The rest of the photos in this post were taken by my sister at the party.

The other thing that happened is that I discovered the Michael Jackson a capella archive on Hip Hop Is Read. A capellas are versions of a song with just the vocals isolated (though the MJ ones include some instrumentation too.) Getting access to these things set me off on a furious wave of sampling and remixing. Enjoy the results below.

The a capella for “Jam” has this awesome electronic percussion which sounds great over the breakdown section from “PYT.” So that was a no-brainer.

ABC Jam by ethanhein

“Jam” vs “ABC” vs “PYT” vs “Blame It On The Boogie”

mp3 download, ipod format download

My friend Julia observed that a lot of the a capellas are for MJ’s relatively lame last few albums. She thought it would be interesting if I showed those songs some tough love, as she put it. It felt like a good challenge. I’m less familiar with that late period stuff, so it was easier to hear the vocals as musical raw material without being hung up on their original context. I think this is by far the best of the three tracks I did, it has the most of myself in it. For percussion, I used drums from “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough” along with an atmospheric beat by Aphex Twin and some hand percussion by Glen Velez.

Like A Comet by ethanhein

“Gone Too Soon” vs “Earth Song” vs “HIStory” vs “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough” vs “Weathered Stone” vs “Golden Seal”

My fantasy for the future of music is that every song gets released in stem format with all of the tracks separated out and conveniently sliced at all the rhythmic events. At this point I mostly view legal high-quality downloads and compact disks as a way to get access to decent-sounding samples. MP3s get a little crunchy with all the compression and decompression. What do you say, copyright holders? Want to make life easier for me? Or do I need to keep scrounging stuff off the web?

I really feel like recorded music belongs more to the fans than the recording artist. It’s weird and creepy the way music fans want to possess their idols — I’m as guilty of this as anyone. But there’s no harm whatsoever in wanting to possess recordings. The desire to repurpose the ideas that excite you is where all art comes from.

The greatest curse and blessing of Michael Jackson’s life was the insane degree to which he belonged to the fans. He never had a chance of developing a personality independent of his absurd fame. In the aftermath of his death, the saddest thing I heard anyone say on TV was when his friend Gladys Knight observed (I’m paraphrasing from memory):

We did this to him. We made him so famous. We just kept taking little pieces of him. Look what we did.

The only good thing about MJ’s untimely death is now we can focus our desire to own him where it belongs, on his music. Legally, ownership of the songs still belongs to MJ’s estate and creditors, but emotionally, we the fans are in charge of MJ’s legacy. I hope we’ll treat it well.

Many mash-up artists seem unaware that their work implicates any rights at all, and copyright owners may be reluctant to alienate fans with copyright restrictions. Artists such as Girl Talk remain outspoken against copyright restrictions on mash-up culture. Individual copyright owners, such as the owners of Star Wars, have adopted terms of use for mash-ups.

Is fan and other mash-up activity important to enrich our culture? Are existing allowances for fair use adequate? Should mash-up artists and fan fiction publishers have any right (legal or moral) to complain when others copy and redistribute their work? What is a copyright owner or licensee to do when it has contractual obligations to third parties in connection with their contributions? How should these issues be resolved?

The panelists: Professor Sonia Katyal of Fordham Law School, Professor Shaka McGlotten of Purchase College, Martin Schwimmer (Partner, Moses & Singer), and me! The moderator is Jay Kogan (DC Comics and MAD Magazine).

February 24th, 2010
12:00 p.m.-12:30 p.m.: Cocktails (cash bar)
12:30 p.m.-1:00 p.m.: Lunch
1:00 p.m.-2:00 p.m.: Program
The Princeton Club, 15 West 43rd Street, New York, NY
Cost: $65.00 (members) $75.00 (non-members)

SPEAKERS (besides me):
SONIA KATYAL is a Professor of Intellectual Property, Property and Civil Rights Law at Fordham Law School. Her work focuses on intellectual property, civil rights, and new media, with a special focus on art and freedom of expression. Katyal was awarded a grant from the Warhol Foundation for her book, Contrabrand, which studies the relationship between art, advertising and intellectual property. Her new book, Property Outlaws, (co-authored with Eduardo M. Penalver), which studies the role of civil disobedience in property and technology, was just published from Yale University Press, and her work on fan fiction focuses on how copyright affects the representation of gender and sexuality. Her scholarly work has appeared in prominent legal publications, including the Texas Law Review, the University of Pennsylvania Law Review, the UCLA Law Review, and the Yale Law Journal. She received her A.B. from Brown University and her J.D. from the University of Chicago Law School.

SHAKA MCGLOTTEN is an Assistant Professor of Media, Society, and the Arts at Purchase College, where he teaches courses on media, ethnography, and digital culture. His research focuses on the intersections of media technologies with categories of gender, sexuality, and race in particular. He also works in what might be broadly called “affect studies,” or the study of the ways feelings are central to our individually lived and shared social experiences. He is currently at work on a manuscript that explores these themes. “Virtual Intimacies: Media Cultures and Queer Sociality” examines a range of media sites DIY porn, online gaming, gay chatrooms to examine the mutual intensification between digital media culture and the creativity of queer sociality.

MARTIN SCHWIMMER is a partner in the New York law firm of Moses & Singer, practicing trademark and copyright law. He publishes The Trademark Blog, the nation’s oldest blog devoted to IP law. He is a fan of the Mets, the Jets, Arsenal, Lost, Fringe and Arrested Development. He has all of Girltalk’s albums.

MODERATOR:
JAY KOGAN is Vice President Business & Legal Affairs and Deputy General Counsel for “DC Comics” and “MAD Magazine”, where he serves as the companies chief intellectual property counsel. Jay is also an adjunct professor at New York Law School, where he teaches Intellectual Property Licensing and Drafting. Jay received his J.D. and Masters Degree in Mass Media in a dual degree program at Boston University School of Law and his Bachelor of Arts from the University of Connecticut.

Sponsored by the Copyright Society Of America

Sampling lets you actively engage your record collection, iTunes library, etc

The vast majority of my musical experience has been through listening to recordings, and the same is true of everyone I know. The real pleasure of music is participation, and historically recorded music hasn’t been participation-friendly. It was a humongous deal for me to discover that I can interact with my record collection beyond deciding which song to listen to when.

Sampling has some of the same satisfaction of learning how to sing songs I like, or how to play them on the guitar. As with learning songs the old-fashioned way, sampling lets me remake recordings to my own tastes. I’ve learned through extensive experimentation that what I really like is to hear the song’s major hooks repeated in groups of eight at a medium slow tempo over an 808 drum machine playing a hip-hop beat. Sampling helped me discover that, and it’s transformed my approach to my own compositions too.

Expediency leads to spontaneity

I know a lot of drummers. Some of them are world-class musicians. But they aren’t usually available to me. If I just want to try out ideas over a certain beat, the logistics are a big problem. I don’t have a drum kit in my apartment, and if I did, it would drive my neighbors crazy. Even if that weren’t a problem, I don’t have the right mics or acoustic environment to do a decent recording of live drums. Meanwhile, I have a hard drive full of the best drummers in recorded history in every conceivable style, with an essentially limitless selection of others a few mouse clicks away on the internet. How could I possibly pass up the opportunity to practice and write along with Clyde Stubblefield or Questlove or Max Roach?

It isn’t just beats that can inspire new tracks or compositions. A short instrumental passage, a vocal phrase, a fragment of speech, a sound effect or atmospheric sound — any of those things can inspire new work. The effortlessness and immediacy of sampling creates such a wealth of possibility that the challenge becomes choosing from among all the new ideas. This is a much nicer problem than sitting there thinking, “I wonder what Duke Ellington’s brass section would sound like over this part? I guess I’ll never know.”

People get bored, computers don’t

A great way to write songs is to set up the basic groove on a loop and then let it play continuously for a few hours while you hang out, eat lunch, fold your laundry or play video games. The best creative work is done by your unconscious mind, and your unconscious mind likes to work while your conscious mind is busy doing something relatively uninteresting. This reality is an awkward fit with the reality of collaborating with other humans. Even if I could have a band at my beck and call, it would be completely wrong to ask them to loop a phrase identically for hours while I hung out eating oranges and reading my email. Fortunately, the computer has no objection to this way of working.

Freedom from permission

I don’t just mean legal permission, though that’s a thorny set of challenges in and of itself. For a lot of would-be samplers, the major obstacle is a sense of moral guilt. Many of us feel guilty “stealing” someone else’s idea. I resisted sampling for years out of guilt.

It’s strange to have so much power over sound. If I want a human to play the Funky Drummer beat exactly at a certain tempo for a certain length of time, I need to convince them to do it. If I just want to loop the Funky Drummer beat in Recycle, the computer is always happy to oblige me.

Should sampling make me feel guilty?

What do I owe another musician by sampling them? Let’s assume I’m not making any money off my work, just giving away copies to my friends. Is it cool if I do this without the original performers’ consent? There would be no hip-hop or electronica at all if everyone was “properly” hesitant to use unauthorized samples. I do try to get permission when it’s reasonably possible. Many of my musician friends have volunteered the use of samples of themselves with the understanding that if I ever make money from something, they get a cut. Meanwhile, if it’s just for experimentation or teaching, I’m free to use the samples as I wish. In a perfect world, this is the relationship I’d have with every recording artist.

Some copyright holders are only too happy to license samples, it can be a great source of income. But some musicians don’t like having their ideas altered and manipulated beyond the bounds of their personal taste, no matter how money it might make them. The Beatles, for instance, have never cleared a sample and are unlikely to change their minds. Meanwhile, if I’m sitting alone in front of my computer and I find a little slice of Beatles music that sounds great as a loop, Paul McCartney and his lawyers are nowhere in sight. It’s nearly impossible to resist the pleasure of sampling all that incredible music, and with a few pieces of software and some free time, anyone can do it. I respect Paul McCartney’s body of work like few others, and I consider it the sincerest form of flattery to sample from him. It’s too bad Paul McCartney doesn’t see it that way.

Samples have their own sonic and musical quality

Even if I could conjure any combination of musicians and instruments at will and had round the clock access to a flawless recording environment, I’d still want to be able to use samples. There’s a difference between a person playing a particular phrase repeatedly and the playback of a recorded loop. Even if a musician wanted to play a loop the way a sampler does, people can’t help but introduce slight variations of attack, subtle tempo changes, and all the other little nuances of live performance. In some styles of music, constant nuance and variation is a good thing. But sometimes you want the hypnotic, trance-like effect you get from identical looping. Electronica and hip-hop derive a lot of attention-grabbing power from the startling gap in a looped pattern, and the satisfaction when the loop returns right on time.

It isn’t just the musical content of the sample that creates its personality. It’s the recording itself, the particular interaction of the microphone and preamp and mixing desk and tape or digital medium. The magic of the Funky Drummer loop isn’t just in its beat — it’s the tape hiss, the equalization, the compression and reverb. A drummer might be able to recreate the musical performance, but not the exact sound.

In addition to their intrinsic sonic qualities, samples can be sonically manipulated in ways that live instruments can’t. I can instantly alter the pitch of a sample, stretch it out, filter sweep it, or rearrange its components in a different order. For maximum gratification, I love to hear live musicians and looped samples combined together.

Hearing a familiar sound in an unfamiliar context is exciting

Some of the coolest songs repurpose recognizable hooks, or even entire choruses, in new contexts. This technique is a foundation of hip-hop songwriting. Here are two examples that I like.

Janet Jackson ft Joni Mitchell – “Got ‘Til It’s Gone”

SWV ft Michael Jackson – “Right Here”

Shared ideas create community

By sampling Joni Mitchell, Janet Jackson invites all the Joni Mitchell fans into the room (and invites herself into consideration by Joni Mitchell fans.) When SWV samples Michael Jackson, they shine some of that Michael Jackson energy through themselves and out on us.

Individual ownership of music is a historical aberration

Ownership of ideas is a recent historical phenomenon, preceded by uncountable centuries of oral tradition in the public domain. Other world cultures don’t necessarily share our preoccupation with ownership. Even in capitalist America, we default to oral tradition in our daily lives. We have an intuition that you’re supposed to share music you like with people you like. It’s one of the basic ways we establish social bonds with each other. This custom isn’t going anywhere, no matter what copyright law might say. Sampling lets you share recordings you love, placed into new contexts, making new statements, while still connecting back to the past. This is a powerful emotional tool, and using it becomes irresistible once you get a taste of using it.

Sampling undermines our magical thinking about originality

It’s been my experience that there are no truly original ideas, only remixes and mashups of existing ideas. The completely original song is a legal fiction. It’s a useful fiction for managing intellectual property, but it’s problematic when it comes up against the collage-like nature of actually composing and improvising. The belief that new ideas spring magically into being from the ether reminds me of the once widely-held belief in the spontaneous supernatural generation of life. Now we know that all life on Earth evolved from previous life. Our ideas evolve according to the same Darwinian dynamics as the brains that produce and host them.

Sampling makes for a healthy intellectual culture

New ideas are always inspired by repurposing existing ideas. Copyright is supposed to motivate new ideas, but, as it’s presently enforced, it can have the opposite effect. When Disney transforms public-domain works into exclusive properties, that jams up the flow of ideas that made their wealth possible in the first place. There needs to be a free flow of ideas if ideas are going to keep evolving.

If sampling is so great, how is everybody supposed to get paid?

Our current copyright model emerged in the era of expensive printing presses, record pressing plants and so on. If a book was the only way to get access to the thoughts in the book, and the vinyl record was the only way to get access to the sounds on the record, it made to treat copies as valuable properties in and of themselves. In the computer era, copying is so routine and effortless that it’s impossible to meaningfully regulate it. You copy files every time you load a program from your hard drive.

Good ideas may still be scarce, but digital copies of them aren’t and probably never will be again. There has yet to be a copy protection scheme for digital media that couldn’t be cracked by any reasonably bright thirteen-year-old. In an interview with The Guardian, Brian Eno says:

I think records were just a little bubble through time and those who made a living from them for a while were lucky. There is no reason why anyone should have made so much money from selling records except that everything was right for this period of time. I always knew it would run out sooner or later. It couldn’t last, and now it’s running out. I don’t particularly care that it is and like the way things are going. The record age was just a blip. It was a bit like if you had a source of whale blubber in the 1840s and it could be used as fuel. Before gas came along, if you traded in whale blubber, you were the richest man on Earth. Then gas came along and you’d be stuck with your whale blubber. Sorry mate — history’s moving along. Recorded music equals whale blubber. Eventually, something else will replace it.

What is this something else? Live performance? I use a laptop and samples for that too.

So how should the creators of my samples get paid? How should they get paid for any of the copying that goes into remixed and mashed up works? How do artists get paid for any kind of idea that can be rendered digitally if copying is so easy?

The question of how to make people pay for digital copies voluntarily haunts every creative professional. Sci-fi author Charles Stross lays out the problems in an articulate blog post here. The comments are full of intriguing suggestions that have some applicability to music.

I’m attracted to a model where we pay creators up front using the Kickstarter method or something like it, and having the copies just disseminate like dandelion seeds to raise interest in the next project. Giving away hours of stuff on the internet has made a lot of money for artists as diverse as the Grateful Dead and Lil Wayne. The fans want to show love to the artists. Maybe more musicians will just start asking the fans to donate directly via their web sites.

For most of human history, music was supported by the same invisible gift economy as any kind of mundane daily practice, like recipes or childcare routines or methods for opening coconuts. I’d like to see the gift economy make a comeback in music. Musicians are like religious leaders. Maybe the funding model should be more like church, where the fans view paying for music as a tithe. I’m a perfect customer for this kind of model. I’ve been looking to music for deeper meaning since I was a kid. I fill it with the reverent belief that I might have put into the spiritual world if I were inclined that way.

If I’m going to invest faith in my music, I need to know it’s on the up and up. It’s like when you meet a person, you want to know their connections, their family and friends. Knowing the connections creates trust. I want and am willing to pay for richer metadata along with my music files. I want context and background. My wish is for more liberalized sampling that comes with an ethic of explicit attribution. I buy music based on the basis of its being sampled in hip-hop or R&B songs all the time. I bought “Are You My Woman (Tell Me So)” by the Chi-Lites when I found out that it was sampled in Beyonce’s “Crazy in Love.” I’d happily open my wallet for more access to a song’s guts. I want remix-friendly stems and karaoke versions. I want super-detailed liner notes that show me the whole musical supply chain. If I pay for “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” by Michael Jackson, I want to be shown a link to “Soul Makossa” by Manu Dibango. From there I’d like some context on makossa as a musical and dance form. I want seamless integration with Allmusic and Wikipedia and Amazon reviews and Whosampled and Youtube.

I want sampling to be legally easier because it would make music more participatory, and thus more fun and interesting

If I really like a song, I want a playable Rock Band or DJ Hero version. I want interactive MIDI lead sheets with the chords, the melody and the rhythms. I want the lyrics annotated so I can click through to see explanations of slang or literary allusions. I want to see production details: who played or programmed what parts, what gear they used, what software, what plugins. I want to be able to hear the tracks one at a time and remix them or mash them up with other stuff I like. It seems like all this should be possible in the age of digital music.

Making your own music is good and good for you

It’s been pointed out to me that if anybody can remix anything, it’ll result in a flood of crappy remixes. This is true. It’s also good and necessary. Amateur participation is about process, not product. The singing in most church choirs is pretty bad. Most amateur bands are pretty lame. It’s still fun and healthy to participate in church choirs and amateur bands. It’s good for you to play basketball whether you play like Michael Jordan or like me (badly.) It’s good to cook your own meals, even if you’re no Julia Child. And it’s good to make your own music.

We still need the masters to light the way, to discover best practices and teach them to the rest of us. But leaving the whole process to the masters cheats us all out of an essential social and emotional vitamin. If sampling is what’s giving the most joy out of the tools we have at our disposal, then people are going to keep doing it. I hope we can all work out a better deal with each other over the permissions and attributions.

A little context: Steve is a frat-boy lawyer, a Republican, not straight-laced but not someone you think of as a dancer. This strip exactly carries the power of Michael Jackson to cross cultural barriers. It also gets at some of the sadness of white culture: that you can only dance and express yourself in secret, and if you get caught, it’s cause for shame. A lot of my musician friends and other creatives need to bludgeon their shame reflexes into submission with drugs and alcohol. We’d be happier and healthier if we could feel free to get our Billie Jean on without inhibition.

Here I’m going to collect some breakdance media and see if any thoughts emerge. Your suggestions welcome.

Beat Street

Grandmaster Flash spins in Wild Style

Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo broom dance

Here’s a fan video someone did, Michael Jackson breakdancing in slo-mo to Nite Lite by Yo Gotti.

Anything else I should see?

MJ never made a video for “Wanna Be Startin’ Something,” leaving a vacuum that the fans are only too happy to fill. This video even includes footage of MJ’s video game.

This MJ song has inspired a lot of fan art, maybe because it is itself fan art. The music industry likes to send lawyers after people who make fan art, which is dumb and self-destructive on their part. No fan art, no art.

“Wanna Be Startin’ Something” is my favorite Michael Jackson song, against much stiff competition. Several of MJ’s most famous songs were written by Quincy Jones or Rod Temperton, but MJ wrote this one himself. It’s serious and personal. John Jeremiah Sullivan’s long, respectful article in GQ talks about MJ’s process:

By 1978, the year of “Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)” — co-written by Michael and little Randy — ”Michael’s methods have gelled. He starts with tape recorders. He sings and beatboxes the little things he hears, the parts.

No wonder hip-hop musicians love MJ. Improvising into recording devices is where hip-hop comes from. MJ’s music is very electronic. There are places in “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” where different pieces of the lead vocal overlap, making it impossible for one person to really sing it live. All the backing vocals on the final version are overdubbed MJ.

Some of the things Michael hears in his head he exports to another instrument, to the piano (which he plays not well but passably) or to the bass. The melody and a few percussive elements remain with his vocal. The rest he assembles around it. He has his brothers and sisters with him. He conducts.

If he were a young guy now he’d probably be recording his siblings on his laptop using Pro Tools.

His art will later depend on his ability to stay in touch with that childlike inner instrument, keeping near enough to himself to hear his own melodic promptings. If you’ve listened to toddlers making up songs, the things they invent are often bafflingly catchy and ingenious. They compose to biorhythms somehow. The vocal from Michael’s earlier, Off the Wall-era demo of the eventual Thriller hit “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” sounds like nothing so much as playful schoolyard taunting.

The final version is produced by Quincy Jones, though MJ probably did most of the arrangement. The groove is based on a drum machine loop, with some Brazilian percussion on top. Three different guys are playing synths. The top-notch horn section plays with a perfection that makes them sound sequenced, but with full analog fidelity.

“Wanna Be Startin’ Something” is a close musical cousin to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.” They were written around the same time. DJs like to run them together at the peak of the night. Harmonically they’re extremely minimalist, using static mixolydian mode for the entire length of the song. That minimalism makes both songs sound fresher and more contemporary than MJ’s other disco material.

“Don’t Stop” has upbeat party lyrics that match its sound. “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” is musically exuberant too, but the lyrics are mostly very dark and intense.

I said you wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’
I said you wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’

The tone goes from confrontational to helpless.

It’s too high to get over (yeah, yeah)
Too low to get under (yeah, yeah)
You’re stuck in the middle (yeah, yeah)
And the pain is thunder (yeah, yeah)

I took my baby to the doctor
With a fever, but nothing he found
By the time this hit the street
They said she had a breakdown

Someone’s always tryin’
to start my baby cryin’
Talkin’, squealin’, lyin’
Sayin’ you just wanna be startin’ somethin’

Normal pop songs were mostly not this serious in the early eighties.

You love to pretend that you’re good
When you’re always up to no good
You really can’t make him hate her
So your tongue became a razor

Someone’s always tryin’
to keep my baby cryin’
Treacherous, cunnin’, declinin’
You got my baby cryin’

This is the verse that gives me the most pause.

You’re a vegetable, you’re a vegetable
Still they hate you, you’re a vegetable
You’re just a buffet, you’re a vegetable
They eat off of you, you’re a vegetable

There’s the mysterious guest appearance by Billie Jean.

Billie Jean is always talkin’
When nobody else is talkin’
Tellin’ lies and rubbin’ shoulders
So they called her mouth a motor

This verse is probably directed at MJ’s father, who told the family around the time of this song’s writing that he had been having an affair and had fathered a child with his lover.

If you can’t feed your baby (yeah, yeah)
Then don’t have a baby (yeah, yeah)
And don’t think maybe (yeah, yeah)
If you can’t feed your baby (yeah, yeah)

You’ll be always tryin’
To stop that child from cryin’
Hustlin’, stealin’, lyin’
Now baby’s slowly dyin’

After all this anguish, MJ is still determined to keep a brave face, and for you to enjoy yourself. So he ends with uplift.

Lift your head up high
And scream out to the world
I know I am someone
And let the truth unfurl

No one can hurt you now
Because you know what’s true
Yes, I believe in me
So you believe in you, help me sing it

And finally, the famous chant.

Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa
Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa
Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa
Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa

The chant is an approximate quote from a song by Manu Dibango called “Soul Makossa.” Manu Dibango’s song is mostly playfully riffs around the word makossa, a Cameroonian dance style. MJ was sued for the quote, but he probably didn’t mean any harm. The chant is a work of Manu Dibango fan art. Rihanna’s “Please Don’t Stop The Music” is fan art based on fan art. You could add another layer of recursion by doing a fan remix of the Rihanna song.

Plenty of people have sampled and quoted both Manu Dibango’s song and MJ’s.
The Rihanna song is especially interesting to me because it doesn’t just quote the chant, it reharmonizes it. MJ’s song is in E major. Rihanna’s song is in F# minor. This technique of taking a well-known melody line and writing a radically different harmony for it is widely used in jazz. The B minor and F# natural minor chords from Rihanna’s song are from the same E mixolydian scale as the E7 and D major chords in MJ’s, but they have a totally different emotional effect. (If you strum B minor and F# minor on guitar along with the end of MJ’s song, it sounds amazing.) Rihanna’s song is tragic and anxious. It picks up on the underlying tragedy and anxiety of MJ’s song. That’s quality fan art.

Here’s a mashup of “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” and “Soul Makossa” with many related and derivative works.

Wanna Be Startin’ Something megamix by ethanhein

This is a continuation of a post about Rhymefest’s MJ mixtape. The thought continues in a post about who owns the chant.

This is one of the most loving fan tributes ever. All art is fan art, and the most devoted fans make the best art. May Rhymefest be an example to us all.

Glenn Gould wasn’t necessarily being prophetic. He was just paying attention to the long history of music before the relative eyeblink of the twentieth century. The always perspicacious Wayne Marshall says:

Only in the relatively recent past — within the last century — have songs, in the “fixed” media form of audio recordings, been so strongly regulated as pieces of property whose use by others might be strictly limited. An examination at the level of cultural practice — that is, how songs as audio recordings have been used by people — demonstrates that even in such “fixed” form, songs have continued to serve as a commonplace site of sharing and creative interaction (also known as remixing). This becomes particularly evident in the use of playback technologies such as turntables as creative instruments in their own right (aiding the emergence of hip-hop and disco in the 1970s), an approach powerfully extended by the tools of the digital age.

I’m a child of the cassette era. I loved making mix tapes in high school, for myself and whoever among my friends would listen. It was a pain, but still worth it. I still remember burning my first CD, sequencing the tracks with Toast before the half-hour long burn session during which the computer couldn’t do anything else. I’ve said farewell to albums with little sadness. It’s nice to listen to Graceland or Abbey Road in their original sequence, but for the most part, I do a better job of sequencing tracks for my own needs than anyone else can.

What’s true at the multiple-song level is even more true within a single song. Writing a song is really sequencing together a “mixtape” of licks, scale fragments, chord progressions and beats. When I learned how to play the guitar, I became free to string together whatever song fragments I could get under my fingers. It was fun being able to freely collage songs together, constructing segues and suites. All “new” compositions are really mashups you make in your head. Any creative undertaking is less like conjuring out of thin air and more like making a salad. As a sampler and remixer, my freedom of musical choice is total. Making mashups is a delightful blend of writing songs and putting together mixtapes, except that the pieces of music are shorter and layered simultaneously.

Mashup and remix culture isn’t new. Club DJs have been mashing up songs on the fly for decades, intermixing hot dance tracks with hooks and breaks from other well-known dance tracks. Girl Talk has nothing on “The Adventures Of Grandmaster Flash On The Wheels Of Steel” or Double Dee and Steinski’s “Lesson” mixes. Creating popular music is a ruthless evolutionary process. You sort through idea after idea, looking for the hooks. The best mashups take the Darwinian process to the next level, mating the hooks together into ultrahooks. My favorite mashups of the moment are the United State Of Pop mixes by DJ Earworm. He takes the top twenty-five singles from a given year and boils them down into single, devastating tracks.

United State Of Pop 2007

United State Of Pop 2008

There are plenty of other high-concept mashups like these, and some of them work as music, but a lot of them are gimmicky and annoying. In order to work, there has to be some musical resonance between the source tracks. The more unexpected the affinity, the better. My favorite Earworm mashup combines Django Reinhardt’s performance of “Brazil” with Paul Simon’s “Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes.”

Brazilian Diamonds

Who would have guessed that the bouncy rhythms of South African pop as filtered through the mind of a Jewish folksinger from Queens would mesh so well with the bouncy rhythms of samba as filtered through the mind of a Belgian gypsy jazz guitarist? This kind of discovery is only possible via a lot of trial and error. The growing ease and plummeting price of audio editing makes trial and error a lot less onerous than it used to be.

One of the great pleasures of sample-based music is encountering something familiar in a strange context. Sometimes the recontextualization can be jokey, like Ludacris’ ironically grandiose “Coming 2 America” which combines quotes from the Eddie Murphy movie with themes from both Mozartâ’s Requiem and the last movement of Dvorak’s New World symphony. Sometimes it’s playful without being jokey. Mozart’s “Queen of the Night” aria from his opera The Magic Flute shows up in “Like You” by Kelis, and it makes me wonder why every R&B song doesn’t include coloratura soprano.

The mixtape-mashup analogy isn’t perfect. Mixtapes are linear, with each song usually appearing once. If you make a mashup in this linear way, with each sample appearing only once, it will probably be annoying. Within the parameters of a song, repetition is crucial to enjoyment. This is why Girl Talk gets on my nerves. He runs a sample four or eight times and then forgets about it. His tracks are too much like watching someone else flip channels on TV for my tastes.

I’m especially interested in musicians who use samples of themselves as the basis of new works. The first Nas song I heard was his biggest hit, “Nas Is Like.” The chorus is based on samples of his earlier song “It Ain’t Hard To Tell.” When I heard the original, it sounded like it’s full of samples of “Nas Is Like.” This confusion of time sequence is one of the central pleasures of sample-based music for me. The meta-recursive hip-hop prize probably belongs to the Fugees, whose song “The Score” includes samples of every other song on the album of the same name.

The mashup doesn’t belong exclusively to music. The video mashup is coming excitingly into its own. I would have expected that combining two songs in 5/4 time might be too clever, but in this case it works:

The video mashup’s answer to DJ Earworm is Kutiman, who stitches together multiple Youtube videos. Check out “The Mother Of All Funk Chords”:

Jonathan Lethem’s essay on literary mashup culture, “The Ecstasy Of Influence,” is itself an amazing literary mashup. There are visual mashups too, I have a collection of them on Flickr. An intriguing random visual mashup maker is the Ad Generator. Its makers explain: “Words and semantic structures from real corporate slogans are remixed and randomized to generate invented slogans. These slogans are then paired with related images from Flickr, thereby generating fake advertisements on the fly.” It works uncannily well.

The fan-made advertising mashup shows the potential to become an entire new artistic style unto itself. Dig this trailer for an as-yet nonexistent Green Lantern movie made entirely out of pieces of other movie trailers:

Sasha Frere-Jones says in his essay 1 + 1 + 1 = 1:

See mashups as piracy if you insist, but it is more useful, viewing them through the lens of the market, to see them as an expression of consumer dissatisfaction. Armed with free time and the right software, people are rifling through the lesser songs of pop music and, in frustration, choosing to make some of them as good as the great ones.

This very blog post is a mashup of Glenn Gould and Wayne Marshall and DJ Earworm and Grandmaster Flash and Kutiman and uncountable others. I know there are plenty of copyright holders out there that regard any kind of derivative work as stealing. I think it’s a misplaced form of anxiety. I think mashups are natural, healthy, and the best vector to get your ideas circulating through the memepool long after you’re gone. As I was writing this post, I discovered someone did a version of my Michael Jackson sample map with Michael Jackson on it, and I couldn’t be more flattered.

Long live DJ culture, across whatever media!