Ghostly Transmedia: Julian House and Hauntological Audio-Vision

7 Ghostly Transmedia: Julian House and Hauntological Audio-Vision Jamie Sexton In this chapter, I will explore the work of Julian House, whose output exemplifies media traveling. House’s output can be linked to two broad modes of traveling: firstly, he works across different media formats; secondly, he incorporates fragments of existing works and lets them migrate into new contexts. The first mode relates to transmedia research, which has tended to explore how artistic content can travel across media borders. The study of transmedia is often connected to storyworlds—particularly the continuation of narratives and characters across media—as it was by Henry Jenkins in his book Convergence Culture (2006), in which he argued that “transmedia storytelling” allows stories to unfold “across multiple media platforms, with each new text making a distinctive and valuable contribution to the whole” (Jenkins 2006: 96). Lisa Perrott has critiqued the dominant strain of transmedia studies for overfocusing on stories and characters, particularly franchised content. She contends that such perspectives overlook a more experimental swathe of artists who work across media but who are not so concerned with narrative storyworlds: “While narrative continuity remains for some directors an important facet of transmedia, narrative discontinuity, audiovisual discontinuity and ‘loose continuity’ also provide important strategies for transmedia artists with avant-garde leanings” (2020: 16). This emphasis is supported by Freeman and Gambarato, who argue that “commercial transmedia storytelling is not the end of the story for transmediality” (2019: 2). Following these approaches, this chapter examines House’s work across media, which does contribute to a broader aesthetic world but is not focused on the continuation of stories or characters. The second broad notion of traveling is connected to influences and sources: House often uses existing works (or “found materials”) in his creative practice, 124 Traveling Music Videos but he also references styles from previous works, both canonical and unsung. This is, to an extent, inextricable from the notion of artistic influence, and also refers to House’s oft-used practice of collage, which allows previous cultural works to travel into new contexts via sampling. In combining influential traces of other artists and incorporating pre-existing cultural fragments into his work, he places an emphasis on the past and memory as a core theme of his work. Background and Aesthetics Julian House is a graphic designer who also produces music videos and creates music under the alias of The Focus Group. He is a partner and creative director for the creative agency Intro, established in 1988, and became noted for designing album covers in the 1990s and 2000s for artists such as Broadcast, Oasis, Primal Scream, and Stereolab. While House’s work has gained esteem generally, it is his work for the Ghost Box record label that has been most influential. He co-founded the record label with Jim Jupp in 2004, and several music critics would soon link it to a swathe of musical activity that was termed musical hauntology.1 House is a key figure in creating a visual, as well as audio, dimension to musical hauntology. In addition to creating record covers and music videos, he has also made promos, fake idents, film credits, concert visuals, and posters. I will return in more detail to Ghost Box and hauntology but will first briefly outline some of his aesthetics established across commissioned work. House’s record cover designs have been marked by some notable features including, firstly, a tendency to use collage techniques and, secondly, frequent utilization of simple, geometric shapes (such as squares, circles, spirals, lines). His work evidences several influences, including abstract art, surrealism, op art, and psychedelic art. His first album design for Broadcast’s debut single, “Accidentals” (1996), consisted of simple curved white lines against a black background (Figure 7.1). This geometric design at once recalls abstract art, but in a fashion that stresses intermediality: House references not so much the work of pioneering abstract artists (such as Kandinsky or Mondrian), but commercial work (such as advertisements and record covers) which has drawn on such art over the course of the twentieth century. He further signals aging through placing white flecks and speckles on the black background, which indicates a worn artifact. Simple geometric shapes would continue to be used by House, though occasionally this aesthetic feature would be combined with collage, or Ghostly Transmedia 125 Figure 7.1 House’s cover for Broadcast, “Accidentals” (1996). more psychedelic elements. His foregrounding of the materiality of media would also be a core feature of his work, which is often characterized by a meta-, and often dryly humorous, framing. Through his commissioned work, House developed a notable style across different forms. He soon commenced directing music videos for artists whom he had designed record covers, often basing the videos around his static sleeve designs. An example would be his video for Primal Scream’s “Kill All Hippies” from their 1999 Exterminator album. House’s acclaimed design for Exterminator consisted of a collage of overlapping images, including fighter pilots and planes against a smooth, digital backdrop which includes a small, pixelated portion. The video itself animates such imagery and excludes coverage of band members. House co-directed the video with Julian Gibbs and featured a vast array of archival 126 Traveling Music Videos materials from film libraries including “newsreels of a Kamikaze tea party dated 1932, Red Arrows footage, black and white film footage of motorcycle cop from early 1950s TV, and jet fighter footage from the 1970s.”2 The use of archival materials in which the disparate origins of sources—both analogue and digital— are foregrounded, has become a central component of House’s aesthetic. While House’s commissioned album designs and music videos contributed to a recognizable aesthetic profile, his stylistic and conceptual concerns have been more coherently and extensively honed through the work he has produced for the Ghost Box record label. As Elodie A. Roy has argued, “the whole Ghost Box catalogue is underpinned by strong, distinctive aesthetical codes which give a sense of uniformity, even monotony, to the artefacts” (2015: 70). House often invokes the past through some of his methods—either through referencing older artists and movements, creating artificially aged effects, or through the practice of collage, which Banash has contended is, in the “desire to gather together, to paste, to make a new whole,” sometimes “a utopian gesture, but one that is almost always profoundly nostalgic” (2013: 173). House’s Ghost Box output has more thoroughly engaged with memory and nostalgia, and through making references to a parallel, shadow world, can also be linked to Banash’s comments about Utopianism. The virtual world which Ghost Box conjures draws on fondly remembered (or misremembered) aspects of the past—particularly from British post-war culture—but mixes up such referents in unusual ways. An example is how he often juxtaposes Gothic and occult symbols with more prosaic imagery such as educational texts and Brutalist buildings. From its beginnings, Ghost Box releases have hinted at a parallel world via music, artwork, and written text (such as song and album titles, text included on sleeves, and promotional information). Firstly, the record sleeves are distinctive, recalling via their design Penguin paperback designs from the 1960s and library record covers. They frequently employ collage techniques and feature recurrent visual elements such as geometric shapes, images of the British countryside, silhouetted figures, and eyes. The television (and, to a lesser extent, the radio) is also frequently referenced, either through featuring on record sleeves, being alluded to via titles (an example would be The Advisory Circle’s “logotones” that appear as brief interludes on some of their albums), or through House’s production of fake television idents. Liner notes, press releases, and interviews by Ghost Box artists further contribute to a broader aesthetic universe, via which references to spooky film and television output, horror literature, the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, library music, public service announcements, Ghostly Transmedia 127 and information films are recurrently evoked. In this sense, the label extends not just aspects of popular music per se—which Brian Eno has argued is less important as music than it is about “creating new, imaginary worlds and inviting people to try them out” (quoted in Bracewell 2020: 5)—but also builds on how previous iconic record labels have been associated with the creation of aesthetic worlds via their striking designs, such as the minimalist designs of Peter Saville for Factory Records and Vaughan Oliver’s designs for 4AD. Ghost Box and Musical Hauntology Musical hauntology stems from the broader, philosophical concept of hauntology coined by Jacques Derrida in his 1993 Specters of Marx (2006), though it is a more specific manifestation of this work. Derrida was focusing on how ideas from the past—particularly philosophical and political—survived as phantasmal presences and how present time is structured by traces from the past. While Derrida did not initially explore this concept in relation to media, in subsequent writings (Derrida and Steigler 2002; Derrida 2010) he did explore how media, particularly television and photography, contributed to how “haunting can be amplified and accelerated by material supports and modern means of reproduction, which store and replicate time” (Roy 2015: 78). Perhaps the most crucial point stressed by Derrida, and subsequently taken up by musical hauntologists, is that there is no such thing as real time: What we call real time, and it is easy to understand how it can be opposed to deferred time in everyday language, is in fact never pure. What we call real time is simply an extremely reduced “diférance,” but there is no purely real time because temporalization itself is structured by a play of retention or of protention and, consequently, of traces: the condition of the possibility of the living, absolutely real present is already memory, anticipation, in other words, a play of traces. (Derrida and Steigler 2002: 129) Musical hauntologists have explored the knotty, perplexing elements of time and memory—such as how traces from the past continue to act on the present— aesthetically, and address other temporal issues such as decay, nostalgia, and anachronisms. Through such concerns, their work can be linked to some of the arguments propounded by art historian Aby Warburg. Warburg argued against linear, chronological art histories because they simplified history and 128 Traveling Music Videos were based on evolutionary, individualist assumptions. Adopting the concept of Nachleben, Warburg noted that any artwork was composed of multiple traces and movements, and considered the disorienting way in which elements from the past survive to produce certain anachronisms.3 As Georges Didi-Huberman has argued in discussing Warburg’s historical methods, Warburg’s concept of Nachleben “disorients history, revealing how each period is woven with its own knot of antiquities, anachronisms, present times and tendencies towards the future” (2017: 48). House also disorients history in his work through drawing on a range of styles from the past and mixing them together, while also foregrounding temporal disparities frequently. His playful approach to time and history concords with Tomáš Jirsa’s argument—in his discussion of Hiro Murai’s music videos—that music videos can perform an “anachronistic audiovisual thinking, one that recasts the past through contemporary images and music while reshaping the present through the images of the past” (2020: 204).4 Further, in line with several other musical hauntologists, House foregrounds nostalgia in his work regularly, though in a manner that stresses the unreliability of memory. That is, he posits nostalgia as a complex construction of the past, rather than a transparent reflection of the past. Following Warburg and Derrida, House’s work seems to question pure time and pure origins, as well as pure memories (whether personal or cultural). His approach should be connected to Svetlana Boym’s notion of reflective nostalgia as opposed to what she calls restorative nostalgia. According to Boym, “Restorative nostalgia manifests itself in total reconstructions of monuments of the past, while reflective nostalgia lingers on ruins, the patina of time and history, in the dreams of another place and another time” (2001: 45). House’s work emphasizes the gaps in memories and how they are imperfect constructions as opposed to complete recollections. Mark Fisher has argued Ghost Box and other hauntological work is marked by a nostalgia for lost futures that have yet to materialize, and that these “spectres of lost futures” continue to haunt us in the present, which leads to a melancholic loss of faith in progress: “not only has the future not arrived, it no longer seems possible” (2014: 27, 21). Fisher has also stressed how musical hauntology is concerned with a certain period of British culture—often dated from the late 1950s up until the early 1980s—when there was a marked strain of what he calls “popular modernism.” This refers to how many experimental, modernist works appeared on television and radio during this period, with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop considered exemplary in smuggling experimentation into everyday Ghostly Transmedia 129 life, as they often provided music and sound for popular programs (and with only three channels from 1964 to 1982, there was more likelihood of people engaging with the same television material). Rather than referencing more common modernist markers of the period, Ghost Box often made references to more popular, yet often unusual, television programs. These included occulttinged children’s programming—such as The Owl Service (Granada 1969) and Children of the Stones (HTV 1977)—or seemingly prosaic programming containing disturbing content, such as public service information films. Some public service films airing on British television in the 1960s, for example, were often disturbing in content as they warned children of the dangers lurking within daily experiences. One of the most recalled information films is Lonely Water (1973), which was constructed like a horror film and narrated by Donald Pleasance. Occult Psychedelia House often incorporates pre-existing cultural fragments into his work and creates strange, psychedelic, audiovisual artifacts from them. This is evident in his musical output as The Focus Group as well as in his visual work: for example, House uses musical samples, including samples from library records, but in a way that is very different from how library samples are commonly used in hip-hop records, where they are more likely to be used for breakbeats or melodic color. He often samples less obvious fragments of records and stitches them together in a disjointed manner, so that the process of audio-looping is foregrounded. The Focus Group’s “Sun Groof ” (2004), for example, starts with two samples: atmospheric, electronic Moog sounds and a pastoral flute melody.5 The deliberate clash of musical styles signals House’s surrealist-influenced desire to make strange through uncanny juxtapositions. This is further heightened when, around the twenty-second mark, a deliberately noticeable edit marks a shift to different segments of the samples and introduces a third sample (of treated, jazz-like drumming), which itself is edited to foreground the loop point (this is not the smooth, continuous looping common in musical sampling, but a more jagged grafting of sampled loops). This musical approach mirrors some of his collage designs, which also foreground the disparate nature of materials. His works, taken together, indicate a broader aesthetic world but this world is, like memories, fragmented. 130 Traveling Music Videos House’s abstractions of concrete visuals also feed into a psychedelic aesthetic. He references psychedelic films and light shows in some of his work, and rearranges archival texts into assemblages which stress sensory, as opposed to indexical, qualities. Many of his videos do contain indexical traces, but their indexical nature is often obscured. Newly shot footage of artists is evident in some of his videos, while sampled media sources might be identified by audioviewers, but this will depend on the extent to which such images have been abstracted through further treatment. His sampling of materials seizes on the ambiguity of archival content and disrupts any straightforward links between an archival document and a represented “real.” Jaimie Baron has argued that archival documents are “unruly” in their potential meanings, and that “Given their unruly excess, audiovisual media often demonstrate (whether intentionally on the part of the recordist or not) the excess, ambiguity, and disruption characteristic of ‘the real’” (2014: 4). By accenting the unruliness of archival documents—often via further manipulating them—House also extends notions of the “real” to include shadow worlds, dreamscapes, and the unconscious. House’s work can be considered a mode of occult psychedelia (or, to play up the importance of memory, it might be termed occult memoradelia). Occult often refers to satanic and paganistic practices yet, as K. J. Donnelly has noted, occult “merely means unapparent” and can be used to “describe any hidden working or processes that are unable to be observed” (2014: 70). Additionally, Donnelly argues, it “tends to have connotations of magic and the mystical, and invokes the mysterious ritualistic underpinnings of the everyday world” (ibid.). House tends to combine these interrelated notions of the occult within his work. While he draws on established art occasionally, he also references a host of less celebrated cultural artifacts. House/Ghost Box have referred to multiple forms of either forgotten, or overlooked, culture—in addition to some more acknowledged touchstones—including exploitation and genre films, promotional materials such as posters, book, and album covers, and “forgotten” television. The latter, in particular, is often discussed in relation to Ghost Box, due to its links with memory. The record label commenced operations just prior to the launch of YouTube, and in many ways was concerned with the ways that people often misremembered—or at least only recalled fragments from—television from their childhood. Childhood is also a crucial resource for House, which is not surprising considering his interest in memory. It is a crucial stage in life for the formation of memories due to the strength of neural connections made; however, as we grow Ghostly Transmedia 131 older, “memory becomes less certain as it recedes from the relative certainty of present consciousness” (O’Keane 2022: 113). As gaps form, memories can become unreliable and fragmented; in this sense memory is positioned itself as a psychedelic reservoir. This partially recalls Borges’s poetical evocation of memory as “spectral” and a “chimerical museum of shifting forms” (1975: 23), and Julietta Singh’s description of memory-traces as “unidentified ghosts making themselves queerly manifest” (2018: 97). House emphasizes the surreal/ psychedelic nature of memory through using, and further manipulating, found fragments, which hints at our memories being always processed; that is, we cannot access a raw, unfiltered memory, for memories by their very nature are produced by subjective recall whose accuracy is compromised by personal bias and imperfections. House sometimes creates kaleidoscopic effects in his works, which itself recalls psychedelia, childhood, and memory. Kaleidoscopes are often associated with psychedelia because of their colorful mutations and intricate, mandala-like patterns; many people also associate them with childhood as they have long been mass-produced as children’s toys. House has even acknowledged childhood as a source of unlikely psychedelic cultural encounters: discussing The Focus Group’s 2013 album The Elektrik Karousel, he stated that when he was young, there “was a weird residue of acid folk and psychedelia seeping into things kids watched on television,” and further discusses how childhood itself has links to LSD and psychedelia (Turner 2013). New Contexts House has continued to work for Intro on commissioned projects alongside his output for Ghost Box and has also produced credit sequences for several feature films, including Berberian Sound Studio (Strickland 2012), Possum (Holness 2018), and In This Earth (Wheatley 2021).6 As the emergence of hauntology also overlapped with the concept of “folk horror” (Scovell 2017: 124), it is no surprise that House has subsequently been commissioned to produce content for feature films that have been linked to this emergent genre. Folk horror is a rather broad mode, but some core themes—such as an engagement with national folklore for “uncanny, eerie or horrific purposes” and the clash of older traditions with modernity—have proven common to this mode (ibid.: 7). Scovell also adds that that folk horror can be applied to work “which creates its own folklore through various forms of popular conscious memory, even when it is young in comparison 132 Traveling Music Videos to more typical folkloric and antiquarian artefacts of the same character” (2017: 7). House references more familiar tropes of folklore—including natural landscapes and Paganism—and juxtaposes these with more modern cultural markers, such as the television set. The television, for example can itself be considered a modern, electronic mode of folk culture in its transmission of stories. This was particularly the case for children weaned on television prior to the mid-1980s, when there were only a few channels to watch. This has been noted by Rob Young, who writes: “for the post-war generation, the television had replaced the village storyteller. In those far-off days of two, or at best, three channels, everyone had the same stories to discuss at work, at school; television contributed to the national conversation and collective memory” (2021: 12). House/Ghost Box tap into this notion of electronic folk culture and collective memory (which is now, arguably, likely to be more fragmented due to the explosion of channels and other platforms). In this sense, the BBC Radiophonic Workshop could also be considered part of this modernized, post-war British “folk culture.”7 Most of these contributions link to House’s concerns with memory and occultism. For Berberian Sound Studio he contributed a fake trailer for the fictional film being made by the character Santini, titled The Equestrian Vortex. This sequence extends some of the more occult dimensions of House’s work, such as the short videos he made for Broadcast and The Focus Group’s Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age (2009) album (Figure 7.2). Strickland’s film itself clearly bears some affinities with many musical artists associated with hauntology. Berberian Sound Studio seems, in one sense, to be a homage to European occult films, particularly those that were relatively low budget, often displayed a strong visual aesthetic, and featured slightly experimental soundtracks. While House’s Ghost Box output has largely referenced British culture, his overall aesthetic is more internationally influenced. One further area of inspiration drawn upon by both House and Strickland is a range of filmmaking (and, in House’s case, film posters) from Europe: these are largely lowbudget, exploitation genre films that have not, historically, been held in high esteem. As such, many have gained cult status to varying degrees; the interest by House, Strickland, and other hauntological practitioners in such works further contributes to the esteem that some of these films have now attained. Once again, there is a popular modernist dimension to several of these films; despite being classed as trashy by many at the time of their production, they nevertheless enabled visual and sonic experimentation to be smuggled into films that frequently contained sensationalist content. The credits sequence for Ghostly Transmedia 133 Figure 7.2 Still from Broadcast and The Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults #1 (House, 2009). The Equestrian Vortex incorporates cut-out illustrations from what appear to be occult texts—devil-like figures can be glimpsed—alongside familiar House tropes. These include stop-motion elements mixed with rostrum camera movements to create a dynamic choreography of treated illustrations and graphic shapes (such as a spiral and blood-like streaks); superimpositions and rack focus are used to further abstract the images, which also include the inside and exterior of a cathedral, faces in fear—with a particular emphasis on eyes— trees, and a silhouetted figure on horseback. The music itself was produced by Broadcast and is reminiscent of soundtracks produced for horror and thrillers by Italian composers such as Bruno Nicolai and Ennio Morricone. Glimpses of a Transmedia World Through artisanal creative work, House has created a body of work that is distinctive aesthetically and spreads across different forms such as album art and text, posters, music videos, idents, live concert imagery, and occasional 134 Traveling Music Videos publications such as the “Ghost Box Periodical,” which even—in characteristic droll fashion—contains fake newspaper headlines about mysterious events in a fictional town named Belbury.8 His work references a number of older media artifacts and creates new works from them based around prominent concerns such as memory, time, and the occult. The broad world hinted at via these texts is not a logical storyworld but more of an intertextual, virtual terrain in which recurrent forms and tropes—many of them linked to the past—appear. House tends to lift elements of the past and, primarily through selection, abstraction, and further processing, evokes a shadow world. This implied world can be compared in some ways to how H.P. Lovecraft made references to the fictional Necronomicon book through hints, rather than systematic description. Mark Fisher has stressed the effectiveness of this method: Lovecraft generates a “reality-effect” by only ever showing us tiny fragments of the Necronomicon. It is the very fragmentary quality of his references to the abominable text that induce the belief in readers that it must be a real object. […] Lovecraft seemed to have understood the power of citation, the way in which a text seems more real than it does when encountered in the raw. (2016: 24) House uses citations and references in similar ways. By spreading such references over a wide range of work, which itself can travel across various platforms, his hauntological parallel world is fragmentarily distributed and can be encountered in different media contexts. House should be related to transmedia both in terms of his working practices and through the ways that he generates an aesthetic universe by distributing his work across modes and platforms. His work spans different forms and can be accessed through various entry points (e.g., records, various internet platforms, television, cinema). Yet his work does not, as mentioned in the introduction, fit neatly into the dominant, corporate foci of transmedia studies, as it is—and this is particularly the case regarding his output for Ghost Box—much smaller scale. In some ways, his work aligns with Laura U. Marks’ idea of “handmade digital culture.” Marks focuses on media productions in “poorly infrastructured parts of the world,” specifically in the Arab world (2017: 3899), so her arguments cannot be directly applied to House’s output. Nevertheless, if his work does not fit neatly into the low-end, informal practices identified by Marks, it also differs from the high-end media that she critiques. In ways concordant with how House often blurs conventional oppositions within his work, he also merges low—and Ghostly Transmedia 135 high-end practices. He works for a creative agency and has been lauded as a significant graphic designer of his generation; yet even his commissioned work often betrays a low-end influence, both in its hand-made stylistic traits (such as a lo-fi collage style which often deliberately avoids the illusion of seamlessness) and through the aged artifacts evident within his work (sometimes these are marks of actual wear, at other times he will produce simulations of degradation). As House’s work sits somewhere in between low- and high-end media practices, it should be considered a kind of boutique mode of transmedia which merges commercial and avant-garde impulses. One area in which his work notably overlaps with many of the low-end practitioners in the Arab world discussed by Marks is through the ways that he uses bricolage and informal media archives as a basis for creation. For Marks, this type of creative practice foregrounds the materiality of media—including the historical origins of found material—to a much greater extent than high-end media. In House’s work, materiality of found media is also highlighted regularly, but this oddly combines with the ways that he also manipulates frequently, and therefore dissimulates, some of his source material. If, as Marks argues, much low-quality media remediates artifacts in a manner that is far from seamless and which “make their analog, physical sources abundantly clear” (2017: 3899), House remediates in ways that sometimes makes sources apparent, but at other times obscures them, so that there is a tension between highlighting the historicity of his sources and occulting their origins. While House has produced many music videos, this was a form he moved into after establishing himself in a different form (in his case album covers and posters). As such, we should be careful not to treat the music video as a primary mode which then influences other forms (such as filmmaking). As Mathias Bonde Korsgaard has argued, “music video both remediates and is remediated. It builds on expressions known from other media—mainly popular music, cinema and television—at the same time it exerts an influence on these media” (2017: 5). All artistic works, ideally, should be situated in a wider media ecology in which no media form is considered primary; rather, attention should be attended to many different artistic forms and how they can mutually impact on each other. In this sense, I follow Holly Rogers’s call for a focus on “back-andforth movements across forms and genres guided by directors accomplished in many technologies and aesthetics” (2020: 9). House is a figure who exemplifies such back-and-forth movements through working, and dispersing his aesthetic vision, across different media forms. 136 Traveling Music Videos Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 For work on musical hauntology, see Reynolds 2006, Sexton 2012, Fisher 2014, Roy 2015, and Pattie 2016. This chapter draws on some of the ideas outlined in Sexton 2012. The quoted text is from Intro’s official website, under the entry for “Primal Scream: Kill All Hippies.” https://www.intro-uk.com/work/primal-scream-kill-all-hippies (accessed May 19, 2022). Warburg focused on the complex processes by which classical art came to influence Renaissance art and which then became, paradoxically, more modern than certain artworks that were made subsequently. Jirsa is also drawing on the work of Aby Warburg via Georges Didi-Huberman, and I thank Tomáš for pointing me to this work. “Sun Groof ” is a track on The Focus Group’s debut 2004 album, Sketches and Spells. He has also contributed title sequences for Kaleidoscope (Jones 2016), Mom and Dad (Taylor 2017), Ghost Stories (Dyson and Nyman 2017), In Fabric (Strickland 2018), and Possessor (Cronenberg 2020). In addition, he produces film trailers and has created many visual posters for films. As folk music and folk culture generally has often been associated with nature and acoustic instrumentation, electronic music has not widely been considered folk culture. But even in 1969, Bob Wood wrote an article in BBC’s folk music magazine Clanfolk on electronic music, which was titled: “Electronic Music—the Folk Music of Tomorrow?.” Belbury is named after a fictional place in C.S Lewis’s novel That Hideous Strength (1945), a science fiction novel which engages with occult subject matter. Literature Banash, David. Collage Culture: Readymades, Meaning, and the Age of Consumption. Amsterdam and New York: Editions Rodopi, 2013. Baron, Jaimie. The Archive Effect: Found Footage and the Audiovisual Experience of the Real. Abingdon: Routledge, 2014. Borges, Jorge Luis. “Cambridge.” In Borges, In Praise of Darkness. Trans. Norman Thomas Di Giovanni, 21–3. London: Allen Lane, 1975. Boym, Sveltana. The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic Books, 2001. Bracewell, Michael. Re-Make/Re-Model: The Art School Roots of Roxy Music. London: Faber & Faber, 2020. Derrida, Jacques. Specters of Marx. Trans. Peggy Kamuf. London: Routledge, 2006. Ghostly Transmedia 137 Derrida, Jacques. Copy, Archive, Signature: A Conversation on Photography. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010. Derrida, Jacques, and Bernard Steigler. Echographies of Television: Filmed Interviews. Trans. Jennifer Bajorek. Oxford: Polity, 2002. Didi-Huberman, Georges. The Surviving Image: Phantoms of Time and Time of Phantoms. Trans. Harvey L. Mendelsohn. Philadelphia: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2017. Donnelly, K. J. Occult Aesthetics: Synchronization in Sound Film. New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. Fisher, Mark. Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures. New York and London: Zero, 2014. Fisher, Mark. The Weird and the Eerie. London: Repeater, 2016. Freeman, Matthew, and Renira Rampazzo Gambarato. “Introduction: Transmedia Studies—Where Now?” In The Routledge Companion to Transmedia Studies. Ed. Matthew Freeman, and Renira Rampazzo Gambarato, 1–12. New York and London: Routledge, 2019. Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York and London: New York University Press, 2006. Jirsa, Tomáš. “Lapses, Rhythms, Supplement: Hiro Murai’s Audiovisual Anachronism.” In Practical Aesthetics. Ed. Bernd Herzogenrath, 105–15. London and New York: Bloomsbury, 2020. Korsgaard, Mathias Bonde. Music Video after MTV: Audiovisual Studies, New Media, and Popular Music. Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2017. Marks, Laura U. “Poor Images, Ad Hoc Archives, Artists’ Rights: The Scrappy Beauties of Handmade Digital Culture.” International Journal of Communication 11 (2017): 3899–916. O’Keane, Veronica. The Rag and Bone Shop: How We Make Memories and Memories Make Us. Dublin: Penguin, 2022. Pattie, David. “Stone Tapes: Ghost Box, Nostalgia, and Post-War Britain.” In The Oxford Handbook of Music and Virtuality. Ed. Sheila Whiteley and Shara Rambarran, 392–407. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. Perrott, Lisa. “Introduction: Transmedia Authorship and Assemblage.” In Transmedia Directors: Artistry, Industry and New Audiovisual Aesthetics. Ed. Carol Vernallis, Holly Rogers, and Lisa Perrott, 15–16. London: Bloomsbury, 2020. Reynolds, Simon. “Society of the Spectral.” The Wire 273 (2006): 26–33. Rogers, Holly. “Introduction: Modules and Oscillations.” In Transmedia Directors: Artistry, Industry and New Audiovisual Aesthetics. Ed. Carol Vernallis, Holly Rogers, and Lisa Perrott, 8–15. London: Bloomsbury, 2020. Roy, Elodie. A. Media, Materiality and Memory: Grounding the Groove. Farnham: Ashgate, 2015. 138 Traveling Music Videos Scovell, Adam. Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Strange. Leighton Buzzard: Auteur Publishing, 2017. Sexton, Jamie. “Weird Britain in Exile: Ghost Box, Hauntology and Alternative Heritage.” Popular Music and Society 35.4 (2012): 561–84. Singh, Julietta. No Archive Will Restore You. Montreal: Punctum Books, 2018. Turner, Robin. “Magical Unrealism: Julian House of Focus Group Interviewed.” The Quietus, July 5, 2013, at https://thequietus.com/articles/12902-ghost-box-the-focusgroup-interview (accessed October 24, 2022). Wood, Bob. “Electronic Music—The Folk Music of Tomorrow?.” Clanfolk 5, September– October, 1969. Item obtained from The Delia Derbyshire Archive, Rylands Library, Manchester University, GB 133 DDA/1/5/15 (Reviews and Articles). Young, Rob. The Magic Box: Viewing Britain through the Rectangular Window. London: Faber and Faber, 2021.