I’m in love. And it’s with a website. Perhaps I just have music on the brain lately, but I came across a site called Musopen. I don’t know how many other people this completely applies to, but I’m wicked excited.
You see, I’ll think that a particular classical piece would be extremely well suited for say an audio or video piece, and while the piece itself is no longer copyrighted, the performance of that piece typically is. So, you usually just can’t use it unless you want to risk a cease and desist order or even worse–a law suit.
I suppose I could gather 50 of my closest friends together for our own little performance, but have you ever seen that many musicians together in one place? The geekiness sticks to you for weeks. And then somebody brings up band camp and it’s all downhill from there, but I digress.
Musopen, however, has gone out specifically to make recordings of some of these classics in order to be copyright-free. As in public domain, as in no copyright infringement when you want to use that piece that you should be able to use!
I’m excited. Like super excited. So, while you’re making a video or audio piece for Harlot and fall into the same conundrum or if you were just looking for some very copyright free ambient music, then check out the site.
Oh, and you can also bid to raise funds for the piece that you want the professionals to record. If I really had my way then that’d be the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto in D Major (especially the 3rd movement), but considering that it’s one of the top 3 hardest pieces to play and the cost of finding somehow to play that would ginormous, I’ll just support Debussy right now. You can pick your own, but, you know, Debussy . . . ’tis awesome (and cheap).
Yesterday as I was meeting with some students from my first-year writing and rhetoric class (which focused on analyzing narratives), they were joking about how their newfound rhetorical awareness had been messing with their minds. (And yes, I know that some of this was no doubt revealed with their yet-to-be-posted grades in mind.) One comment in particular gave me a warm holiday glow. To paraphrase:
“You ruined Rudolph for me. Here’s this guy who’s different from the rest, and marked physically by that difference — so he’s ostracized by the crowd, disrespected and disregarded… until, that is, he can help out some rich white authority figure. And then suddenly he’s embraced and accepted, just because he can contribute to their power. That’s some b.s.”
Rebel Rudolph (by shiny red type, Flickr)
Hell yeah, it is! Don’t get me wrong — I love Christmas specials. And Christmas songs. I’m a sucker for sparkly lights, eggnog-induced cheer, and the Island of Misfit Toys. But sorry, Santa — I’m an even bigger fan of critical college students.
Side note: Did you know “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was actually created as a marketing ploy by a department store? Yet, as Snopes.com points out, the original was rather less problematic in certain ways: Rudolph was not a resident of the North Pole, just an average reindeer with loving and supportive parents. He was well-adjusted and confident long before Santa stumbled upon him in a moment of need. Fascinating revision from there to the current version, right?!
Rudolph and his lady friend (by voteprime, Flickr)
Victor Borge was a classically trained pianist, but fantastically funny comedian as well. The thing about Borge was that he knew how to manipulate and communicate with his audience in a humorous way on the piano. He didn’t even need to speak in order to be funny.
For instance, the Tchaikovsky Concerto No. 1:
But when he did speak, he knew how to manipulate his stories and language in order to underline the sometimes inadequate nature of it.
But, seriously, the man could play.
I just the love the way that he was able to be so creative with some of the most common, everday things. We hardly even think about “happy birthday,” but when it shows up in Tchaikovsky, we’re all thinking about it.
This morning’s New York Times Magazine contains a fascinating look at “Google’s Gatekeepers”. Beginning with the case of Turkey’s insistence on a censored version of YouTube (ThemTube? UsTube? Some-of-YouTube?), law professor Jeffrey Rosen explores the limits of free speech in a web/world dominated by major capitalist corporations as (or more) invested in their own power than in the voices of “the people”:
“Today the Web might seem like a free-speech panacea: it has given anyone with Internet access the potential to reach a global audience. But though technology enthusiasts often celebrate the raucous explosion of Web speech, there is less focus on how the Internet is actually regulated, and by whom. As more and more speech migrates online, to blogs and social-networking sites and the like, the ultimate power to decide who has an opportunity to be heard, and what we may say, lies increasingly with Internet service providers, search engines and other Internet companies…”
In general, the article raises (kindly without pretending to resolve) important questions about the various versions of “free” speech, the limitations of the Internet as “public” sphere, the tensions among open access and accountability, data control and world domination, and (duh duh duh) the Future. Good stuff for a rainy Sunday.
The real meat of the matter is the issue of free speech in the Internet age, what counts as publicly acceptable or exceptional to a World Wide audience. Of course, Google and its subsidiaries have a policy of removing only porn, graphic violence, and hate speech — but in the reality of the virtual world, these already subjective determinations become even fuzzier. As Rosen points out, the international market mandates specific restrictions based on individual countries’ laws, and so Google has often had to filter content for specific contexts. For example, Germany and France have laws against Holocaust denial, so search engines cannot display sites devoted to such denial. To some degree, that seems reasonable and responsible… until you consider that those denials are merely submerged, not subverted, but their silencing. Moreover, as Rosen argues (I like this guy), “one person’s principled political protest is another person’s hate speech”; he illustrates this tension through demands by Joe Lieberman (this guy bugs me) that Google remove videos he judged to be “jihadist,” a concept on which I’m not sure his views are, well, balanced. Ah yes, best to just sweep pesky protesters under the rug.
These examples brings up the old question of whether silencing haters only lets them hate in silence or private — rather than exposing their hatred to the light of day and others’ responses that might challenge or even (optimistically) change those attitudes. I just had this discussion with one of my students: While it’s certainly important to “protect the innocent” from hate speech, does that offer true protection or a false sense of security? What are the dangers, for all sides, of denial? And can we ever really hope to negotiate oppositional viewpoints, let alone overcome them, without, well, engaging them in conversation?
(And how can we learn to ask such questions without feeling–or fearing to be dismissed as–idealistic and naive?!)
Have I mentioned how much I love Presentation Zen? This time, Garr goes over Kinetic Typography (also called motion typography from time to time) with examples to boot.
I can tell you with my own experimentation how difficult this form is to manage. It seems almost relentlessly tedious with the amount of detail you have to go through technically speaking and you have to apply your creativity to try and produce something visually interesting. (Which is why many videos featuring kinetic typography are under 2 minutes).
Just check out his post. It’s quite worth it. Here’s an example that he shows in his post–just to wet your appetite. . .
Audio vs Text. That’s what I’ve been thinking about lately. Specifically in conjunction with creative works. Let’s do a bit of a case study, shall we?
One of my absolute favorite poems of all time would be Richard Siken’s “Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out”. Now, the way that I read this poem–in my head, that is–tends to ebb and flow. I speed up and slow down at various parts. The point being, that I have a specific rhythm that is innate to me and how I perceive text. This rhythm forces me to hone in on specific aspects of the poem that I, subjectively, find intriguing.
But when a poem is heard and not seen, then I’m forced to comply to the rhythm of the reader. I find it even more interesting when it is the author him/herself who reads. In this particular case, I can find two readings by Siken of this particular poem. (Apparently, I am not the only one who enjoys this one.)
Apostrophe Cast contains what we’ll call Reading #1. This particular reading is more serious and melancholy. It’s slow and simmering. Gruff. Intimate. What sticks out to me in this reading is the fairy tale motif. The princess, the dragon, flames everywhere. And even more so, the despair and desperation stick out.
But with the reading he gave at Loyola University New Orleans [correction, it's a 1718 Reading which is brought to you by Tulane University, University of New Orleans, and Loyola, as Alex McG has informed me], which we’ll call Reading #2 (available on iTunes), is a bit more upbeat. It’s read at a faster pace. It’s frenetic and bitter sweet. Snarky and sarcastic. In fact, Siken himself calls this poem “the fun one.”
You can compare the two. For example when he comes to the lady. This passage:
Your want a better story. Who wouldn’t?
A forest, then. Beautiful trees. And a lady singing.
Love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on.
What a sweet lady. Sing lady, sing! Of course, she wakes the dragon.
Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly
flames everywhere.
And listen to the way Reading #1 approaches it: siken1
Juxtaposed to the way it’s confronted in Reading #2: siken2
Reading #2 contains a vitality that isn’t there for Reading #1. It’s like a wet cloth got thrown over Reading #1. Consider the way he speaks the very fist line of this excerpt. In print, there are two sentences: a statement and a question and, to my ears, #2 conveys that, but #1 makes the statement sound like he’s half questioning you. As if he’s merely guessing that “you want a better story” rather than telling you that you do.
Consider the lady as well. Both readings do present a sarcastic kind of address to her and her function, but each feels like a different kind of sarcasm. #1 sounds like the speaker has given up. He just doesn’t care about what she has to say anymore and the consequences of her actions should’ve been foreseen–predictable. #2, on the other hand, sounds provoking and antagonizing. That lady, you know she just had to go and do that.
Now, these differences. These different experiences, I suspect they lead to different speakers and ultimately to different poems. The poem that exists in Reading #1 is one of passiveness with a speaker who’s ready to roll over in bed and ignore the whole situation. Reading #2 has a passion and fervor that makes the speaker into someone who’s going to sit across from the coffee table, stare you in the eye, and plead with you to stay.
The one in my head, though. The rhythm that I come to when I read this poem, points me in a direction of middle ground with a speaker who sometimes wants to turn away and other times wants to stare you down. A speaker that confronts you with the things he really cares about–(ie, more applesauce)–and allow you distance when he’s swimming around and trying to avoid things–(ie, saying he’s not the dragon when he is the dragon).
Can you imagine the difference this makes, though? This ability to change the speaker can change an entire poem. With each new reading, the entire poem can change, the speaker can change, and the meaning can change. It has the ability to connect with people differently each time. Someone who wouldn’t connect with, say, Reading #1 might connect with Reading #2 or vice versa or not at all, but only with text. I find that exciting and perplexing.
Elections are like candy stores for rhetorical critics — or anyone paying attention. From lawn signs to public endorsements, talk shows to chalk art, campaign ads to Facebook rallies… it’s all just so damn tasty.
So, as the polls close, let’s take a moment to think back on all the good times. I think I have to stick with the RNC’s Palin bio as my favorite treat. C’mon — you know the alliterative glory of “Mother, Moosehunter, Maverick” gave you chills (you may have mistaken them for a shudder).
Gauti Sigthorsson posted his Screen Studies Conference presentation creatively titled “Home is Where My Archive Is.” It runs about 20 minutes and is most definitely worth the listen. If not for the actual complications Gauti brings up, but also for sentences like: “you’re functioning as my 3D PowerPoint presentation.”
Last month, I downloaded a free song from his new album with Brian Eno, and since then we’ve had some great communication. They suggest I visit their site to hear free samples, download the album, buy concert tickets, etc. And I do, of course. I wouldn’t want to let Dave down.
I’ve never understood before why people would bother to sign up for text messages from political candidates or wake-up calls from actors… I mean, it’s not real, people!
But that is a real smile that comes to my face whenever I see that name in my inbox. Now that’s a rhetorical appeal.
I have seen a handful of episodes from the show, The Dog Whisperer, with Cesar Millan, and I’ve always been impressed by how Millan interacts with the pet owners. He always says he’s training the humans, not the dogs.
In fact, a lot of times he doesn’t call the people owners. He calls them humans, which very interestingly divorces any statement of power in the relationship — probably because these humans are often in a submissive role.
In one particular episode, Millan visits a family of four (a heterosexual couple with a daughter and son) to help a dog behave properly and not so, um, affectionately toward her humans.
Millan discusses the dog with the family, and portions of the discussion are spliced with footage of both the dog misbehaving and of Millan speaking to the camera and explaining what he notices. What he notices is just as much about the family as about the dog herself. The mother and daughter clearly dominate the discussion, he says, while the father and son remain quiet. The dog, he argues, has identified with the females in the family, and her show of love toward them, particularly the young son, has not been one of a pack member but of a pack leader over the submissive males in the family.
Fascinating. Extreme feminism exists in the canine world too.
But since “training humans” seems to be a constant theme in Millan’s show, I wonder whether counseling offices are going to begin (or already are) including animal psychologists as an indirect way of handling human problems. Hmm. Whispering to dogs in order to whisper to humans.
