Jazz manouche (or “Gypsy jazz”), a genre built upon the posthumous legacy of jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt (1910–1953), occupies multiple spaces. On the one hand it is perceived as a national popular music in the French cultural imaginary and, on the other, as a folk or heritage music for Manouche communities in Western Europe. In Django Generations, Siv B. Lie uses the genre of jazz manouche as a window to explore the complex entanglement between Manouche ethnicity and French national identity, against the supposed “colour blindness” of the French Republic and the legislative policies that have served to reinforce racist views on minorities. Broadly speaking, Lie is exploring conceptions of race and ethnicity, or “ethnorace,” in France, and it is the realities of historic intolerance of gens du voyage (“Travellers”) juxtaposed with how jazz manouche is celebrated that is the tension at the heart of this work.

The primary locus of the research is in the Alsace region of Eastern France, referred to as “the cradle of jazz manouche” (2). The book is, from a disciplinary perspective, a work of ethnomusicology which builds upon concepts from literary theory and linguistic anthropology. Methodologically, the author draws on interviews and participant observation, with elements of historical and archival research. A central conceptual framework here is Lie’s notion of “ambivalent essentialism” which she describes as “the push and pull at the heart of much social difference-making—a process dependent, in this context, on modern political-economic regularities” (7). Lie utilises this concept to highlight the messiness of identity and belonging, arguing that “it is the coexistence of these incompatible essentialisms within jazz manouche practice that render it such a successful, powerful genre” (8).

Chapter one, mostly historical in nature, plots the emergence of jazz manouche as a (re)constructed genre, highlighting the dual role of both Manouches and Gadjé (those of non-Romani ethnicity). By employing a “raciosemiotic” frame, Lie stakes out how Reinhardt himself became increasingly racialised retrospectively in popular media and ultimately linked to the emergence of a jazz manouche musical culture, for which the musicians and promoters involved in the Musik Deutscher Zigeuner (MDZ) series acted as a major catalyst in the 1970s. Finally, Lie then illustrates how the Romani activist organisation, APPONA, would continue to frame and use jazz manouche as a vehicle for cultural advocacy. In doing so, Lie illustrates how genre and ethnoracial identity become deeply entwined in jazz manouche. As Lie has it, the retrospective reconstruction of Reinhardt’s legacy and adoption and promotion of a community music “reflect a great deal about how race and ethnicity are constituted in public spheres, pointing to the contingent and constructed nature of ethnorace globally” (63).

Chapter two explores the impact and legacy of the Romani rights organisation APPONA (L’Association pour la Promotion des Populations d’Origine Nomade d’Alsace), whose work focused on anti-Manouche racism. The non-profit organisation would employ jazz manouche as a medium to encourage professional development for those within the community, and as a mode of positive cultural outreach through their policy of “insertion and intégration” (71). Jazz manouche is notably a male dominated musical practice, especially in Manouche communities, and what is particularly notable about this chapter is the voice Lie gives to female community members through her participatory engagement in the female choir C(h)œur des Femmes, part of APPONA’s legacy. This is particularly insightful as it brings to light a previously unexplored area of manouche music making which is enhanced by the recordings in the companion website.

In chapter three, Lie’s respondents embrace a range of positions in terms of their relationship with jazz manouche; some embrace it as part of their culture, others associate with it as part of their national identity in the performance of a French jazz form, while others disavow the ethnoracial frame and state that they simply play jazz. It is in this spectrum of positions on the notion of genre that Lie examines how her interlocutors “simultaneously express positions on ethnorace and cultural citizenship…engaging in acts of ambivalent essentialism” (100–101). In doing so Lie shows how ontologies of jazz manouche becomes discursive, highlighting spaces of contestation around identity and belonging.

The standout chapter for this reader is chapter four, “The Sound of Feeling,” where the author theorises how, against often limited musical vocabulary on the technical aspects of the music, her interlocutors will often describe the music by how it makes them feel. These associations are often imbued with ethnoracial characteristics and Lie builds her theorisations upon what she describes as a “raciosemiotic approach.” While many of her interlocutors may “refuse the ‘jazz manouche’ label [they] also claim that there still exists a uniquely Manouche guitar sound” (129). Here the confluence of disciplinary trajectories fluidly align as the author explores how “speech about musical sound is a vector for articulating ideas about race, ethnicity, and slippage between the two categories” (153).

The final chapter, “Heritage Stories,” examines three jazz manouche festivals to illustrate the commodification of the music and manouche identity. Drawing on the work of literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin, Lie discusses these festivals in their terms of chronotopes, locating these festivals as heritage activities which create narratives about the past and linking them to place. The examples illustrate a range of effects on community making or, in some cases, disenfranchisement. The third of these case studies, which focuses on the Festival Jazz Manocuhe de Zillisheim, very much illustrates the disjuncture between Gadjé (in this case mainly organising and managing the festival) and the Manouche community (who are side-lined in a number of ways by the festival). This serves as a vivid example of the community’s ongoing wider struggle with local government and provides a glimpse at the realities of France’s “colour blind racism.”

For researchers or fans of jazz manouche who may be looking for a more in-depth musical analysis, they will not find it here. Nevertheless, there are moments of musical description throughout, for example discerning between the czardas and jazz repertoire of MDZ (47). Yet the theorisation of the “Sound of Feeling” has particular utility for those who are interested in musical analysis and need to grapple with more abstract elements of music such as colour, timbre, texture, and the meanings inscribed on those characteristics by both musicians and audiences.

As the first major piece of ethnographic work in the English language on jazz manouche, Lie’s work will stand as a cornerstone. More than a book about music and genre, at its heart Django Generations broadens our understanding of how ethnorace is experienced, projected, and commodified, highlighting much about music industries and how heritage and ethnic or world music is experienced from different positions. This work will be of broad relevance, certainly for ethnomusicologists but also for those engaged in French or jazz studies. As there is a wide variety of topics and case studies––from historical research of cultural activist organisations, to theorisations on ontologies of music, discussions of genre, and core studies on festivals––this work will be of widespread interest. Readers interested in the intersections of race, ethnicity, music and culture will benefit greatly from Lie’s work. For undergraduate students studying jazz or ethnomusicology, Django Generations will provide an appropriately challenging yet exciting read, brought to life through the accompanying website.