In these unprecedented circumstances, a video from Italy took the internet. People in Italian towns such as Siena, Benevento, Turin, and Rome were singing from their windows and balconies, which raised morale. The song “Bella Ciao,” an old partisan Italian song, became an anthem of hope against adversity. This anti-fascist song was popularized during the mid-20th century across the globe as a part of progressive movements. Following this, people in many countries around the world created their renditions of “Bella Ciao” in Turkish, Arabic, Kurdish, Persian, French, Spanish, Armenian, German, Portuguese, Russian, and within India in languages such as Punjabi, Marathi, Bangla, and even in sign language renditions. It was such an apt moment that captured the idea of empathy, solidarity, and the human need for community. This moment was still resonating with me when I was approached by Goethe Institut, New Delhi, to work on music and protest, and create The Music Library. I knew what I needed to do.
Embed from Getty ImagesThe Music Library was conceptualized as a weekly playlist of protest songs. I believe protests are not just demands but are aspirations, unfulfilled promises that truly represent the resilience of people. I could not imagine anything more beautiful than protest music to represent the world, as it amplifies human desires for connection and better days ahead. I designed it as a weekly music bulletin that people could dwell in for half an hour, and it would be like a short musical insight to that country or theme. Although the project had to be cut short due to institutional limitations, The Music Library creted 36 weekly playlists focused on liberation movements, anti-colonial struggles, people’s uprisings, and popular expressions of dissent.
The Music Library hosts two types of playlists: issue-based and country- or region-specific. This approach curates and classifies music for a broader audience attuned to these categories. When I prepare a playlist, the first thing I seek is to incorporate marginalized and diverse voices. Diversity can be based on caste, gender, language, region, and more. I typically favor field recordings, amateur productions, and emerging artists. Occasionally, the featured artists have as few as 50 views on their videos. After listening to numerous songs and consulting individuals with greater expertise, I select 5-8 songs and then write a blurb to introduce the playlist. Sometimes, I also seek help for language assistance. In that sense, it’s a very collaborative effort. The Music Library’s mission resonates with Merje Laiapea’s mapping of Ukrainian resistance to the Russian invasion through music. The Music Library similarly engages protest music, but with a wider array of areas and themes.
After the first few weeks, I decided to transition from Indian protest music to global and I wanted to foster a gradual introduction instead of a snap transition. I realized that inviting guest curators would enable the transition to linger on for a bit before settling in, and the guest curators would have a much better idea of the protest culture in their respective country and/or area of research. For example, Sara Kazmi, a scholar-activist-singer from Pakistan, curated a playlist on protest music of Pakistan; Yueng, who is researching Hong Kong music for his Ph.D, curated a playlist on The Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong. So their expertise and knowledge of respective countries give us a better sense of what protest music is for people there than I could provide on my own. Like Sara and Yueng, many of the guest curators have either been part of protest movements or have written, observed, or researched closely. Likewise, there are guest playlists by musicologist Lucas Avidan that emphasize the prominence of hip-hop music, or as some call it “Bonga flava” in Tanzanian protest music, and a playlist on MC Todfod, an emerging rapper from Mumbai Hip-Hop collective Swadesi who passed away at the age of 24. Protests themselves are essentially about bringing people together and working together. In this sense, the co-curatorial process resonated with the idea of protest music itself as a collective action.
The idea of protest is essentially an act, attitude, orientation, and assertion against the dominant conservative system. So, in that sense, its definition is as varied as the kinds of conservatism existing in societies. It could be based on class, caste, gender, race, nation, region, language, food, and culture. In short, protest music means speaking up against power. Protest music plays multiple roles for the people practicing it or whom it represents. In a highly unequal power relationship, it is like a crack or a rupture against hegemony. In others, it asserts power. For many, protest music symbolizes an idea, utopia, like one world or Begumpura, i.e., land without sorrow, in 15th-century saint-poet Ravidas from India. With old social issues such as casteism, patriarchy, feudalism still lingering around and consolidating, and capitalism and nationalism getting strongholds across the globe, the world is more fragmented and hostile. In this situation, the protest music from around the world raises some particular issues but also many universal ones, such as equality, recognition, dignity, food, housing, healthcare, education, and above all, the right to live as an equal citizen. The Music Library brings all of this protest music under a single umbrella, as all this music has one thing in common: Resilience! At times, The Music Library is a music room that soothes, and other times a war cry for equality!
Bangladesh’s playlist, for example, curated by Dhaka-based artist, Emdadul Hoque Topu, is based on Liberation War songs. The Liberation War was a unique liberation movement based on linguistic identity. So, language, a mode of expression like music, was at the heart of the movement. Interestingly, when the recent popular uprising occurred, I was in Dhaka and saw the popular resentment against the Liberation War and its icons. It shows that protest music is as evolving and contemporary as any other expressive form, one age’s protest song could later turn into a voice of the oppressor or used to oppress any dissent. For instance, Rajakars, a term that till recently had very negative connotation due to its association with the detractors of anti-liberation, has been employed and repurposed in a chant or slogan ami ke, tumi ke, Rajakar, Rajakar (who am I, who are you, Rajakar, Rajakar) for the current uprising that led to the overthrow of the Sheikh Hasina-led government.
In another instance, the historic Farmer’s Protest of 2020-21 in India–termed the biggest movement in recorded history– has led to a proliferation of music to bolster it. Though the protest started in the north Indian state of Punjab, it spread across India and drew global support. Punjab is a musically unique place; it is one of India’s most popular and prolific independent music industries. Due to early migration history, Punjabi music has spread globally and has been adaptive of derived from various musical cultures such as rap, pop, etc, while maintaining its distinct linguistic identity. This made the Punjabi music popular and relevant beyond its linguistic boundaries. The movement has been chronicled by a newsletter called the Trolley Times, where I worked as a co-editor. Numerous Punjabi singers have contributed immensely by producing music and being part of the movement. After a long time, a strong impulse in the popular cultural sphere evolved in solidarity with the mass movement.
The Music Library was under construction when the world was going through a pandemic, and unprecedented isolation, a hallmark of oppression. In the pandemic, when people were dying, this quote became popular: Corona is the virus, Capitalism is the pandemic. People could see the havoc of capitalism playing out in full public display from the first world to the third world. Someone who is cornered, pushed against the wall, with no recourse to grievance redressal, cries out to make themselves count, and find solidarity and rise. I designed The Music Library to show how music can break a slumber and bring people to march together, similarly to what “Bella Ciao” did during COVID-19.
It began as a hum that was joined by neighbors, and then it spread, loudly, across the world as an expression of solidarity and resilience. “Bella Ciao” is such a marvellous testimony of what music can do and has been doing! I hope The Music Library serves as a humble repository of this resilience.
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Featured Image: Image of “Bella Ciao” being sung in Santiago, Chile during the ‘estallido social’ (2019) by AbarcaVasti, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
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Mukesh Kulriya is a Ph.D. scholar in Ethnomusicology at The Herb Alpert School of Music, University of California, Los Angeles, USA. His research focuses on the intersection of music and religion in South Asia in the context of gender and caste. His Ph.D. research examines bhakti, or devotion practices within the ambit of popular religion in Rajasthan, India. Since 2010, he has collaborated on India-based projects centered around the craft, culture, folk music, and oral traditions as an organizer, archivist, translator, and researcher. He also works on global protest music and currently working on a podcast on Music and Hate.
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REWIND!…If you liked this post, you may also dig:
Twitchy Ears: A Document of Protest Sound at a Distance–Ben Tausig
The Sounds of Anti-Anti-Essentialism: Listening to Black Consciousness in the Classroom – Carter Mathes
#MMLPQTP Politics: Soccer Chants, Viral Memes, and Argentina’s 2018 “Hit of the Summer”–Michael S. O’Brien
A Tradition of Free and Odious Utterance: Free Speech & Sacred Noise in Steve Waters’s Temple–Gabriel Salomon Mindel and Alexander J. Ullman
Singing The Resistance: January 2017’s Anti-Trump Music Videos–Holger Schulze
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