Cuckoo Kookabura — Culture as the Language of Art

I wrote in November of the claim by the owners of the copyright in the Australian chestnut Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree that Men at Work had infringed Kookabura’s copyright in their 1981 #1 hit Men Down Under. The claim is ridiculous. As the Sydney Morning Herald reported at the time, “[t]he key, harmony, structure and rhythm of Down Under’s famous riff changed the sound of it so much that nobody – not the band, [the managing director of the company that owned the copyright to Kookaburra], or even five out of six [of the game show] panellists . . . noticed it until someone turned it into a quiz show question.”

But now, as Celebrity Justice (among others) reports, “[a]fter a 3 year fight, a federal court in Australia has ruled against favorite sons Men At Work saying they plagiarized one portion of the Kookaburra tune and will now owe some of their royalties to the publishing group who bought the rights to that song in 1990.”

As CNN reports, the judge in his decision wrote that “I would emphasise that the findings I have made do not amount to a finding that the flute riff is a substantial part of Down Under or that it is the ‘hook’ of that song.”

Whether the judge’s decision will withstand appeal under Australian copyright law is beyond my expertise, but the suggestion that the quotation of a copyrighted song in a new work constitutes copyright infringement would make a travesty of the notion of fair use under U.S. law. My zealousness on this question is not merely the result of the argument that I made in my November post — that the “transformative” nature of Men Down Under is proven by the way it alters the melody it takes from Kookabura and the failure of anyone to recognize the borrowing for 29 years. It is also because that being able to “quote” works that have resonance and meaning in our culture is fundamental to artistic creation. Kookabura is fundamental to Men Down Under as a song because Men Down Under, from its title to its performers to its lyric to its video is about Australia, and the use of a musical phrase from Kookabura is as resonant a way to convey Australia as there is.

Instead of recognizing what Lewis Hyde calls the “Cultural Commons,” many people have the knee-jerk impulse people have to identify cultural creations as “property” and thereby equate them to real estate or cars or something. Beside the rather large fact that property rights are limited in all sorts of ways in order to advance social goals (you can’t have a pig farm in the middle of a suburb, you can’t paint your house fuschia in most places, and the government can take your property if it pays you a fair (and rather low) price for it, etc.), that knee-jerk reaction entirely ignores how cultural creations draw (and must draw) on existing cultural creations, and how those creations then achieve meaning in the social sphere and are used to convey meaning in the social sphere. Copyright exists to feed, not hinder, creation, and the sooner we under what creativity really involves the more creative a culture we’ll have.

You be the judge: are Men at Work plagiarists or composers?

Mark Twain on invention

It takes a thousand men to invent a telegraph, or a steam engine, or a phonograph, or a photograph, or a telephone, or any other Important thing–and the last man gets the credit and we forget the others. He added his little mite–that is all he did.

- letter to Anne Macy. Reprinted in Anne Sullivan Macy, The Story Behind Helen Keller (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Doran, and Co., 1933), p.162.

Cukoo Kookaburra copyright claim

In 1980, Men at Work released Down Under, and in 1981 it was a #1 song in Australia, Britain, and the U.S. In 2007, 26 years later, a game show contestant identified Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree as the nursery rhyme the song’s riff was based on. The contestant needed prompting. It’s no surprise he had trouble thinking about where the tune had come from. As the Sydney Morning Herald reports, “[t]he key, harmony, structure and rhythm of Down Under’s famous riff changed the sound of it so much that nobody – not the band, [the managing director of the company that owned the copyright to Kookaburra], or even five out of six [of the game show] panellists . . . noticed it until someone turned it into a quiz show question.”

But that didn’t stop the copyright holder from suing Men at Work, despite the fact it had bought the rights to Kookaburra in the 1980s “when it bought them for $6100 from the family of its late composer, Toorak School teacher Marion Sinclair.” In fact, one of its managing director’s jobs was to track down unauthorized uses — it’s a wonder he hasn’t yet gotten to the school chorus version below.

The mere fact the use went unnoticed for so long is itself, I think, evidence that its use in Down Under is fair use. If something is so transformed that it isn’t noticed even in a #1 hit, it must be transformative, right? I think Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster is fair use for a similar reason — the photographer himself didn’t realize the poster was based on his own photograph. Copyright claims like the one against Men at Work pervert the very basis of so much we call creative. As the Morning Herald states, “The reuse of riffs is as old as rock’n'roll. And it’s a good thing, according to Martin Armiger, former member of the Sports and composer of music for The Secret Life of Us and Young Einstein. The 1955 hit Louie Louie by Richard Berry became the template for hundreds of songs including the Troggs’ Wild Thing and the Beatles’ Twist and Shout, he pointed out in his expert evidence for Men at Work and EMI.”

Or, as the KLF puts it, “Every Number One song ever written is only made up from bits from other songs.”

“The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.” — Albert Einstein

James Boyle: “A Song’s Tale: Mashups, Borrowing, and the Law”

Professor James Boyle lectures on the 199 year history of a song protesting the government’s inept response after Hurricane Katrina, tracing its sources back over 100 years through the work of, among others, Kanye West, Ray Charles, and Clara Ward. Each (I’m shocked, shocked) of these musicians borrowed from the music of others before them, yet they borrowed in different ways, under different legal rules, in a different musical culture. Their music was shaped, for better and worse, by those constraints. At the end of the 100 year journey, we can have a sense of how the music of the future may be shaped, and of what our musical culture will give up in the process.

John Lennon: an original, or a remixer? Or are they really the same?

Doesn’t art require the use of symbols that resonate with the culture? J.D. Salinger and his “ownership” of Holden Caulfield compared to Shakespeare and his theft of King Lear.

I may be a minority, but I find it odd to think a literary character, rather than the work he appears in, can be copyrighted. Nonetheless, the judge hearing J.D. Salinger’s lawsuit seeking to block publication of 60 Years Later: Coming Through the Rye apparently thinks Holden Caulfield is “a portrait by words.” Funny, I might think of Catcher in the Rye as analogous to a painting, but the character himself?

Holden Caulfield is a cultural icon of adolescent alienation (or at least was at one time). Can no creative work employ him as a symbol with resonance for an entire generation without J.D. Salinger’s permission (that, by all appearances, he would never grant)?

A lot of great art would never have been created if that were the case. Thinking these thoughts, I came across this, from Groklaw (via techdirt):

I was goofing off, looking up some information on Wikipedia on King Lear, and here’s what struck me. If the current US Copyright Law had been in effect over Shakespeare, I think he could have been sued by many authors for copyright infringement for writing that masterpiece.

Count how many lawsuits there could have been just for King Lear alone:

Shakespeare’s play is based on various accounts of the semi-legendary Celtic mythological figure Lear/Lir. Shakespeare’s most important source is thought to be the second edition of The Chronicles of England, Scotlande, and Irelande by Raphael Holinshed, published in 1587. Holinshed himself found the story in the earlier Historia Regum Britanniae by Geoffrey of Monmouth, which was written in the 12th century. Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene, published 1590, also contains a character named Cordelia, who also dies from hanging, as in King Lear.

Other possible sources are A Mirror for Magistrates (1574), by John Higgins; The Malcontent (1604), by John Marston; The London Prodigal (1605); Arcadia (1580-1590), by Sir Philip Sidney, from which Shakespeare took the main outline of the Gloucester subplot; Montaigne’s Essays, which were translated into English by John Florio in 1603; An Historical Description of Iland of Britaine, by William Harrison; Remaines Concerning Britaine, by William Camden (1606); Albion’s England, by William Warner, (1589); and A Declaration of egregious Popish Impostures, by Samuel Harsnett (1603), which provided some of the language used by Edgar while he feigns madness. King Lear is also a literary variant of a common fairy tale, in which a father rejects his youngest daughter for a statement of her love that does not please him.

The source of the subplot involving Gloucester, Edgar, and Edmund is a tale in Philip Sidney’s Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia, with a blind Paphlagonian king and his two sons, Leonatus and Plexitrus.

How many lawsuits do you see? At least a half dozen? I even see some methods and concepts claims, if we view it with modern copyright owner eyes. Remember J.K. Rowling’s litigation over methods and concepts that Darl McBride and Chris Sontag cited? I suppose he could have raised a transformational fair use claim. But what if he accessed the prior works in digital format? Does fair use exist there? Or maybe they’d have been DRM’d. He’d maybe then never have read them.

Of course, what really would have happened is there never would have been a King Lear written. It would have been too legally risky. You can go to jail for copyright infringement, after all, even if you are noncommercial, if you distribute a DVD, and if we are imagining, let’s imagine Shakespeare did that. Shakespeare wasn’t even noncommercial. And there are criminal sanctions under regular Copyright Law, too.

If Shakespeare had plenty of money, he could have contacted all the copyright owners and paid them whatever they asked, but if he didn’t have enough money, the result would have been he would have been unable to afford to write King Lear. Do we want a world where Shakespeare can only write King Lear if he has money? If you think I exaggerate, remember what happened to internet radio? And if one song is worth $80,000, is the sky not the limit, if you are a copyright owner and hold all the legal cards and can get Congress to keep upping the ante to suit you?

Without borrowing, stealing, cribbing, remixing, mashing-up, collaging and compiling – without influences great and small, in other words – there is no “creating.”

From Jonathan Lethem, “The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism“:

In a courtroom scene from The Simpsons that has since entered into the television canon, an argument over the ownership of the animated characters Itchy and Scratchy rapidly escalates into an existential debate on the very nature of cartoons. “Animation is built on plagiarism!” declares the show’s hot-tempered cartoon-producer-within-a-cartoon, Roger Meyers Jr. “You take away our right to steal ideas, where are they going to come from?” If nostalgic cartoonists had never borrowed from Fritz the Cat, there would be no Ren & Stimpy Show; without the Rankin/Bass and Charlie Brown Christmas specials, there would be no South Park; and without The Flintstones-more or less The Honeymooners in cartoon loincloths-The Simpsons would cease to exist. If those don’t strike you as essential losses, then consider the remarkable series of “plagiarisms” that links Ovid’s “Pyramus and Thisbe” with Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and Leonard Bernstein’s West Side Story, or Shakespeare’s description of Cleopatra, copied nearly verbatim from Plutarch’s life of Mark Antony and also later nicked by T. S. Eliot for The Waste Land. If these are examples of plagiarism, then we want more plagiarism.

From Open Source:

Nearly every word of [Lethem's] essay about cultural borrowing and reworking was stolen – er, appropriated – from some other source and then cobbled together with a big dose of Lethem magic to form a cohesive whole. Even the “I”s aren’t Jonathan Lethem; they’re Jonathan Rosen writing in The Talmud and the Internet about John Donne, or William Gibson in a Wired article about William Burroughs, or David Foster Wallace on a grad school seminar, or Brian Wilson in a Beach Boys song.

But this is more than a stunt. It’s a passionate salvo in the copyright wars, a crowd of voices coralled together to say, basically: without borrowing, stealing, cribbing, remixing, mashing-up, collaging and compiling – without influences great and small, in other words – there is no “creating.” No hip hop, sure, but also no blues, no Disney, no Shakespeare. No Lolita or “I have a dream.” We’d be reduced to staring at campfires and barking at one another.

So how to think about the joys, perils, and contradictions of influence in our intellectual property age? Lethem wonders himself:

“The dream of a perfect systematic remuneration is nonsense. I pay rent with the price my words bring when published in glossy magazines and at the same moment offer them for almost nothing to impoverished literary quarterlies, or speak them for free into the air in a radio interview. So what are they worth? What would they be worth if some future Dylan worked them into a song? Should I care to make such a thing impossible?”

Here is a podcast (mp3) of a discussion between novelistJonathan Lethem, author Siva Vaidhyanathan, and musicians Mark Hosler (of Negativland) and Mike Doughty (of Soul Coughing) about the politics of plagiarism and originality.

Mark Twain: we are sewing machines re-weaving old threads.

Mark Twain on “originality”:

Old Man: Whatsoever a man is, is due to his make, and to the influences brought to bear upon it by his heredities, his habitat, his associations. He is moved, directed, commanded by exterior influences – he originates nothing, not even a thought.

* * *

Old Man: Shakespeare created nothing. he correctly observed, and he marvelously painted. he exactly portrayed people whom g-d had created; but he created none himself. let us spare him the slander of charging him with  trying. Shakespeare could not create. he was a machine and machines do not  create.

Young Man:   Where was his excellence, then?

Old Man:   In this. He was not a sewing-machine, like you and me; he was a gobelin loom. the threads and the colors came into him from the outside; outside influences,  suggestions, experiences (reading, seeing plays, playing plays, borrowing ideas, and so on), framed the patterns in his mind and started up his complex and admirable  machinery, and it automatically turned out that pictured and gorgeous fabric which  still compels the astonishment of the world. If Shakespeare had been born and bred on a  barren and unvisited rock in the ocean his mighty intellect would have had no outside  material to work with, and could have invented none; and no outside  influences, teachings, moldings, persuasions, inspirations, of a valuable sort, and  could have invented none; and so Shakespeare would have produced nothing. In turkey  he would have produced something-something up to the highest limit of Turkish  influences, associations, and training. In France he would have produced something  better-something up to the highest limit of the French influences and training. In England he rose to the highest limit attainable through the outside helps  afforded by that land’s ideals, influences, and training. You and i are but sewing-machines. We must turn out what we can; we must do our endeavor and care nothing at all when the unthinking reproach us for not turning out gobelins..  

This morning I didn’t think about the fact I wasn’t being original.

I didn’t realize when I wrote this morning’s post that Ann Bartow at Sivacracy.net had over a month ago quoted musician Jeffrey Lewis’s piece in the New York Times making essentially the same points: