The Jamaican system of recording and performance, from the 1950s to the present, constitutes a distinctive approach to notions of composition, originality and ownership. Emerging from a tradition of live performance practice mediated by (and informing) sound recordings, the relative autonomy of riddims and voicings in the Jamaican system challenges conventional ideas about the integrity of a song and the degree to which international copyright law applies to local conceptions, as enshrined in decades of practice, of musical materials as public domain. With the spread of the ‘riddim method’ to the sites of Jamaican mass migration, as evidenced by similar approaches in hip hop, reggaeton, drum'n'bass and bhangra, reggae's aesthetic system has found adherents among artists and audiences outside of Jamaica. This paper maps out, through historical description, ethnographic data, and musical analysis, the Jamaican system as a unique and increasingly influential approach to music-making in the digital age.

In ‘Dance Dance Revolution’ (DDR), an arcade and home video game distributed by the Japanese entertainment corporation Konami, players move their feet in specific patterns set to electronic dance music. Only by achieving a high accuracy rate can a player advance from one level to the next. DDR enjoys worldwide popularity among teenagers and young adults, partially due to the marketing of the game's ‘soundtracks’ as separate, purchasable collections of underground techno, house, and drum ‘n’ bass. This article considers the Internet communities of DDR fans and their debates concerning ‘mainstream’ culture and musical taste.

Nor-tec music was created at the Tijuana–San Diego border as a hybrid that incorporates the sounds of traditional music from the North of Mexico to computer-based styles of dance music. Through a distinct process of do-it-yourself distribution, Nor-tec quickly became a worldwide phenomenon in the underground electronic music scene. Based on extensive ethnographic work in Tijuana, Los Angeles and Chicago, this article compares different Nor-tec scenes in an attempt to identify how different transnational communities appropriate this music in order to imagine and conciliate notions of identity, modernity and tradition according to their specific social context. I focus on the relationship between discourses about Latinidad and Latino bodies, and their influence on the way different Latino communities dance and move to the Nor-tec beats.

In this Middle Eight using ethnographic observation and interviews made in Cuba in May–July 2005 and March–April 2006 I problematise the new Latina/o dance music ‘reggaetón’ which in the USA is being heralded as ‘‘an expression of pan-Latino identity … the latest Latin musical style to sweep the world … the one with the most promise of finding a permanent, prominent place not just in US but in global popular culture …” (Marshall, 2006). Notably along with hip-hop with which it is now related in Cuban cultural politics, this is the first pan-Latin style of non-Cuban origin to have a strong presence in post-‘Special period’ 1990s revolutionary Cuba. I focus on the significance and possible history of the dance moves and the lyrics of two key songs, discussing possible political double meanings and implications within a Cuban context. While focusing particularly on issues of regeton in Cuba, I place regeton in Cuba in the larger context of reggaetón history in the Latin world and of Latin dance history and discuss it within the constant construction of an appropriate Cuban national identity. I pose open questions about gender, sexuality and generational attitudes. The overall theoretical context falls within the context of Järviluoma et al's work on ‘gender as cultural construction’ (2003). It builds on work on gender and dance which forms a small part of Fairley (2004).

‘Are ye dancin’?' ‘Are ye askin’?' ‘Yes I’m askin” ‘Then I’m dancin'!' This was the exchange between couples in Glasgow early in the twentieth century at the height of the ballroom dancing boom that made the city one of the dancing capitals of the world. It lingers on in Scottish dancing parlance. In Havana, people were dancing danzón; in Buenos Aires, tango; and in Río de Janeiro, samba. It was a time of big orchestras when women wore evening dresses and men wore suits. Today, whilst the clothes may have changed, dance with its link to sensual pleasure continues to be fundamental to our cultures.

In this article I investigate how power is (re)produced on and through the body, specifically on Toronto's raving bodies during the summer of 2000. Toward the end of 1999 and throughout 2000, Toronto's rave culture came under intense surveillance by institutional and discursive authorities such as city councillors, police, parents, community health organisations, public intellectuals, and the mass media. What ensued was a temporary ban of raves in Toronto on city-owned property. In response to this ban, Toronto ravers relied on liberal approaches such as educational programmes and state lobbying as a way to protect their ‘freedom to dance’. In light of these reactions, one of my primary questions is: As rave becomes more normative, what are its own disciplinary mechanisms or techniques of control that are asserted at the site of the raving body?

This paper offers a case history of the BBC's ambivalent engagement with dance music during the Second World War. It examines what ‘dance music’ meant to the BBC, musicians, and the public, and how they contested and performed those meanings in the context of new social dance practices and the growing popularity of what became known as ‘swing’ in Britain. Although broadcasting in effect disembodied music closely associated with the physical, the BBC was a primary way for people to access dance music which supported their bodily acts of leisure and regimentation. The BBC's study and regulation of dance music centred around two goals: pleasing important groups in national service and broadcasting morale-boosting music. The problem of whether these goals were congruent lay at the heart of the issue, for the youth active in national service emerged as the primary audience for the two genres – ‘swing’ and ‘sentimentality’ – about which the BBC felt most dubious.

The Northern Soul scene is a dance-based music culture that originated in the English North and Midlands in the early 1970s. It still thrives today with a mix of forty-year-olds and new converts, and its celebration of 1960s' soul has an international following. Centred on the detail of the dance techniques, and musical and cultural context, the analysis presented here is developed from an ethnographic study. It uses a concept of competence and the example of a classic record to explore the meanings of dance for the scene's participants. The importance of solidarity, senses of identity through gender, place and ethnicity, and the relationship of the scene with African–American culture are explored. The study draws conclusions about the way that dance can be theorised and analysed, and argues that a full analysis requires an exploration of the relationship of physical movement to space, music and senses of identity.

Rap and ragga musics have found a place on the musical landscape of Malawi over the last decade, exemplified in a nation-wide scene characterised by competitions. Recordings and associated materials of rap and ragga that inform Malawian youth interpretations tend to emphasise male participation and masculine symbols. Competitions are male-dominated in their organisational structure and participatory roles. Though the articulated focus of these events is the musical component, movement practices are at the core of the scene, comprising part of contestants' performances and the more informal activities of spectators. Female involvement as dancers is much greater than as music-makers, making attention to dance crucial for understanding gender dynamics. Our exploration of intersections between dance, music, gender and class provides insight into the reasons for and implications of male dominance in this popular music/dance scene.