If you think lawyers lifting other lawyers’ language is proof lawyering is easy, you know nothing about true creativity.

There’s always the danger that when someone suggests that genuine creativity can and is built from earlier creative works that someone else will believe the implication is that creativity is no big deal. If I feel I can cut-and-paste from other lawyers’ works then lawyering must be nothing but a cut-and-paste job, right?

It’s not as if I’ve never dealt with these matters for real, as if I’m dealing with it from an academic perspective “unsullied” by the realities of practice. A client who retained me to draft a contract for him once said to me, after we’d spent a considerable amount of time discussing the details of his deal, “It’s all boilerplate, right?”

I responded, “I don’t do boilerplate. Every deal is different, and if you know the lawyer who’s done exactly your deal before and you’re confident the contract he wrote then is just fine for you, go hire him.”

Which isn’t to say I didn’t review a lot of other contracts or that I didn’t lift language from those other contracts. I did. I took a line or two from this one, a paragraph from that, another line from another, etc. And I put those things all together with my notes, shuffled things around, revised a lot of the language I’d lifted from other sources, wrote far more language necessary to express what was necessary to express this particular deal, worked and reworked, checked and rechecked, revised and revised, and at the end I had a document that set forth the client’s deal in all its precision, breadth, and ambiguity. It wasn’t boilerplate at all. But were there lines and even, perhaps, a paragraph lifted from other contracts? Of course.

I obsess about these matters in part because there is terrible confusion about what genuine creativity (in art, music, literature, the practice of law or a myriad of other endeavors) is. The confusion arises because, I believe, there is so much money at stake in the legal and rhetorical wars over copyright. So there are a lot of people who will look at Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster and the photo Fairey used as the poster image’s source, and write things like the following:

Any director, writer or actor interested in making long-term money in the entertainment industry should be calling Fairey what he is: A plagiarist.

While I recognize the attitudes underlying these views — no one else is entitled to make a buck from my work! — the blindness to the creativity involved, even acknowledging the appropriation, is astounding. I’ve gone on at length about my view on this, but no one can deny that Fairey’s poster had a profound resonance and impact during the 2008 presidential campaign, and no one can suggest that the poster would have had any similar impact if the original photo had appeared on the poster rather than Fairey’s reworking. So how can anyone possibly suggest the level of creativity in the poster wasn’t profound?

The KLF “were one of the seminal bands of the British acid house movement during the late 1980s and early 1990s.” Their relevance here is that, “despite their protestations of 1988 about not wishing to be seen as crusaders for sampling, the [KLF] continue to be associated with the cultural movement which retrospectively bundles together those literary and artistic works that make use of ‘creative plagiarism’. 1987: What the Fuck Is Going On? is considered a landmark work in the early history of sampling music in the United Kingdom.” Their #1 British hit, “Doctorin’ the Tardis” “is predominantly a mash-up of the Doctor Who theme music, Gary Glitter’s ‘Rock and Roll (Part Two)’ with sections from ‘Blockbuster!’ by Sweet and ‘Let’s Get Together Tonite’ by Steve Walsh.”

Jimmy Cauty and Bill Drummond — who were the KLF — are also very smart fellows. Among a never-ending series of creative works in a wide range of media, they wrote The Manual: How to Have a Number One the Easy Way, which I’ve heard some describe as a cynical con job but that is far more intelligent and complicated than that. On the one hand, The Manual explains

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. They have to believe it is through this sojourn they arrive at the grail; the great and original song that the world will be unable to resist.

But Drummond and Cauty are not accusing successful musical artists of being “mere plagiarists.” They recognize that even if a song can be broken down into bits and pieces of other songs, there is real genius in great pop music:

So why don’t all songs sound the same? Why are some artists great, write dozens of classics that move you to tears, say it like it’s never been said before, make you laugh, dance, blow your mind, fall in love, take to the streets and riot? Well, it’s because although the chords, notes, harmonies, beats and words have all been used before their own soul shines through; their personality demands attention. This doesn’t just come via the great vocalist or virtuoso instrumentalist. The Techno sound of Detroit, the most totally linear programmed music ever, lacking any human musicianship in its execution reeks of sweat, sex and desire. The creators of that music just press a few buttons and out comes – a million years of pain and lust.

Lewis Hyde makes a similar point in Common as Air, the new book that was the starting point for my exploration the other day of lawyerly “plagiarism”:

“Intellectual property” is the phrase now used to denote ownership of art and ideas, but what exactly does it mean? Does it make sense, to begin with, to say that “intellect” is the source of the “properties” in question? A novel like Ulysses, the know-how for making antiviral drugs, Martin Luther King, Jr’s “Dream” speech, the poems of Rimbaud, Andy Warhol screen prints, Mississippi Delta blues, the source code for electronic voting machines: who could name the range of human powers and historical conditions that attends such creations? All that we make and do is shaped by the communities and traditions that contain us, not to mention by money, power, politics, and luck. And even should the artist or scientist think she has extracted herself from the world to stand alone in the studio, a tremendous array of faculties and mind- states may well attend her creativity.

There is intellect, of course, but also imagination, intuition, sagacity, persistence, prudence, fantasy, lust, humor, sympathy, serendipity, will, prayer, grief, courage, visual acuity, ambition, guesswork, mother wit, memory, delight, vitality, venality, kindness, generosity, fortitude, fear, awe, compassion, surrender, sincerity, humility, and the ability to integrate diametrically opposed states of mind into harmonious wholes . . . We would need quite a few new categories to fully map this territory — “dream property,” “courage property,” “grief property” — and even if we had that list, only half the problem would have been addressed.

Do you want a great lawyer? You can have one even if he cuts-and-pastes the work of other lawyers into his work. But please — don’t believe for a second that means that lawyering can be reduced to cutting-and-pasting. Lawyering requires as much creativity as any endeavor on earth — if I didn’t believe that why would I write a blog devoted to law and creativity? And creativity is infinitely more complex a matter than tracking down the bits and pieces that make up the creative work. It requires the imagination necessary to find those bits and pieces, the vision to understand how to select and fit them together to due the present job, the skill borne of years of work to write in the stuff that can’t be found anywhere else and without which those bits and pieces would be just a bunch of crude boilerplate that doesn’t fit well into any specific situation at all, the passion and energy necessary to do the work to bring all this stuff together, the courage to stick to one’s vision even as one’s adversary is insisting you’re wrong, the delight without which the strength to do all of these difficult things would be impossible to muster, the generosity of spirit that can identify a client’s problems as your own, and a million other things.

So don’t you dare suggest that taking some language that is useful for doing the job that needs to be done from another lawyer is evidence lawyering is like putting together tinker toys.

Words and Ideas as Common Property: Lewis Hyde, Stanley Fish and lawyers as “plagiarists”

In yesterday’s New York Times, Robert Darnton reviewed Lewis Hyde’s newly published Common as Air: Revolution, Art, and Ownership, describing it as “an eloquent and erudite plea for protecting our cultural patrimony from appropriation by commercial interests.” As Darnton explains, “Hyde invokes the [founding fathers] in order to warn us against a new enclosure movement, one that would fence off large sectors of the public domain — in science, the arts, literature, and the entire world of knowledge — in order to exploit monopolies.” Acknowledging that Hyde’s historical approach might seem a “dubious” way of “defending the cultural commons” and that in other hands it could amount to nothing more than picking and choosing among “a stockpile of quotable chunks of wisdom,” Darnton finds the book compelling:

[Hyde] does not merely cull the works of the founding fathers for quotations. He pitches his argument at a level where historians and political philosophers have contributed most to our understanding of intellectual history. Instead of treating the ideas of the founders as self-contained units of meaning, he explores their interconnections and shows how they shared a common conceptual frame. Not that he pretends to have uncovered anything unknown to the authorities he cites, notably the historian J. G. A. Pocock, whose studies of civic republicanism reveal how early modern philosophers drew on a current of thought about the nature of citizenship that goes back to ancient Greece and Rome. Hyde builds his argument by telling stories, and he tells them well. His book brims with vignettes, which may be familiar but complement one other in ways that produce original insights.

It is one of the genuine highlights of my professional career that Hyde draws on an article I’ve written. Hyde’s scope is wide, and he explores in depth the practices of many different “communities” — including, among others, the world of scientific research and the programmers that collectively created the World Wide Web — to show that treating knowledge and invention as a commons is both widespread and productive. One such community is the legal profession, which might seem odd in that the widely held understanding that your intellectual product is as much your property as is your house is such a legalistic conception:

Many . . . communities of practice have common holdings made durable and lively through normative rather than legal stints.

One of these may be found, oddly enough, in the legal community itself, where, as in some scientific circles, collective tasks get done and “collective beings” come to life through the agreed-upon non-ownership of creative labors. The fact is that in legal circles when judges issue opinions they often “plagiarize” from the briefs presented by contending parties. To take but one example, in 1937 Supreme Court Justice Benjamin Cardozo lifted, without attribution, verbatim sections of the Roosevelt administration’s brief in his decision upholding the Social Security system. Of course, “plagiarism” is the wrong term here, for legal writing does not come from the kind of author to whom credit is due. Legal writing is mostly collaborative, for one thing, produced by writing communities. In addition, legal opinions are public documents, belonging to no one because they belong to all of us. Nobody has ever successfully claimed copyright infringement for the unauthorized use of someone else’s legal argument. In fact, legal writers want to have their work appropriated. Peter Friedman, a lawyer whose analysis I’m drawing on here, has written: “I knew I had written the best brief I possibly could on a motion when the court’s opinion announcing its decision was directly cut-and-pasted from my brief.”

If lawyers were the kind of authors who claimed a property in their work, they would potentially deprive both the work and themselves of their public roles. As with eighteenth-century pamphleteers, or with the creators of the World Wide Web, self-erasure attends a lawyer’s entry into the public sphere, not self-assertion. The law is collective; it belongs to all citizens, and consequently we ask that its practitioners present themselves as public persons with copyduties rather than copyrights. In this context, to sample someone else’s brief is a favor, not a theft; it helps a lawyer be a lawyer. Common ownership makes that species of public life possible. (Common as Air at 248-249.)

Interestingly enough, this passage has some bearing on an exchange I had recently with the incredibly accomplished lawyer and blogger Scott Greenfield. Greenfield wrote a blog post criticizing a piece Stanley Fish wrote in the New York Times that argued that plagiarism as an offense is not a moral wrong, but, rather, the product of particular rules against the use in particular contexts of others’ words and ideas without attribution. [Fish wrote a second piece on the topic, responding to critics of the first piece, here.] The necessary corollary of Fish’s point is that in other contexts the use of others’ words and ideas without attribution is perfectly acceptable. Greenfield’s disagreement with Fish focused on Fish’s assertion that “lawyers and judges in fact do [appropriate words and ideas without attribution] all the time without the benefit or hindrance of any metaphysical rap.” Greenfield wrote, “No, Stanley, I will not turn the other cheek, no matter how much I love the platitude about reinventing the wheel.”

I tried to explain in the comments to Greenfield’s post where I thought he had missed Fish’s point (which is very much related to Hyde’s). I will try to do so more clearly here inasmuch as he and I seemed to speak past one another in that particular exchange.

In law school, plagiarism is the use of the words or ideas of others without attribution. It is a grave offense that can lead to harsh discipline and even might threaten the student’s ability to someday be certified to practice law. Strict compliance with the need to attribute words and ideas drawn from others is deemed necessary because the point of the academic process is to teach the students to put together and convey ideas clearly and to assess their capacity to do so. Thus, using words or ideas of others without attribution is tantamount to fraud — the reader of those words and the ideas they convey is misled into believing they are the product of the student’s intellectual processes alone, and the reader conducts an activity central to the academic process — grading those words — in reliance on that belief. If I were to read Scott Greenfield’s words under the mistaken belief they were the words of a student whose paper I was grading, I would give him a much better grade than he would earn if I knew he were just quoting Greenfield.

In legal practice, however, it is only the quality of the words that matter. Whether contract language originated with the lawyer who drafted the contract or a paragraph in a brief explaining a line of authority relevant to the brief’s argument was cut-and-pasted from a brief the lawyer who submitted the brief found online doesn’t matter. What matters is the effect of the words themselves. And, in fact, lawyers almost always begin drafting contracts by cannibalizing other contracts and forms. Yet they never cite to or otherwise acknowledge those sources. There is no reason for them to do so. And, as the passage from Hyde above makes clear, judges cut-and-paste from lawyers’ briefs. In fact, the entire arena of legal writing in practice is rife with unacknowledged borrowing.

And of course it’s no sin. That’s the point. Which Greenfield acknowledges without realizing it’s the point when he writes that a judge who appropriates the words from a lawyer’s brief is accepting a “gift,” not engaging in plagiarism:

As for judges taking language out of my brief, that’s not plagiarizing, but the purpose of a legal brief, to provide the court with the language to use in his decision. That’s exactly what I’ve written it for, as my “gift” to the judge to use in deciding the case. Again, entirely different from plagiarizing.

But that precisely is Fish’s point. Appropriation without attribution isn’t the moral equivalent of the theft of private property. It’s wrong in some contexts and not in others. So in some contexts it is defined as plagiarism and in others to call it “plagiarism” is to misspeak.

Greenfield’s other retort to Fish also reflects his misunderstanding of the point. Greenfield states that lawyers do provide attribution to the words and ideas for others. That’s what the whole obsession with citation is about:

[W]e do not lift language without attribution. Indeed, that’s what all those silly case names and the “358 U.S. 973″ stuff is all about. It’s the lawyers’ way of attributing, Stanley. It’s called a citation, and it’s our regime. What you do not see at the end of a court decision is the copyright and command that it not be used without permission. Use of court decisions is not merely anticipated, but required in most circumstances. That’s the peculiar way law works.

But the attribution provided by citation in legal briefs and opinions does not serve the same purpose as does attribution to a student’s sources. Lawyer’s don’t provide citations to the authorities they quote and rely on because their failure to do so would result in prosecution for a moral offense. Instead, lawyers provide citations because the citations signal the identity of sources for words, actions, and ideas that have persuasive weight because of who those sources are.

In other words, if I lifted language verbatim from a court decision without quotation marks or citation in a brief I wrote to a court I would suffer no harm. You might object that this possibility is a mere hypothetical, but you would be wrong. If an argument — and even precise words — come from a court that has no controlling weight in the court to whom I am submitting the brief and I have no reason to believe the identity of the court would lend any genuine persuasive weight to the argument, I would be remiss if I did provide the citation. The citation itself would raise a question in the mind of the judge to whom I was submitting the brief — why should I care about this court’s words, ideas, or actions? — that would distract from the persuasive effect of the argument itself.

And, indeed, as a general matter as a lawyer there is little reason to cite to law review articles unless there is reason to believe the author of the article is someone who carries genuine persuasive weight. A judge’s reaction otherwise is likely to be along the lines of this: “A law review article can pretty much assert anything that can win the approval of a student editor. Why should I assume it has any authority merely because it’s published in a law review?”

Would the article’s author have any claim against a lawyer who lifted words or ideas from his article and used them in a brief without attribution? I cannot believe so, nor am I aware of any standard or rule the lawyer would be violating.

And in contract and instrument drafting, of course, lawyers don’t even provide citation for the sources of their words.

I think it is important in understanding what Fish was writing about to understand these different functions of citation. On the one hand, there’s citation to validate the relationship between the words and ideas and the author’s identity. On the other, there’s citation to signal that particular words and ideas come from a source that must be reckoned with by the reader. They are two entirely different functions, and in legal practice the latter is the one that matters. The former does not. And so you have never seen a lawyer suffer any adverse consequences for plagiarizing.

But if any of my legal writing students are reading this, be on guard! Students must provide attribution to the words and ideas they appropriate from others.

Stealing what you love

John Pareles wrote, in “Plagiarism in Dylan, or a Cultural Collage?,”that “[i]deas aren’t meant to be carved in stone and left inviolate; they’re meant to stimulate the next idea and the next.” Accordingly, in words apropos of a point I’ve made over and over and over on this blog, he explains:

The absolutely original artist is an extremely rare and possibly imaginary creature, living in some isolated habitat where no previous works or traditions have left any impression. Like virtually every artist, Mr. Dylan carries on a continuing conversation with the past. He’s reacting to all that culture and history offer, not pretending they don’t exist. Admiration and iconoclasm, argument and extension, emulation and mockery — that’s how individual artists and the arts themselves evolve. It’s a process that is neatly summed up in Mr. Dylan’s album title “Love and Theft, ” which itself is a quotation from a book on minstrelsy by Eric Lott. (hyperlinks added)

Another masterful artist, David Foster Wallace, wrote, “No one who is invested in any kind of art . . . can read [Lewis Hyde's book] The Gift and remain unchanged.” It is Hyde’s thesis not merely that all art builds on earlier art, but that it is precisely the artist’s recognition that his creations are gifts that sustains his creativity. In other words, the capacity to create is a gift given to the artist and is given only if the artist understands his own creations as gifts themselves that other artists can use themselves in their acts of creation:

It is the assumption of this book that a work of art is a gift, not a commodity. Or, to state the modern case with more precision, that works of art exist simultaneously in two “economics,” a market economy and a gift economy. Only one of these is essential, however: a work of art can survive without the market, but where there is no gift there is no art.

So it should be no surprise that Andreas Hykade entitled this brilliant video “Love & Theft“:

We build culture from culture, and let’s stop acting as if any one of us owns it.

David Shields, from Reality Hunger:

This book contains hundreds of quotations that go unacknowledged in the body of the text. I’m trying to regain a freedomthat writers from Montaigne to Burroughs took for granted and that we have lost. Your uncertainty about whose words you’ve just read is not a bug but a feature.

A major focus of Reality Hunger is appropriation and plagiarism and what these terms mean. I can hardly treat the topic deeply without engaging in it. That would be like writing a book about lying and not being permitted to lie in it. Or writing a book about destroying capitalism, but being told it can’t be published because it might harm the publishing industry.

Mr. Shields, of course, is not original. Just check out Jonathan Lethem’ s essay “The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism.”

Or my piece, wholly indebted to Lethem,  entitled “Appropriation.”

Or David Markson, in Vanishing Point (at page 12): “Nonlinear. Discontinuous. Collage-like. An assemblage. As is already more than self-evident.”

Literature is theft.

Plagiarism is a puzzling vice. No writer, if he or she were honest about it, would ever deny that, when they come across a good thing in someone else’s work, consciously or unconsciously they store it up for a rainy day. “Literature,” the American journalist James Atlas likes to say, “is theft.” He’s right. The history of books and writing supports this provocative assertion to the hilt.

[I borrowed that.]

“Authorship is rarely a simple question.” — Architecture this time

I’ve written before that it boggles my mind when people write seriously that legal documents that duplicate others might constitute copyright violations. Originality is not of any value in a legal document — the document’s effectiveness in accomplishing its purpose is all that matters. Moreover, as I’ve also mentioned, legal writing is a quintessentially collaborative enterprise. Of course, law is not unique in this regard. In the course of finishing up a paper on the nature of a judge as an “author,” I came across a story from the New York Times written in 2005 about why accusations of plagiarism by architects rarely make it to court. Guess what? Architecture too is largely a collaborative enterprise. As the story states:

One reason accusations of plagiarism [between architects] rarely make it to court is that architecture, despite the romantic image of the solitary genius, is largely a collaborative pursuit. Principal, project architect, project designer and outside consultants of all stripes contribute to a design. All the while, young architects move from firm to firm, spreading ideas and sometimes eventually opening their own, competing offices. As for student architects, well, just because they don’t get paid for their work doesn’t mean it never enters the commercial arena. There’s so much rich activity going on at the schools,” said Bill Sharples of the Manhattan firm SHoP/Sharples Holden Pasquarelli, ‘it’s hard not to be influenced by it.’ With so many influences and so many echoes, authorship is rarely a simple question.”

Ideas, originality, and copyright. Coldplay accused of infringement again.

One of these days we’ll learn what the KLF long ago tried to teach us about pop music: “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.”

Let’s get a basic point straight: copyright does not protect an idea. As the U.S. Copyright Office puts it: “Copyright does not protect facts, ideas, systems, or methods of operation, although it may protect the way these things are expressed. See Circular 1, Copyright Basics, section ‘What Works Are Protected.’”

So it may be true, as Consequence of Sound reports, that “just days after settling with Joe Satriani over plagiarism allegations, [Coldplay] is now being accused of copyright violations by UK musician Andy J. Gallagher for borrowing from Gallagher’s “Something Else” video with their video for ‘Strawberry Swing.’” But being accused of copyright violations and having those accusations deemed worthy of anything other than contempt are two entirely different things. As the Guardian explains, “there’s no doubt that [Gallagher's] and Coldplay’s music videos offer ‘an awful lot of similarities’. Or rather, one big similarity: they both show people interacting with animated chalk-boards.” And it may even be true that, as Gallagher complains, it seems “less than fair that [Coldplay's] video will win numerous awards and receive industry praise when [Gallagher's] director Owen Trevor had the idea the year before.”

But the answer is: so what? You cannot copyright the idea of a video involving people interacting with animated chalk-boards. As the producers of Coldplay’s video point out (pdf), the idea was hardly original with Gallagher. Nor do they claim originality; rather, they claim to have worked hard at making the Coldplay video:

We’re aware of those videos, and I don’t wish to denigrate them, but we thought there was more mileage in the technique than they had explored. We never claim to be original, just rigorous. So we wrote a story we thought would be entertaining and went about making it. It was a lot of hard work.

The specific video they produced may be original, but it hardly precludes anyone else from making videos involving people interacting with animated chalk boards.

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.

We are very confused about the difference between similarity and illicit copying. Down Under and Kookaburra this time.

Another in a long line of this type of case: Larrikin Music is suing for compensation from royalties earned by Men at Work, alleging that the distinctive flute riff in “Down Under” was copied from the refrain of a 1934 children’s tune, “Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree.” As I suggest in the post liked to above (as well as many others on this blog), one has to ask these questions: Do our markets reward plagiarism, or are we confused in believing that an artist or author only has rights in his work if his work is unique? And if an artist does have rights to work that is derivative (as I believe most creative work is), don’t appropriators (collage artists, musicians who create “aural collages” by weaving together samples of copyrighted recordings) also have rights in their works?

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.

When does appropriation serve creativity? Quite often, in fact.

A commenter to yesterday’s post on Shepard Fairey’s Obama poster has suggested that I don’t believe in copyright because I believe that, even though Fairey created his image by initially tracing a copyrighted photo, the changes he made to the image and its re-contextualization within the campaign poster might well be sufficiently transformative to make his work non-infringing fair use.  In fact, I’d go so far as to say I genuinely believe Fairey’s image is a creative work in its own right even though it derives from another work.

In that regard, it’s worth noting that Henry McKervey and Declan Long, in “Makers and Takers: Art and the Appropriation of Ideas, write::

[I]t is the expression of an idea which is subject to legal protection. While perhaps this has meant that an artist such as Gillian Wearing can be faced with difficulties over the unattributed re-application of her work, the law also could be said to give artists a relative amount of freedom to take and re-use material in any number of subtly different ways without the spectre of plagiarism remaining ever-present. In a work such as Douglas Gordon’s 24 Hour Psycho, for instance, there is in one sense very little of the artist’s ‘own’ work (Hitchcock’s classic thriller being merely re-played at a radically slowed-down pace) yet Gordon’s intervention makes for a powerful, transformative artistic statement. The question of “knowing originality when you see it” is almost beside the point in cases such as this: artists’ strategies of appropriation prompt questions of originality to become thematically intriguing on, one level, while also being critically irrelevant and, on occasion, inappropriate, on another.

Believing that genuinely transformative appropriation is legitimate does not imply I do not believe in copyright.  It means, rather, that I believe that copyright should serve the only purpose it constitutionally is meant to serve: increased invention and creativity.

And did anyone notice that the John Williams composition played at the inauguration, “Air and Simple Gifts,” borrowed heavily from Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring, which itself appropriated a Shaker hymn?

Living the life of an artist or stealing? Coldplay faces the question once again

The Chicago Tribune reports: “A day after hauling in seven Grammy nominations, the members of Coldplay should’ve been celebrating. Instead they were served with a copyright infringement lawsuit Thursday that claims they ripped off guitarist Joe Satriani to write one of their biggest hits, ‘Viva La Vida.’”

And a comparison of the songs sure makes Satriani’s allegations credible:

There must be something about that song.  A band called Creaky Boards earlier this year accused Coldplay of stealing Viva La Vida from them:

As TechDirt subsequently reported, however, the leader of Creaky Boards later “not only retracted his accusation, but suggested that perhaps both bands were actually “inspired” by the “Fairy Theme” in the Legend of Zelda.”  TechDirt also made this, very important point:

. . . The thing is, part of the point we keep trying to make around here is that, for the most part, that’s true of just about everyone. It’s the overly aggressive use of copyright law that prevents that sort of “goodness” from showing up. Oh, and it’s also worth mentioning, that this little story has definitely increased the profile of The Creaky Boards — proving one of the points we recently made about plagiarism. Even if the plagiarist is “bigger” than you, the original creator can use that to their advantage aswell.

Plagiarism, even “unconsciously” done, has gotten musicians in trouble. In Three Boys Music v. Michael Bolton, a federal court of appeals upheld a jury award of $5.4 million against Michael Bolton and Sony (the record company associated with him) for “unconsciously” plagiarizing the Isley Brothers’ “Love is a Wonderful Thing.” As noted by the Columbia Law Library Music Plagiarism Project, the case is comparable to Bright Tunes Music v. Harrisongs Music, in which the court held that in his hit song “My Sweet Lord” George Harrison had “unconsciously misappropriated the musical essence of ‘He’s So Fine.’”

The decision against George Harrison has been heavily criticized.  It is important to note, though, that “plagiarism” involves issues entirely different than the ones (contentious themselves) involving sampling. Most importantly, it involves drawing those impossible lines between artistic influence, legitimate appropriation, and acts that are considered the equivalent of theft. Bob Dylan is without question one of the most important artists of our time, but, as John Pareles has written in “Plagiarism in Dylan, or a Cultural Collage?”

The absolutely original artist is an extremely rare and possibly imaginary creature, living in some isolated habitat where no previous works or traditions have left any impression. Like virtually every artist, Mr. Dylan carries on a continuing conversation with the past. He’s reacting to all that culture and history offer, not pretending they don’t exist. Admiration and iconoclasm, argument and extension, emulation and mockery – that’s how individual artists and the arts themselves evolve. It’s a process that is neatly summed up in Mr. Dylan’s album title ” `Love and Theft,’ ” which itself is a quotation from a book on minstrelsy by Eric Lott.

Hip-hop, ever in the vanguard, ran into problems in the mid-1980’s when the technique of sampling – copying and adapting a riff, a beat and sometimes a hook or a whole chorus to build a new track – was challenged by copyright holders demanding payment even for snippets. Although sampling was just a technological extension of the age-old process of learning through imitation, producers who use samples now pay up instead of trying to set precedents for fair use.

Check out the following.  Led Zeppelin was covering Kansas Joe McCoy and Memphis Minnie, but Dylan claims the authorship of and the copyright in his song.  Of course, the copyright in the first song had expired, so Dylan’s song is not an legally infringes nothing:

I have made it a point on this blog to point out that historically many “Writers, like other artisans, considered their task to lie in the reworking of traditional materials according to principles and techniques preserved and handed down to them in rhetoric and poetics – the collective wisdom of their craft.”  In short, there is nothing unusual about Dylan’s compositional methods.  That’s not to say that Coldplay isn’t in legal trouble as a result of Satriani’s lawsuit.  It’s to say that we’re in a cultural moment in which people are ready to find theft and “plagiarism” where there may not be any.  Is Coldplay making money that really belongs to Satriani?  Would Satriani’s song have gotten a greater audience had Coldplay’s never been released?

ADDENDUM, from Wired:

Joe Satriani accused Coldplay of plagiarism for lifting elements of his song “If I Could Fly” for its hit song “Viva La Vida” earlier this year.

Now, videos depicting  similarities between the songs are disappearing from YouTube courtesy of Coldplay’s label, EMI, which claims the videos infringe on its copyright. We found one that’s still online, which you can view to the right, for the time being.

You can still hear the Coldplay song elsewhere on YouTube, including in user-generated videos, so it seems likely that EMI is removing the comparison videos due to embarrassment on the part of Coldplay and/or legal ramifications for the ongoing Satriani suit, as Music Industry Blog posits. One imagines that a judge or jury would merely need to see one of these videos to conclude that there’s a striking similarity between the songs… probably too striking.

It’s conceivable that the Chris Martin lifted the beat, chords and melody from Satriani subconsciously. It’s not uncommon for musicians to hear something and regurgitate it later without realizing it. Coldplay has been accused of stealing someone’s music before — for the same song, no less. And another YouTube video has cast doubt on these claims by showing that all three bands could owe a debt to some guy called Günther.

We’re not so interested in the spat between Satriani and Martin; plagiarism accusations abound in the music world. What’s interesting here is that EMI appears to be using copyright as a way to remove one version of a Coldplay song while allowing other versions to remain online. It’s a useful reminder of the ways in which copyright law can be used for purposes other than thwarting the infringement of copyright. In this case, it’s a somewhat useful tool for downplaying plagiarism accusations directed at one of the world’s top acts.

Many labels have deals with YouTube that allow their works to appear in user-generated videos, because doing so can net them more of YouTube’s ad revenue (artists and labels sometimes can get paid when someone synchs their music to user-created video on YouTube). Apparently, these deals involve the ability to pull certain objectionable usages for reasons other than copyright, although the message that appears on YouTube — “This video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by EMI Music” — appears a bit disingenuous. If copyright were the issue, a YouTube search for “coldplay viva la vida” wouldn’t return 32,700 results.

Lawyers need to be effective, not necessarily original

I wrote recently that legal writing is a quintessentially collaborative enterprise. That in part is why I think copyright is not an issue with respect to legal documents. A more important reason legal documents are not accorded copyright protection is that what matters with respect to a legal document is its effectiveness, not its originality. If a lawyer could copy an existing document that would do an as effective a job as it could for his client, he would be violating his professional code of ethics not to copy it. It thus boggles my mind when people write seriously that legal documents that duplicate others might constitute copyright violations.

It’s simple reality (and good business): lawyers and judges cut and paste from one another’s documents every day, and it would be absurd to impose a regime of copyright designed to promote original creativity if it undercut a legal regime designed to promote effective representation. Similarly, it is absurd to accuse lawyers of “plagiarism” in the documents they produce as lawyers. There have been cases which have spoken in terms of lawyer plagiarism, but they all can be better understood as fraud (charging clients for research that was nothing but the copying of pre-existing work) or malpractice (excessive copying that produces a document that bears little relationship to what the specific representation demands, as opposed to effective cutting and pasting of pre-existing work into newly written work) than as plagiarism.

Plagiarism is passing off someone else’s work as your own. But, again, in legal practice (as opposed to legal scholarship or law school work), the point of the work is its effectiveness, not its source or its originality.

In other words, all you students of mine, plagiarism in school is not allowed. It is an unethical act that can and will result in expulsion and disqualification from the practice of law. But let’s not confuse contexts: some contexts, specifically academic practices, produce in their audiences the expectation of originality; in others, specifically legal practice, originality can be effective, but effectiveness is the bottom line.