Journal of Popular Music Studies, Volume 20, Issue 4, Pages 353–377

Still “In the Mood”: The Nostalgia Aesthetic in a

Digital World1
Christina Baade
McMaster University
Paul Aitken
University of Leeds

In a 2007 New York Times article, “The Album, a Commodity in Disfavor,”

Jeff Leeds (2007) discussed record companies’ growing realization that al-
bums may no longer be the best way to market new pop acts. Although the
decline of CD sales in mainstream pop is well documented, the format has
persisted as a viable sales vehicle in other genres, particularly the sprawling
genre of “nostalgia” CDs. Available in growing numbers since the 1980s,
nostalgia CDs offer music of the pre-rock era, especially dance bands, jazz,
and once-mainstream singers (Grainge 2000: 32). Their generic status is
best defined by their embodiment of “pastness,” which is crucial to their
marketing. Nostalgia CD reissues are always compilations, since they fea-
ture music from a variety of media, including 78-rpm records, recordings of
radio broadcasts, and even wax cylinders. Their nostalgic aesthetic involves
not only repertory, marketing, and visual presentation, but also sound, which
balances the often degraded quality of original master recordings with con-
temporary high-fidelity expectations. Perhaps unsurprisingly, with the rise
of digital distribution of compressed audio formats like the MP3, the CD
format itself is becoming a nostalgic object.
The beginnings of “nostalgia” as a music marketing category co-
incided with the beginnings of digital audio, the CD, and developments in
international copyright law and licensing.2 For major record companies, reis-
sues have provided a reliable way to generate income from back catalogues,
both through re-releases by the labels themselves and through licensing to
smaller labels. The rise of the World Wide Web provides another piece of the
puzzle, with its diffuse, low-overhead mode of marketing and distribution.
Although Internet music distribution is often cited as contributing to the
obsolescence of CDs, nostalgia CDs are interesting exceptions. According
to market research by the NDP Group, consumers over the age of fifty—a
logical demographic for nostalgia marketing—account for nearly 24% of

C Copyright the Authors. Journal Compilation 
C 2008 Wiley Periodicals, Inc.
354 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

online CD sales (Leeds 2006, “Uncool but True”). Popular online retail
sites like Amazon.com offer insights not only into what nostalgia reissues
are being purchased, but also, with their consumer reviews, into what some
listeners say about nostalgic appeal.
This article examines four different reissues of Glenn Miller’s “In
the Mood” as exemplars of how nostalgia aesthetics have been shaped by
cultural, technological, and economic factors. Iconic of both Miller’s music
and the swing era more generally, “In the Mood” is a particularly useful
example for several reasons. First, the version recorded on 1 August 1939
was, and continues to be, extremely popular. It initially stayed in the Hit
Parade for thirty weeks and has been reissued steadily, especially following
the successful 1953 film The Glenn Miller Story. Second, the composition is
part of a living performance tradition; it is played worldwide by ensembles
ranging from “tribute” bands to cruise-ship orchestras to student big bands.
Although regarded as stiff and corny by those advocating more sophisticated
varieties of American jazz, “In the Mood” has been canonized as a popu-
lar masterwork by textbooks and lists like the National Public Radio 100
and the Library of Congress’s National Recording Registry, which celebrate
its danceable tempo, recognizable riffs, and clever ending (see Starr and
Waterman 2003: 140–43; NPR 2000; and National Recording Preservation
Board 2004). It is emblematic of the popular swing aesthetic, the characteri-
zation of World War II as a “good war,” and the forward-looking, optimistic
sense of American identity associated with that era. Unsurprisingly, it is
ubiquitous online: an iTunes search yielded 150 hits while on Amazon.com,
of the 849 results for Miller, fifty CDs use or play upon “In the Mood” in
their titles. “In the Mood” is thus the epitome of commodified nostalgia, an
ever-proliferating brand of pastness.

Getting Back “In the Mood”: Mechanical Reproduction, Nostalgia,

and Distracted Critique
“In the Mood” is emblematic of commodified nostalgia because
of its familiarity, symbiosis with mechanical reproduction, and continued
ubiquity in performance and recordings. Its familiarity evokes a sense of
connection to the past, an association highlighted in many nostalgia reissues.
Meanwhile, its ready reproducibility meshes with the ethos of online retailers
like Amazon.com, with their emphasis on easy availability and wide-ranging
choice. Such sites operate not only as nodes for commerce, but are also
institutionalized as trustworthy resources for consumers, supported by their
Still “In the Mood” 355

user forums, which are often used to address reissues’ content, quality, and
relation to the past.
The combination of novelty and familiarity in Miller’s 1939 arrange-
ment of “In the Mood” made it well suited to the demands of mechanical
reproduction and repeated performance. It was iconic of Miller’s ability to
“merg[e] . . . adventurous swing and romantic, more melodic sweet music—
into a powerful amalgam” (Erenberg 1998: 186). The initial concept of stylis-
tic juxtaposition came from Joe Garland, the African-American arranger
who copyrighted the 12-bar blues riff—played largely by black bands since
the early 1930s—and incorporated it into a lengthy arrangement involving
a full 32-bar Tin Pan Alley-style chorus (NPR; Simon 1974: 177).3 Miller
bought Garland’s “In the Mood” in the summer of 1939 and proceeded to
refine it. For Miller’s biographer, George T. Simon (1974), “No Glenn Miller
recording illustrates more dramatically Glenn’s ability to take an arrange-
ment . . . and reduce it to a beautifully constructed, workable gem” (176).
Miller jettisoned the second half of Garland’s chorus, leaving an 8 + 8-bar
bridge, which formed the basis for Tex Beneke and Al Klink’s saxophone
duel and Clyde Hurley’s trumpet solo; rather than repeating the chorus, he
reprised the compelling blues riff for the number’s memorable decrescendo
and final forte statement (Simon 1974: 177). Throughout, a moderate swing
pulse and Miller’s trademark warm harmonies bonded the seemingly oppo-
sitional styles of blues and pop. The novelty of the ending dynamics and
ragtime-derived introduction was tempered by thorough-going repetition:
the blues riff was repeated twice at the beginning and four times at the end
while internal repetitions in the bridge provided reassuring structure to the
solos.4 With its instantly recognizable opening and memorable riff, “In the
Mood” fulfilled the demands of consumer appeal and ready reproducibility.
“In the Mood,” as Jean Baudrillard observed of commodities in
general, is thus a historical object that was “conceived from the point-of-
view of [its] very reproducibility” (1983: 100, emphasis in original). The
many “In the Mood” reissues available in CD and MP3 formats, especially
those featuring the original 1939 recording, appear as a triumph of the
simulacrum and the realization of the loss of symbolic interaction in a
society dominated by the endless circulation of signs.5 Yet, Baudrillard’s
more optimistic predecessor, Walter Benjamin (1968), writing three years
before Miller recorded “In the Mood,” suggested that shifts in perception
brought about by mechanical reproduction had the potential to free art from
its “cult” status. Without the traditional privileging of uniqueness and aura,
art works could meet audiences halfway. Receiving art through a fusion of
356 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

enjoyment and “distracted” critique, every witness became both critic and
expert (Benjamin 1968: 242–43).
The audience’s critical turn, represented here by Amazon.com cus-
tomer reviews, plays an important role in differentiating and evaluating the
plethora of Miller reissues. Despite the simulacral quality of such commodi-
ties, stripped as they are of aura, many reviewers conveyed their sense of an
original, historical “In the Mood,” which reissues captured adequately—or
not—in their remastering and packaging. Indeed, obsolete recordings and
their digital re-presentations convey a powerful sense of the past and help
register the passage of history, as Michael Taussig (1993) argued, embodying
in their quaintness modern ideas of progress (232–33). Rather than existing
as mere sign, “the commodity is both the performer and performance of the
naturalization of history, no less than the historicization of nature” (Taussig
1993: 233). Just as “In the Mood” is embedded in an ongoing live perfor-
mance tradition, its differing recorded reissues also perform a relationship
with the past.
Paul Grainge (2000) has suggested that “the aestheticization of nos-
talgia has emerged in a cultural moment able to access, circulate, and recon-
figure the textual traces of the past in new and dynamic ways” (33). Thus,
online shopping presents an interesting paradox: in a search for “authentic”
representations of the past, contemporary nostalgia seekers are turning to
the most “postmodern” of mass media, the Internet. To be sure, Miller’s
music successfully navigated the mass culture of its period, marketed as it
was through newspapers, magazines, and the distinctly modern medium of
radio. Among the myriad contrasts between the one-to-many model of older
media and the many-to-many paradigm of the Internet, however, is that the
consumption of music, nostalgic, or otherwise, has become deterritorialized:
marketing, distribution, and fan interaction all take place simultaneously on
the World Wide Web.
One of the crucial sites for this confluence of consumer activity is
Amazon.com, which since 1994 has grown into a multinational retailer of
goods, ranging from books and music to household items and consumer
electronics. Because of its high profile, longevity, and department-store ap-
proach to online commerce, it is considered one of the more trustworthy
sites for online purchasing, a critical accomplishment since trustworthi-
ness is a key requirement for successful online retail (see Jarvenpaa et al.
2000). Anthony Giddens has theorized that trust is a crucial factor in mod-
ern institutions: the perception that an abstract system’s human represen-
tatives are themselves trustworthy increases a layperson’s comfort with the
Still “In the Mood” 357

complexities of modern life (1990: 86). Giddens’s formulation is thus cru-

cial for the “abstract system” of online commerce: while Amazon deploys
many of the standard cues of size, expertise, and secure purchasing, one of
the most striking ways in which it builds trust is through customer reviews.
Reviewers of nostalgia CDs operate at once as members of the consuming
public and as expert-critics, who often exercise their freedom to post nega-
tive assessments, the frankness of which further engenders trust in Amazon’s
system. Many of the reviewers discussed here establish their own credibility
by listing work experience, personal stories, and even academic affiliations.
Overall, they share a wealth of information on Miller’s music, remastering
techniques, and understandings of nostalgia. For most, the crucial evaluation
criteria are sound quality and the connections that CDs establish with the
past—in other words, the degree to which the CDs successfully deploy the
aesthetics of nostalgia.
Reissue CDs negotiate a paradoxical situation: the reproduction of
low-fidelity originals (78-rpm masters) on a high-fidelity medium (the dig-
ital CD). The technological vanguard of their day, 78-rpm discs were a
primary means of consuming popular music in the home and via public
jukeboxes. Due to recording technologies and the 78-rpm disc’s limited band-
width, the music on these discs was of low fidelity; meanwhile, audiences
at live performances experienced the full-frequency stereo spectrum and
recognized the altered quality of recordings. Remastering historic 78-rpm
discs involves the attempt to reproduce an “authentic” listening experience;
what is at issue is the question of which listening experience—recorded
or live—to privilege as authentic. The situation is further complicated by
the fact that source materials are rarely in mint condition, a consequence
of six decades of storage and everyday listening practices, which yields a
listening experience filled with crackle and pop. Remasters that aspire to
(and according to some reviewers, succeed at) authenticity are often those
that deliberately retain these traces. The nostalgic aesthetic for imperfection
exists in tension with high-fidelity demands and the seemingly unmediated
experience of live performance.
Despite its high-tech associations, the CD is itself rapidly becoming
a nostalgia object. In an age of compressed digital audio, which prizes
convenience and portability over sonic clarity, CD purchasing marks a return
to a physical medium celebrated for its high fidelity. In a sense, nostalgia
CDs embody nostalgia for CDs and a time when sound quality was the
primary goal of music reproduction technologies. This is exemplified by
The Glenn Miller Orchestra’s 1983 recording In a Digital Mood (1991),
358 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

which presented the digital recording process, still new in the mid 1980s,
as the CD’s crowning achievement. Among the explicitly physical means
of disseminating recorded music, the CD stands at the end of a narrative
of progress (in which the 78-rpm disc played a seminal role) toward the
perfection of audio reproduction. Consumers of nostalgia CDs may not
just be interested in the sounds contained on these discs; they may also be
attracted to the symbolic function of the CD as part of the same optimistic
narrative of progress evoked by Miller’s music.
“In the Mood” embodies the past so powerfully because it registers
the obsolescence of an earlier musical style—swing, which was character-
ized originally by its modernity, suitability for mechanical reproduction, and
mass audience appeal, but which became marked as outmoded by subse-
quent genres, such as rock’n’roll and hip-hop. The symbiosis of a nostalgic
aesthetic and progress narratives multiplies the expectations for reissue CDs
in terms of both content and medium. For reissues of “In the Mood,” the situ-
ation is particularly fraught: they must go before an audience of experts who
are well prepared to evaluate a familiar tune. Further, the number’s wide dy-
namic range, textural variations, and original recording in low-reverb mono
present demanding challenges in the remastering process. This raises two
key questions. First, how do reissues of “In the Mood” balance a nostalgic
aesthetic with modern technologies and high-fidelity expectations? Second,
how do packaging and presentation help mark a reissue CD as “successful”
in negotiating the aesthetics of nostalgia? To address these questions more
concretely, we turn now to four CDs from the last twenty-five years featur-
ing “In the Mood,” each of which mobilizes a distinct nostalgic aesthetic in
visual presentation, sound, and fan discourse.6

Glenn Miller Greatest Hits

Glenn Miller Greatest Hits (RCA 1996) demonstrates the continued
success of Miller’s music as mechanically reproduced art—it is the number-
one selling Miller collection on Amazon and throughout 2007 consistently
ranked in the top 1,000 of all recordings sold on the site. The liner notes’
claim that its $9.99 US cost “won’t bruise even the most fragile budget,”
combined with utilitarian packaging and unexceptional remastering, betray
RCA’s frankness about the music’s commodity status. With a front-cover
design that is common to all releases in the RCA Victor Greatest Hits series,
nostalgic imagery is limited to an Al Hirschfield drawing of Miller with
trombone in hand and the RCA Victor logo (the classic dog and phonograph),
Still “In the Mood” 359

which recalls an earlier and less corporate era. It is only on the back cover and
spine where a listener will find the logo of the German multinational BMG,
RCA’s parent corporation. Amazon customers responded to Greatest Hits’
accessibility both by purchasing and by posting reviews in large numbers.
Like Benjamin’s absent-minded examiners, several reviewers com-
mented laconically on the CD’s emotional utility, appeal, and contemporary
relevance. Reviewer “simply swinging” (2004) summarized the feelings of
several, declaring, “It’s the CD I choose for relaxing or chasing away the
blues.” However, “Eilleen’s” (2004) review, which proclaimed the music
“great” for a phone system’s “on-hold” music, background listening, and
housecleaning, earned one of the most negative ratings from users of the
site, demonstrating the limited tolerance for acknowledging the application
of Miller’s music as aural wallpaper. Some reviewers advocated explicitly
for Miller’s continued relevance. “A music fan” (1998) announced, “If you
think Glenn Miller is for ‘old folks,’ think again!” while “simply swinging”
(2004) declared, “Glenn’s timeless!”
In contrast, Ryan Harvey “Wolf Shadow’s” review (2004) (rated
helpful by 81 of 82 people) offered a lengthy and detailed argument for the
relevance of Miller’s “populist, happy, and fun style” of “pop music that
has transcended its era.” Like several others, Harvey advocated for Miller
as an educational “gateway” to swing and the broader world of jazz. He
promised, “You might find yourself on a new musical journey, and one day
you’ll also thank Glenn Miller for opening the door to a whole new world of
music.” Harvey’s review echoed the Greatest Hits liner notes, which invite
listeners to “journey” into the “fun-filled world” of jazz (populated by dead,
and almost exclusively white, men) and urge buyers to send away for the
free RCA Victor Beginner’s Guide to Jazz, which would educate them in the
basics of jazz and “the how-to’s of jazz record collecting.” For RCA/Victor,
jazz is a thing of the past that haunts us “on television and radio, in hotel
lobbies and restaurants, in movies and even as the background music you
hear at the mall.” The tone is populist, with the egalitarian “you” rooted
in the appeal of advertising and commodity capitalism. Historicizing jazz
appreciation and conflating it with consumerism supports BMG’s agenda of
reaping profits from its back catalogue.
For reviewers who discussed the CD in terms of the past, however,
Greatest Hits offered not education but rather an affective connection with
“the” American experience during World War II. Peggy L. Mcintyre (2007)
linked her childhood to Miller’s biography and the war, explaining:
360 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

I was only nine years old when Glenn Miller’s plane was lost. How-
ever, my parents managed a boarding house for young military men
and their wives . . . The wives wiled away their days . . . playing the
piano and singing this type music. It is a wonderful memory for me.

For others, the music itself created the connection. S. Henkels (2002) de-
clared:

The Glenn Miller Songbook represents the USA in the early 40’s
War Years . . . Every American above the age of about sixteen should
be familiar with these sounds . . . With the recent upsurge in interest
in the GREATEST GENERATION, and swing in general GLENNS
[sic] MILLER BAND is an absolute essential.

Writing a few months after 9/11 but before the invasion of Iraq, Henkels
located Miller as embodying a heroic military past, even though Greatest
Hits features Miller’s civilian band recordings, most of which were made
when the United States still embraced neutrality.7 The prewar hits became
associated with the war because Miller’s Army Air Force Band and others
continued to play them after America joined the conflict. Like many band-
leaders, Miller believed that soldiers preferred to hear the music they had
favored before they enlisted: he described his performances as delivering
“a hunk of home” (Butcher 1986: 60). They were particularly reassuring
because of Miller’s mastery of repetition in repertory and performance and
his personal embodiment of security and authority. Repetition continues to
contribute to the pleasurable familiarity of Miller’s music for contemporary
reviewers. Several praised Greatest Hits for including “all [Miller’s] best
known pieces” (wdhyte “Dave” 2007).
Predictably, the well-known 1939 recording of “In the Mood” opens
Greatest Hits. Two reviewers agreed with the liner notes’ claim that the
CD featured “state-of-the-art sound” and rated the remastering as excellent
(Bray 2007; “A Customer” 2003). Others were less effusive in their praise.
W. Grandy (2003) wrote, “It does have some technical problems (some ticks
and pops) but nothing you can’t live with.” The characteristic crackle of a
78-rpm disc is obvious from the opening of “In the Mood” and in its diminu-
endo out-choruses. Preservation of the original mono makes the band’s sec-
tion blend sound homogenous, with the “natural,” low-reverb sound quality
of most swing-era recordings. High-frequency hiss from the original master
has been removed, which effectively warms the midranges, especially in the
Still “In the Mood” 361

number’s memorable sax riff. The low end is also obscured: Trigger Alpert’s
bass line is relegated to a timekeeping function, as his pitches are almost
indefinable. The rest of the rhythm section is also difficult to hear, with
the exception of Moe Purtill’s steady but constrained hi-hat, keeping time
throughout.
Listeners who expected “state-of-the-art” to mean the pure-toned,
equalized, and reverbed sound of contemporary digital stereo recording had
cause to complain. Bruce Cote (2006) wrote

Don’t you wish, sometimes, with all of our technology, that the
studios would take away the scratchy, tinny sound of the original
and infuse some body into the recording? I’ve heard very rich sound
from other recordings of Glenn Miller. This nice collection of his
standards is not among them.

Interestingly, Cote’s review was one of the lowest rated. Several reviewers
noted that the “flaws” of “pop and crackle” enhanced their connections with
the past; S. Pickwick (2005) wrote, “I find the effect charmingly nostalgic.”
Although audiences at live performances would have heard Miller’s band in
the full-frequency spectrum and in stereo, Todd M. Bray (2007) reported that
listening to the CD “sounds like I am there with the band.” An “authentic”
listening experience requires the disc to perform a relationship with the
past, which involves registering the traces of human involvement with an
obsolete commodity, the blemished 78-rpm disc. Thus, despite its status as a
medium of high-fidelity perfection, the nostalgia CD attains its authenticity
(and possibly a counterfeit aura) through its digitally reproduced flaws. For
many reviewers, Greatest Hits succeeded not only because it is an affordably
priced commodity, but also because its aural imperfections complied with a
nostalgic aesthetic and facilitated an emotional connection with the past.

Platinum Glenn Miller

Platinum Glenn Miller (2003) (BMG/Bluebird/RCA Victor, 2003)
is a more upmarket compilation than Greatest Hits, as reflected in its clean
steel-blue cover, forty tracks spanning two CDs, lavish illustrations, and price
of around US $20. The liner notes offer detailed track listings that include
the full names of composers and soloists, recording dates and locations,
and serial numbers for the recording and original 78-rpm disc releases.
Platinum attracted less commentary than Greatest Hits, but most of its
nine reviews were much more substantive. Reviewers devoted significant
362 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

attention to sound quality and repertory, often comparing Platinum with

other reissues. They also focused on questions of status, establishing both
Miller’s importance as a musician and their own authority by engaging
in detailed discussions of Miller discography and remastering techniques.
Significantly, most of the nine reviewers signed their commentaries with
full names and, in one case, an academic position.8 These individuals were
not merely absentminded examiners; rather, they established themselves
as customer-experts. Adding a layer to Giddens’s model of institutional
authority, they asserted their own authority while concomitantly reinforcing
the trustworthiness of Amazon as an online business institution.
Most Platinum reviewers addressed Miller’s historical significance.
“A music fan” (2003) explained, “OK the Miller band wasn’t Goodman or
Shaw, but this music branded a generation.” Several reviewers described the
music as nostalgic and evocative of the 1940s—“a simpler era,” according to
“A Customer” (2003). None, however, mentioned Miller’s connection with
the Second World War. Instead, they focused on Miller’s musical accom-
plishments: Elvira Massuet (2003) described Miller’s trademark “clarinet
on the lead of the sax section” while “Rebecca∗ rhapsodyinblue∗ ” (2005)
explained Miller’s prominence in terms of his numerous hits, which “were
instrumental in making him the most successful recording artist in 1940.”
Their assessments resonate with the CD’s packaging, which empha-
sizes Miller’s musicianship and popular success over his historical position
as the flag-bearer of World War II-era popular music. Five of the nine pho-
tographs in the CD booklet feature Miller playing his trombone. Miller the
man, rather than his band, is central here. On the cover, his face and shoulder
appear in profile with the photograph cropped so that his strong chin is at
the center; his body is angled forward and his expression is serious. In his
crisp suit, Miller’s picture embodies a 1930s vision of progress: despite the
crook of the trombone in the corner, his image is that of a businessman rather
than a musician.9 Lacking the instrumental virtuosity of Tommy Dorsey or
Jack Teagarden, Miller’s brilliance was located in his work as a businessman
and bandleader: his frequently cited twenty-three number one hits in four
years demonstrate his mastery of the popular music system. Andrew Vélez’s
(2003) liner notes explain, “In many ways the story of Glenn Miller and his
band is classic Americana, one in which struggle, determination, and talent
are ultimately rewarded with unimaginable popularity and success” (7).
The music maintains its nostalgic appeal: “A listener today has only
to hear any of these sides [not tracks!] to be captivated anew . . . Swingingly
optimistic and musically impeccable, they’re as sweet and hot as ever,”
Still “In the Mood” 363

writes Vélez (11). Echoing these sentiments, David A. Fletcher (March

2003) asserts, “The market for good-sounding Miller reissues is still here,
stronger than ever, with new audiences waiting for more tastes of the best of
what was America’s most popular dance band in history.” Fletcher, however,
assumes the role of consumer/collector advocate, using the Amazon review
system to urge BMG to release more of its “huge stockpile of vintage work-
tapes of excellent quality” on CD.
Since nostalgia releases are always compilations of material that
originally was recorded for consumption on single 78-rpm discs (or off-air
from broadcasts), listeners are left to compare the points of ostensibly similar
products, particularly in the case of popular bandleaders like Miller. “John”
(2003) observes, “I always enjoy looking over the LATEST compilation[s] of
the great Glenn Miller Orchestra (1938/1942) which seem to be released ev-
ery six months from some country.” While several reviewers praise Platinum
for including “all the favorite songs,” many others critique its exclusions of
canonical numbers like “Sunrise Serenade” and its atypical inclusions (“A
music fan” 2003; Massuet 2003). Moving beyond repertory to questions
of presentation, “Micaloneus” (2006) posted an identical plaint for several
CDs, including Platinum and Greatest Hits: “why can’t these compilations
of old 78’s have a few more seconds between them? Essentially we have
a bunch of singles all crammed together, so why not let them have some
breathing room . . . Oh, [for] the days of one song at a time.” The concerns
of these careful listeners are not necessarily shared with those looking for
background or mood music, as Tim Blessing (2005) acknowledges: “if you
want something to listen to on your veranda, this will do well—if you want
something that will stick to your ribs, you must go further afield.”
Despite their quibbles with repertory, the reviewers generally hold
positive views on Platinum’s sound engineering, which elicits two espe-
cially detailed discussions from Fletcher (March 2003) and “A Customer”
(2003). “In the Mood,” the opening track on disc two, is a remastering of the
same 1939 recording as that included on Greatest Hits, but with significant
differences. One can hear more bass, more hi-hat, and the sound is less
dry. The crackle is gone, replaced by a hiss, reflecting the engineers’ deci-
sion to maintain a greater frequency range. The remastering is high quality
without striving for “inauthentic” perfection. “A Customer” (2003) assessed
Platinum as

The best digital transfer of Miller material I have heard. Most

[source recordings] supposedly are taken from the original metal
364 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

parts. BMG/RCA . . . in the past has gone overboard with . . . noise

reduction . . . This new CD collection corrects that to some extent and
quieter passages are much clearer but still slightly muffled . . . Having
said that, this collection is sharper, crisper, with virtually no pops or
crackle.

This nostalgic aesthetic prizes “clarity,” reflected in a conservative approach

to noise reduction and recordings that are free of “pops or crackle.” Like
Fletcher (March 2003), “A Customer” (2003) understood the effect that
storage, handling, and use have on 78-rpm discs and the ensuing problems
this creates for remastering sound quality. The authentic original in this case
is not marked by its imperfections but rather is identified as existing beyond
reach in BMG’s archives.

The Chesterfield Broadcasts

Glenn Miller and the Andrews Sisters: The Chesterfield Broadcasts
(BMG/Bluebird/RCA Victor, 2003), which includes a live recording of “In
the Mood,” presents a historical and remastering tour de force. It is one of
a growing number of releases that respond to fans’ calls to mine the BMG/
Bluebird/RCA Victor archives for off-air Miller band recordings. The two-
disc set presents recordings from the winter of 1939–40 when the Andrews
Sisters appeared with the Miller band on CBS. Heard “mid-broadcast” (track
nine on disc two), “In the Mood” still sounds “historic,” but there are key
differences between this performance and the 1939 recording, which remind
listeners of its continued performance tradition.
Edward F. Polic’s liner notes (2003) resist any mention of Miller’s
wartime service, or tragic death, which often appear as cornerstones of
Miller’s appeal. Rather, the notes offer an unusually detailed account of
Miller’s early career, emphasizing his status as a jazz sideman and early
experiences as a bandleader; they culminate in a description of the circum-
stances surrounding the broadcasts. Curiously, for a CD that features the
trio prominently, the Andrews Sisters are mentioned only with regard to
them jeopardizing a broadcast because of “a serious family squabble,” in
which “romance was the culprit” (Polic: 18). By highlighting their immatu-
rity and unprofessionalism, Polic presents the trio not as collaborators, but
as box office “insurance” for a band unproven on national sponsored radio,
the need for which Miller soon outgrew. Indeed, in three of the four pe-
riod photographs in the CD booklet, the sisters look on passively as Miller
examines a score or plays the trombone. Echoing swing-era stereotypes
Still “In the Mood” 365

about the superficiality of “girl” singers, the Andrews Sisters are the draw
for the CD, but Miller provides the substance.
The original CBS broadcasts, which lasted fifteen minutes and aired
three days a week, consisted of one three-minute song by the Andrews
Sisters and nine minutes of instrumental and vocal numbers by the band,
with three minutes of commercials interspersed throughout (Simon 200).
Thus, Chesterfield’s producers had to determine how much time to allot
to each artist and whether or not to include the original commercials. The
producer John Snyder (2003) explained

We wanted the recording to flow like a 1940s radio show, with fewer
commercials. Longer and leaner, spotlighting the Andrews Sisters,
but with the continuity of a radio show. Imagine turning on your
1930’s console radio . . . We tried to preserve and to enhance that
experience (7–8).

Snyder’s commentary indicates a conscious attempt to reconstruct the past

while also revealing that its presentation was reshaped to satisfy contempo-
rary tastes. Featuring the Andrews Sisters on twenty-five out of thirty-nine
tracks, from a show that was primarily a vehicle for the Miller band, appeals
to the current interest in 1940s-era songs, as reflected by the recent atten-
tion devoted to the American songbook and singing groups of the past.10
In addition, few commercials are included, rendering the past palatable for
listeners uninterested in hearing cigarette advertising every few minutes and
confirming the regard for the recent past as a time of innocence in consumer
culture. This “inaccuracy” of Chesterfield is not necessarily a bad thing;
historically accurate archival recordings may be instructive, but they are not
always entertaining.
Snyder offers further disclosures that emphasize his team’s technical
skill and musical knowledge. They transferred and edited introductions to
maintain announcer continuity and arrived at an elaborate solution to the
missing final chord of “Bei mir bist du Schoen”: “We took a short chord
from another song, tuned it down a third, and edited it to the end” (8). Rather
than preserve the flawed source recordings, Chesterfield restores the original
performance. Nevertheless, though the original broadcasts, which initially
aired live, would have been free of the crackles found on the recorded
masters, the Chesterfield reissue includes them. The changing possibil-
ities of sound technologies helped shape the nostalgic aesthetic—those
listening to an “authentic” radio broadcast would have experienced only
366 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

occasional static and interference; the (mono) sound would have been oth-
erwise clear.
Many of the six Amazon reviews focused on Chesterfield’s technical
aspects and praised the “superb” sound quality and the “careful restoration”
(Hourula 2004; Muldoon 2003). Fletcher (August 2003) wrote, “Hats off
to those engineers who understand that noise and music signal can be oc-
casionally inseparable. No attempt was made to lop off the entire upper
range and bass end to eliminate scratch/hiss and rumble.” The emphasis
on sound quality locates the Amazon criticism firmly in the modern world.
The reviewers acknowledged that the collection, in actuality, presents re-
productions of originals, which have been captured expertly and collected
in an easily transferable form. As Fletcher (August 2003) noted, “The discs
themselves are programmed to simulate a continuous broadcast experience”
[emphasis added].
Although Miller’s band was renowned for its rigidity, “In the Mood,”
when performed in concert, carried the possibility for greater interaction
among the band and audience. Indeed, the fadeout near the end could be
repeated until the leader felt that the dancers were ready for the number’s
exciting conclusion (NPR 2000). On Chesterfield, the fadeout is shorter than
the 1939 recording by one chorus, reflecting the timing demands of radio.
The broadcast version also includes shouted encouragements from band
members, reinforcing the sense of live-ness established by the extended
saxophone duel and trumpet solo, both of which are looser than on the
original studio recording. With the faster tempo, even jaded listeners can
hear the appeal of “In the Mood” as a dynamic live experience. The number,
so emblematic of popular culture simulacra, remains monolithic to be sure,
but Chesterfield demonstrates that it was/is not limited to a single, eternally
repeated version.
Chesterfield’s aural and technological aesthetics reveal the duality
of infinitely reproducible recorded objects and the experience of perfor-
mance. Packaging that casts it as the companion to Platinum reinforces the
complimentary nature of the CDs: released in the same year, they share
color schemes and fonts, and the Chesterfield liner notes promote Platinum.
This duality of restored performance (Chesterfield) and preserved record-
ing (Platinum) complicates the perception of “In the Mood” as an endlessly
recurring nostalgia cue. Performance, Peggy Phelan (1998) suggests, goes
against the simulacral grain of the recorded object; it “clogs the smooth
machinery of reproductive representation necessary to the circulation
of capital” (148). She casts performance as oppositional to mechanical
Still “In the Mood” 367

reproduction and as a challenge to the capitalist system in which it circu-

lates (146). While Phelan addresses performance art of limited commercial
appeal, the fact remains that “In the Mood” is not only a recording, but also
an arrangement that was performed extensively by the Miller band, both in
person and on air. “In the Mood’s” performances existed in parallel with
the recording, not only through Miller and his contemporaries, but also in
subsequent incarnations of the Miller band and many other swing bands. Of
course, since the composition is usually performed “in the style of” Miller,
through rote repetition of the original recording, it is possible that these
multitude performances merely continue the process of reproduction, rein-
forcing the simulacrum. Nevertheless, recognizing the performance history
of “In the Mood” recalls the fluid interactions among players, listeners, and
dancers and with it, live performance’s potential for surprise.
Snyder’s careful editing of Chesterfield’s radio broadcast compo-
nents, which reinforces the sense of live-ness, helps distinguish this “In the
Mood” from the 1939 recording. The CD’s preserved performances and
visual elements—a historic microphone appears in every monochrome im-
age while the cover is tinted a ghostly blue—present a differentiated past,
which is cast as more innocent in terms of both consumerism and militarism.
When regarded as a recorded object, however, Chesterfield is exemplary of
the simulacrum: it offers a mediated version of the past, as the microphones
remind us. It is entrenched in the circulation of cultural objects, where it
circulates not simply as a commodity defined by its use-value as music but
as powerful symbol of an irretrievable past.
The simulation offers listeners the possibility of being transported,
of feeling the immediacy of the moment in which the songs were originally
broadcast live. Richard Hourula (2004) characterizes the recording as a
“journey” and suggests that, while listening, “You’ll feel as if your [sic]
sitting in front of the big family radio.” Roger Mahan (2003) states, “This
compilation is like a time machine taking you back to the first three months
of 1940.” These statements underline Chesterfield as a recorded collection
of live performances intended for live audiences. Hourula’s invocation of the
“family radio” situates listening as a social practice, both among listeners and
performers, with their encouraging shouts and energetic solos. Seemingly
outside the realm of the mechanically reproduced commodity, Chesterfield
enters the realm of a symbolic interaction, operating both at the level of
the consumer, who gains entry to the past, and of the performers, who to
all appearances are interacting with each other in the same moment as the
listener.
368 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

Limited Gold Edition: In a Digital Mood

If Chesterfield foregrounds the complexities of understanding
recorded performances as nostalgia objects, the 1991 Limited Gold Edi-
tion remaster of the Glenn Miller Orchestra’s 1983 recording In a Digital
Mood further complicates matters. It is a recording that is as much marked
by the aesthetic values of the 1980s as by swing-era nostalgia. Embody-
ing exclusivity and class, the black-and-gold color scheme, calligraphy, and
Atari-esque graphics compliment a forty-four-page souvenir book and gold-
colored disc, which is touted on the back cover as the “digital masterpiece
of the classic Glenn Miller hits.” The original recording, which was released
in 1983 on Dave Grusin’s GRP label, featured Grusin on piano along with
eighteen studio musicians who re-recorded eleven Miller hits.11
Limited Gold Edition is an intriguing “meta-reissue”: in addition to
celebrating Miller and his music, it casts the recording of Digital Mood
itself as a noteworthy historical achievement. As the liner notes explain,
the revolutionary recording techniques and assembly of “the best” studio
musicians were only part of the recording’s significance; it was also the first
big-band compact disc to attain gold certification, selling over 500,000 units
in the United States. Its success belonged to the broader retro trends of the
1980s and early 1990s. In his liner notes, Chip Deffaa (1991) asserted that
it “wasn’t just that people liked hearing old favorites in state-of-the-art band
sound. There’s been a considerable resurgence of interest in big band sounds,
generally” (29). Indeed, several Amazon reviewers cited Digital Mood as
one of many CDs that exemplified the swing revival.
There are clear differences between the new performance of “In the
Mood,” which opens the CD, and the original Miller band’s 1939 recording
and 1940s performances: a bouncier, more relaxed swing; the presence of
triplet figures in the bass-line, which deviate from the four-to-the-measure
style of early swing; the use of a ride cymbal rather than a hi-hat; gentler
attack in the trombone chords at the end; and Grusin’s piano solo in the
quiet section. However, the most arresting differences are in the multitrack
mix. The drums are foregrounded, as is the bass, which is likely miked and
routed through a direct box; the sound separation of multiple tracks allows
for reverb on the reeds and brass; and stereo effects add spatiality to the
section playing.
For Deffaa, the modern recording approach offers “the real excite-
ment.” He asserted, “[W]hen the tape is played back . . . [t]here is no tape
noise, flutter, hiss or anything—just pure music” (40). For the CD’s produc-
ers, digital recording reveals and preserves the authentic intentions of the
Still “In the Mood” 369

“music itself,” which, it is implied, have been obscured by old-fashioned

recording and inadequate remastering techniques. Digital Mood responded
to—and helped shape the attitudes of—reviewers who regarded scratches
and pops, not as “charming” imperfections, but as technical faults.
Not all reviewers welcomed this approach, however. “hop on pop”
(2005) criticized both the recording process and the performance: “These
have to be the most soulless, sterile, uninspiring versions of these songs avail-
able. Yeah, it was recorded digitally, but so what? Everything sounds close-
miked and unbalanced. Did the drummer on these tracks ever even HEAR
an original Miller recording??” Jeffrey J. Karpinski (2002) echoed “hop
on pop” (2005) and suggested that modern studio musicians “don’t really
have a feel for the Miller sound” and that, though the “music is technically
perfect,” it lacks “soul.” These comments suggest that, despite its emphasis
on nostalgia and fidelity to the original scores, Digital Mood demonstrates
greater attention to the aesthetics of high fidelity, which now evokes the
over-processed 1980s more than the swing era. For these reviewers, a con-
temporary performance style informed by forty years of developments in
jazz failed to align with the Miller legacy.
These negative assessments were countered by the majority of re-
viewers, most of whom categorized Digital Mood as among the “best”
recordings of Miller material; they described the sound quality as “ab-
solutely stunning,” “rich,” and “full” (“A Customer” 2000; Greene 2000;
“bpoedy@aol.com” 1999). Responding to criticisms of the performance as
historically inaccurate, “popilius” (2000) argued that Miller’s music should
be treated as part of a living tradition: “To say that the interpretive quality
in this music is ‘wrong’ seems to be missing the point . . . The essence of
charted music is the interpretive input musicians have.” As with Chester-
field, these comments indicate a complex relationship between performance
and recording. For some, Miller’s music is at its best when played by the
“original” Miller band, which means that only recordings from the 1930s
and 1940s can be accepted as authentic, regardless of whether or not their
fidelity accords with modern notions of “good” sound. For others, Miller’s
music is best conveyed in high fidelity, which necessitates that it be re-
recorded in modern studios and performed by contemporary musicians. By
privileging sound quality, these commentators are obliged to accept new
performance aesthetics, which they may even come to prefer.
Echoing Snyder’s Chesterfield notes, Deffaa’s notes celebrate mod-
ern production technologies: “In the sound odyssey from the scratchy shellac
of 78s to the streamlined iridescence of the compact disc, Glenn Miller’s
370 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

music has come full circle. IN THE DIGITAL MOOD—combining classic

American music with the latest in digital recording and sound reproduction
technology” (35). The notes’ emphasis on modern technology is juxtaposed
against the inclusion of nostalgic black-and-white photographs—almost all
of them action shots—that depict both the 1940s-era Miller band and the
1983 recording session. Printed in a retro serif font, the liner notes suture
the 1983 recording into what Deffaa called the “Glenn Miller legacy,” which
includes the postwar Miller bands. The detailed and often heroic account
of Miller’s career leaves aside his notoriously difficult personality; instead,
Miller is cast as a “demanding leader,” who valued consistency and per-
fection. Deffaa noted that “[Miller] wanted the music executed as cleanly
and precisely as possible every time, and he rehearsed his men until they
phrased exactly the way he wanted (which is one reason the original record-
ings remain priceless; they indicate . . . just how Miller wanted the music
interpreted)” (14).
These values align with the so-called perfection of the digital record-
ing process. Phillip Scott (2000), who was impressed with the sound quality,
noted on Amazon, “I really think Glenn would be happy with this remake
of his golden hits. I’m sure he would want his music to sound as good as
possible.” By tying Miller the person to high-fidelity aesthetics, Scott’s com-
ments echo Deffaa’s placement of Digital Mood within the Miller legacy.
The conflation of Miller, who by the time of this recording had been dead
for nearly forty years, with contemporary renditions of his hits thus autho-
rizes the recording. Many reviewers argued that the recording embodied
the Miller aesthetic and that the “original” Miller sound, as if summoned
from the grave, found new voice in the performances. “bpoedy@aol.com”
(1999) wrote, “I can close my eyes and there I am watching the Glenn Miller
Orchastra [sic] perform in all it’s [sic] richness and fullness of sound,” while
“msweeney@apex.net” (1998) suggested that customers buy Digital Mood
in order to “hear the Glenn Miller band in a modern recording studio.”
Digital Mood presents listeners with an intriguing irony: perfor-
mance style aside, the high-fidelity disc more accurately represents the
experience of hearing the Miller band in concert than an “older”-sounding
recording. After all, listeners in the 1940s still experienced sound across
the full sonic spectrum, and even a mint-condition 78-rpm disc would
have sounded relatively clear. However, the technologies that have helped
shape contemporary conceptions of “how the past sounds” are themselves
imprecise—and their imprecision has been absorbed into the nostalgia aes-
thetic. In its quest for quality sound, Digital Mood can be heard as missing
Still “In the Mood” 371

the nostalgia mark, not only because of the shifts in performance practice,
but also because it subverts the common perception of what “sounds old.”

Conclusion
The proliferation of nostalgia reissues featuring “In the Mood” both
reinforces and destabilizes its canonical status, but is it the original 1939
recording that is canonical, or something else? While reissues such as Great-
est Hits and Platinum reinforce its centrality by treating it as their “original,”
their diverging remastered interpretations suggest that there is an authentic
version yet to be attained. In contrast, Chesterfield and Digital Mood dis-
rupt the singularity of the 1939 recording, foregrounding “In the Mood” as a
vehicle for performance. They raise the question of whether the “original” is
a recorded object, a commodity, or a series of performances that are relent-
lessly lost. Chesterfield and Digital Mood only sound “different,” however,
because they are heard in relation to the 1939 version; for many listeners,
their alterity may simply reinforce the primacy of the 1939 recording.
The medium of the reissue, the compact disc, is fraught with a
similar paradox. By applying an aesthetic of past-ness to packaging and
sound, nostalgia CDs obfuscate their medium, transporting listeners toward
a time of scratches, crackles, and hiss. As compilations of numbers once
recorded on 78-rpm discs, they exist in a wrinkle between the economies
of singles, long-playing albums, and MP3s. Music CDs themselves are
becoming nostalgia artifacts in their status as objects and with the practices
necessary to hear them. In a changing music industry, nostalgia reissues
call attention to music as commodity and meaning maker, the persistence
of older listening practices, and the shifting tropes of nostalgia. Although
the MP3 has largely eclipsed the CD as the primary medium of distribution
for mainstream pop in the Internet age, the CD lives on through reissues
aimed at the “nostalgia” market, as demonstrated by the popularity of Miller
compilations.
The “nostalgia” demographic, however, is in no sense a group of
passive consumers whose only role is to supply major record labels with
back-catalogue profits. Indeed, the reviewers at Amazon demonstrate, at
times, a sophisticated understanding of the intersections of technology
and music in shaping a nostalgia aesthetic. They engage with nostalgic
musical texts within the framework of online consumption, institutional-
ized by Amazon, whose trustworthiness their criticism reinforces. Fan dis-
course on musical values, nostalgia, and consumer decisions complicates
372 Christina Baade and Paul Aitken

understandings of the negotiations that surround changes in the contempo-

rary music industry, which are so often obscured when the primary focus is
on record labels’ bottom lines.
Obsolescence registers the passage of history not only in changing
sound technologies (as Taussig argued) and musical styles, but also through
shifts in the means of distribution. While the MP3, Internet downloading,
and discourses on music piracy have disrupted the music industry’s progress
narrative, the hopeful narratives of progress, trust, and memory are recalled
in the discussions surrounding nostalgia CDs and their consumption via
retailers like Amazon. Indeed, it is in these virtual locations that we find
some of the most interesting social and cultural ramifications of the aes-
theticization of nostalgia. As Grainge suggested of our historical moment,
our ability to access the past has never been greater. Fans of nostalgia music,
however, are not driven simply by a desire to archive and educate, nor are
they trapped in the past. Rather, by accessing the past, they revitalize hope
for the future.

Notes
1. An early version of this article was presented at the International As-
sociation for the Study of Popular Music-United States Chapter Meeting, Boston,
2007. Aspects of this project were also presented at the University of York in De-
cember 2007. Our thanks to Jenny Doctor, William Brooks, and their students for
much helpful discussion and feedback. Funding for this research was provided by
Canada’s Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council.
2. While in the United States copyright duration has increased, most Euro-
pean durations are shorter. Thus, CD reissues of 1930s and 1940s music surged as
recording copyrights began to expire during the 1990s.
3. Fletcher Henderson recorded the blues riff in 1931 as “Hot and Anxious”
while the white Wingy Manone recorded it in 1930 as “Tar Paper Stomp.”
4. Our thanks to William Brooks for his analysis of ragtime elements in the
introduction.
5. A cornerstone of Baudrillard’s thought, his theories of signs and the
symbolic, are addressed in many of his works, notably in For a Critique of the
Political Economy of the Sign (1981[1972]) and Symbolic Exchange and Death
(1993[1976]).
Still “In the Mood” 373

6. To tighten our approach, all of the CDs considered here are “official”
releases—that is, they were issued by the company holding the recording rights.
While licensed products, such as those issued by Rhino Records, often display
careful approaches to remastering, repertory, packaging information, and nostalgic
aesthetics, the nature of licensing, with its time limitations, specialized companies,
and sometimes unstable corporations, is a topic for another paper.
7. The positive, even romantic, associations of Miller’s music and World
War II stand in sharp contrast to the current US war in Iraq. In the only Amazon
comment that addressed current politics directly, Nanette Ward (2007) wrote, “In
Miller[‘s] day, the WAR was on everyone’s minds. . . . Now, though, as American
and allied kids are dying, it seems no one here even remembers we are in a war.”
8. Amazon offers a small “real name” graphic for those reviewers who do
not use an alias to sign their reviews. The implication is that using one’s real name
reinforces the legitimacy of the views presented.
9. Our thanks to William Brooks for this observation.
10. For example, consider the repertory of Michael Buble, Diana Krall, and
Renee Fleming, as well as the songbook turn of baby-boom stalwarts like Rod
Stewart.
11. GRP is significant for its many smooth jazz releases and is now part of
the Verve Music Group, which is owned by Universal.

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Still “In the Mood” 377

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