Girl Talk on Remix Culture

Gregg Gillis, a/k/a Girl Talk, spoke with fans online via the Globe and Mail on his work:

I believe in what I’m doing, so at this point, the fact that there has been no problems feels great.   Some of those national publications like to write stories and make it seem like me or Illegal Art are a bunch of idiots, like we just don’t give a fuck and that’s why we’re releasing the music.   Completely ignoring the whole idea of Fair Use. It’s definitely not under the radar any more.   That was the point I was trying to make. But times are changing. The way the general public views intellectual property in 2009 is much different than in 1999. Look around the internet.   So much content comes from pre-existing media. We’re used to it now. Christian Bale goes crazy on the set of T4.   That turns into a techno song, which then turns into a cartoon on YouTube, which will then turn into a T-shirt. Everyone is constantly exchanging ideas and building upon previously existing material.  So the idea of a remix being a real artform is being validated in our culture every day.

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.

Collage is art, not theft.

From Negativeland, whom I’ve previously mentioned as a precursor to Girl Talk:

[F]rom an artistic point of view, it is ponderously delusional to try to paint all these new forms of fragmentary sampling as economically motivated “theft”, “piracy”, or “bootlegging”. We reserve these terms for the unauthorized taking of whole works and reselling them for one’s own profit. Artists who routinely appropriate, on the other hand, are not attempting to profit from the marketability of their subjects at all. They are using elements, fragments, or pieces of someone else’s created artifact in the creation of a new one for artistic reasons. These elements may remain identifiable, or they may be transformed to varying degrees as they are incorporated into the new creation, where there may be many other fragments all in a new context, forming a new “whole”. This becomes a new “original”, neither reminiscent of nor competitive with any of the many “originals” it may draw from. This is also a brief description of collage techniques which have developed throughout this century, and which are universally celebrated as artistically valid, socially aware, and conceptually stimulating to all, it seems, except perhaps those who are “borrowed” from.

No one much cared about the centuries old tradition of appropriation in classical music as long as it could only be heard when it was played live in front of your ears. But now all music exists as a mass produced, saleable object, electronically frozen for all time, and seen by its owners to be in continuous, simultaneous economic competition with all other music. The previously interesting idea that someone’s music might freely include some appropriated music of another has now been made into a criminal activity. This example is typical of how copyright laws now actually serve to inhibit or prevent the creative process, itself, from proceeding in certain interesting ways, both traditional and new.

This has become a pressing problem for creativity now because the creative technique of appropriation has jumped from the mediums in which it first appeared (principally in the visual fine arts of painting, printmaking, and sculpture) to popular, electronic mass distributed mediums such as photography, recorded music, and multimedia. The appearance of appropriation techniques in these more recent mass mediums have occasioned a huge increase in owner litigations of such appropriation based works because the commercial entrepenours who now own and operate mass culture are apparently intent on oblitering all distinctions between the needs of art and the needs of commerce. These owners of mass produced cultural material claim that similarly mass produced works of appropriation are a new and devastating threat to their total control over the exclusive profits which their properties might produce in the same mass marketplace. They claim that, art or not, an unauthorized appropriation of any kind can not be allowed to directly compete in the appropriated material’s avenue of commerce, as if they were equal in content, and equal in intent. The degree to which the unique nature and needs of art practice do not play any part in this thinking is more than slightly insane.

Consider the starkly stupid proposition that collage has now become illegal in music unless the artist can afford to pay for each and every fragment he or she might want to use, as well as gain permission from each and every owner. Consider how this puts a stop to all independent, non-corporate forms of collage in music, and how those corporately funded collage works which can afford the tolls had better be flattering to the owner in their usage. . . .

Please consider the ungenerous and uncreative logic we are overlaying our culture with. Artists will always be interested in sampling from existing cultural icons and artifacts precisely because of how they express and symbolize something potently recognizable about the culture from which both they and this new work spring. The owners of such artifacts and icons are seldom happy to see their properties in unauthorized contexts which may be antithetical to the way they are spinning them. Their kneejerk use of copyright restrictions to crush this kind of work now amounts to corporate censorship of unwanted independent work.

Piecing together coherence

“Life is made up of a series of judgments on insufficient data, and if we waited to run down all our doubts, it would flow past us.”

– Learned Hand, On Receiving an Honorary Degree 137 (1939).

We all always want to know more. The worst discussions I have in class are those that begin with a suggestion from a student along the lines of, “Well, the plaintiff might have done X,” when there is no more reason to believe X happened than to believe the laptops of every student in the class were being used to take notes. In fact, the plaintiff might have done X, but the mere possibility is not enough on which to base a judgment or decision. If, on the other hand, there are facts or reasoning within the case that support a reasonable inference the plaintiff might have done X then perhaps X is worthy of being taken into account.

Juries never have all the facts. Wouldn’t it be nice if God could provide us his videotape, with all the angles the networks apply to sporting events.

But we make judgments, and we make decisions, and without our capacity to decide reasonably well based on a minimum of knowledge we’d be utterly lost. Life would flow right past us. The other day, writing about the reassignment of the Plain Dealer’s well-respected music critic, I wrote that “[a]s far as I know, such a reassignment breaches no duties, contractual or otherwise.” Do I know that for a fact? Of course not. I am not privy to the thoughts, discussions, or plans of any of the parties to the lawsuit. I don’t have a copy of the relevant contracts.  But what do I know? If there had been a breach of a contract or any other legal duty, Rosenberg’s lawyer would have alleged that breach.

In short, non-facts — things that don’t happen — are often as telling or even more telling than the things that happen. Will Girl Talk be sued for copyright infringement? I have no special insight. Some people are certain Girl Talk will be sued. Others believe Girl talk is protected by the doctrine of fair use.

Me? No one has sued Girl Talk yet. That speaks volumes. What else persuades me?  Girl Talk’s recordings use the samples they weave together to create works that can in no way be substituted for the sampled works. In short, as aural collages go, Girl Talk and Negativeland are as good as they get, and if I were interested in vindicating my right to charge for any sample of a recording I owned the copyright to, I’d stay as far away as I could from a lawsuit against those two acts.

But no doubt there is data out there I am unaware of that sooner or later will make me look like a fool.  That’s simply the nature of human existence.

Roberto Bolaño made a somewhat similar point in explaining the transmutation of life’s chaos into the order of stories:

Let’s say the story and the plot arise by chance, that they belong to the realm of chance, that is, chaos, disorder, or to a realm that’s in constant turmoil (some call it apocalyptic). Form, on the other hand, is a choice made through intelligence, cunning and silence, all the weapons used by Ulysses in his battle against death. Form seeks an artifice; the story seeks a precipice.

We are all cultural magpies.

I’ve written before that many consider all creative endeavors collaborative. This collaborative quality obviously has significance in an environment in which, for example, the RIAA states that “generally speaking, the use of any part of a song requires a license.” (emphasis added). Although until now the courts have indeed found that a sample of any part of a song does require a license, a more nuanced approach is, I think, inevitable. That inevitability is not just because groups like Girl Talk and Negativeland are creating works that sound genuinely “original” by weaving together pieces of other recordings. It is also because there is a growing recognition that some of the people we consider our greatest originals are cultural magpies.  And pop music, the “property” the record industry protects most fiercely, is likely the most unoriginal original art there is. As the KLF put it in The Manual (How to have a Number One the Easy Way):

Every Number One song ever written is only made up from bits from other songs. There is no lost chord. No changes untried. No extra notes to the scale or hidden beats to the bar. There is no point in searching for originality. In the past, most writers of songs spent months in their lonely rooms strumming their guitars or bands in rehearsals have ground their way through endless riffs before arriving at the song that takes them to the very top. Of course, most of them would be mortally upset to be told that all they were doing was leaving it to chance before they stumbled across the tried and tested.

You don’t believe them? Check out Kid Rock (and don’t get me wrong — I like the song, but no small part of my liking it is knowing the songs it’s derived from):

And just to make your head spin, read this.

Negativeland’s positivity

I’ve written before here about Girl Talk.  As I wrote then, Girl Talk’s music, which consists entirely of the weaving together of samples from other recording artists, is a direct challenge to a legal and business regime that  has treated as theft any sample of any recording without permission, regardless of the size of the sample and regardless of the appropriating work’s origniality.  

Long before Girl Talk, however, came Negativeland, doing the same thing and, unlike Girl Talk, articulating intelligently along with the music the theoretical justifications for its methods.  Here, as post-modern as it gets, is Negativeland’s “No Business”:

Negativeland’s art can lead to amusing ironies.  including its confrontation with U2 or, rather, as they found out later, when they actually ran into U2′s Dave Evans (a/k/a “The Edge”), U2′s record company, which had never actually consulted with the members of U2 before taking legal action that wiped Negativeland’s “U2,” a tape collage satire of U2′s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” off the face of the earth.

One may not agree with Negativeland’s stance (and they can go on about it), but it is a thoughtful and undeniably compelling one, as this excerpt one of their essays should begin to make clear:

We think it’s about time that the obvious esthetic validity of appropriation begins to be raised in opposition to the assumed preeminence of copyright laws prohibiting the free reuse of cultural material. Has it occurred to anyone that the private ownership of mass culture is a bit of a contradiction in terms?

. . . We are now all immersed in an ever-growing media environment — an environment just as real and just as affecting as the natural one from which it somehow sprang. Today we are surrounded by canned ideas, images, music, and text. . . .  Most of our opinions are no longer born out of our own experience. They are received opinions. Large increments of our daily sensory input are not focused on the physical reality around us, but on the media that saturates it. As artists, we find this new electrified environment irresistibly worthy of comment, criticism, and manipulation.

The act of appropriating from this media assault represents a kind of liberation from our status as helpless sponges . . . . Appropriation sees media, itself, as a telling source and subject, to be captured, rearranged, even manipulated, and injected back into the barrage by those who are subjected to it. Appropriators claim the right to create with mirrors.

Our corporate culture, on the other hand, is determined to reach the end of this century while maintaining its economically dependent view that there is something wrong with all this. . . .

Our cultural evolution is no longer allowed to unfold in the way that pre-copyright culture always did. True folk music, for example, is no longer possible. The original folk process of incorporating previous melodies and lyrics into constantly evolving songs is impossible when melodies and lyrics are privately owned. We now exist in a society so choked and inhibited by cultural property and copyright protections that the very idea of mass culture is now primarily propelled by economic gain and the rewards of ownership. . . .

. . . That being the case, there are two types of appropriation taking place today: legal and illegal. So, you may ask, if this type of work must be done, why can’t everyone just follow the rules and do it the legal way? Negativland remains on the shady side of existing law because to follow it would put us out of business. Here is a personal example of how copyright law actually serves to prevent a wholly appropriate creative process which inevitably emerged out of our reproducing technologies.

In order to appropriate or sample even a few seconds of almost anything out there, you are supposed to do two things: get permission and pay clearance fees. The permission aspect becomes an unavoidable roadblock to anyone who may intend to use the material in a context unflattering to the performer or work involved. This may happen to be exactly what we want to do. Dead end. Imagine how much critical satire would get made if you were required to get prior permission from the subject of your satire? The payment aspect is an even greater obstacle to use. Negativland is a small group of people dedicated to maintaining our critical stance by staying out of the corporate mainstream. We create and manufacture our own work, on our own label, on our own meager incomes and borrowed money. Our work is typically packed with found elements, brief fragments recorded from all media. This goes way beyond one or two, or ten or twenty elements. We can use a hundred different elements on a single record. Each of these audio fragments has a different owner and each of these owners must be located. This is usually impossible because the fragmentary nature of our long-ago random capture from radio or TV does not include the owner’s name and address. If findable, each one of these owners, assuming they each agree with our usage, must be paid a fee which can range from hundreds to thousands of dollars each. Clearance fees are set, of course, for the lucrative inter-corporate trade. Even if we were somehow able to afford that, there are the endless frustrations involved in just trying to get lethargic and unmotivated bureaucracies to get back to you. Thus, both our budget and our release schedule would be completely out of our own hands. Releases can be delayed literally for years. As tiny independents, depending on only one release at a time, we can’t proceed under those conditions. In effect, any attempt to be legal would shut us down.

So OK, we’re just small potato heads, working in a way that wasn’t foreseen by the law, and it’s just too problematical, so why not just work some other way? We are working this way because it’s just plain interesting, and emulating the various well-worn status quos isn’t. How many artistic perogatives should we be willing to give up in order to maintain our owner-regulated culture? The directions art wants to take may sometimes be dangerous, the risk of democracy, but they certainly should not be dictated by what business wants to allow. Look it up in the dictionary — art is not defined as a business! Is it a healthy state of affairs when business attorneys get to lock in the boundaries of experimentation for artists, or is this a recipe for cultural stagnation?