Arts Journal needs to think about their headlines.

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The ArtsJournal news feed is one of the RSS feeds that I keep up with daily. This week, there was a disgustingly exploitative headline for one of their stories.

The link was to a story about a medical study that showed that patients in a coma responded to classical music. The AJ headline? “Could Mozart have helped Terry Schiavo?”

Yeah. Gross.

Let the woman rest in peace. She had the Christian right exploiting her name in life; let’s not do the same in death. The newspaper article probably greatly simplified the actual scientific findings of the study. At any rate, I doubt that the researchers would have agreed that Mozart could help anybody in a coma. It’s cheap, it’s glib, and it’s sleazy. Knock it off.

Sally Mann, and peeking behind the curtain

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In high school, I took a photography class for a semester. My photo teacher was a traditionalist, believing that –digital cameras began– there is intrinsic value in learning how to manipulate light the old-fashioned way, with film cameras and a darkroom. In her classroom, there were many photography books and magazines. As my photography class was after lunch, I would often go early to class to browse through the books. One of the books that I looked at repeatedly, and made the deepest impression, was Sally Mann’s Immediate Family.

The photo above, “Emmett, Jesse, and Virginia,” is perhaps her most famous photo (not coincidentally, it is on the cover of Immediate Family). Not all of Mann’s photos are of her family, especially now that her children are grown, but her portraits of her children have always had a peculiar effect on me.

There is always an edge in these portraits, a sense of dread, of danger, of the presence of death. Mann plays with the rough edges of childhood, showing her children interacting with dead animals, or taking advantage of the way that dirt looks like blood in a black and white photograph. One photograph in Immediate Family shows her young daughter, eyes closed, looking up in front of a tree branch that looks like a noose. Childhood is a time of exploration, but Mann reminds us that with exploration comes the risk of danger.

Immediate Family may describe Mann’s subject’s relationship to the photographer, but the word “immediate” also conveys some of the intensity that is directed at the viewer of the photograph from its subject. The children stare right at you. There is a distance in their eyes, and the suggestion that it is you that is under observation. They look like they’re a thousand years old. Sometimes, when looking through Immediate Family in the photo room, I’d have to turn away from a photo with an intense glare. I would feel like I was in danger.

Today, I picked out at random the first DVD in the PBS series art:21 (Art in the 21st Century). Sally Mann was one of the featured artists. I had a really weird reaction: I was deeply uncomfortable watching the segment. Mann has never hid the fact that her pictures are posed, and it would be impossible to take quality medium-format pictures the same way that you take a snapshot. And yet the immediacy, the intimacy of her photos made me feel like I already knew her and her family, and to see her on DVD talking about the way she makes art was destroying the conception of the Mann family I had in my head.

I’ve never been like this. I’ve always been a special-features hound. It’s never diminished my appreciation of a movie to know how it’s made. But this bothered me. Mann’s photographs have never felt like photos to me. They’ve seemed like transmissions from another world, and to know that they were made in this one felt disorienting.

Good for music?

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OK GO’s breakout success came after an extremely popular homemade music video was uploaded onto YouTube. Quirky music videos became their shtick. Remarkably, when they released a new(-ish) single, “This Too Shall Pass,” their label, EMI, decided to make the video un-embeddable and issue takedown notices when it popped up on YouTube. The band made them reverse the decision, but it’s an example of when idiot executives fail to understand that what looks good in the short term might not work out in the long term.

I’ve been mulling over this Boston Globe article about copyright enforcement for a few weeks. Copyright enforcement is a tricky issue. First, it’s important to recognize the conflict between thinking of copyright as a property right (artists create something and they have the right to sell it any way that they want) and as a tool for encouraging art (the original language in the US Constitution that covers copyright gives authority to Congress like this: “To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries.”). These two ideas are not necessarily opposed, but the internet and modern artistic trends seem designed to poke at the gaps between those two perspectives. For example, if you view copyright as a property right, it’s entirely reasonable to ask that mash-up artists get permission to use samples in their releases. The musicians who created the sample own it, and can allow others to use it as they see fit. On the other hand, if you wanted to promote the progress of art, you would want to break down those barriers.

Other people have written at length about this divide with more depth and understanding than I have, but I was intrigued by another aspect of music and copyright, which is that it is much easier and simpler to strike a correct balance between content creators and those who wish to use their work in an honor-based system than in a legal system. If musicians act in an honorable way, it’s not a big deal that your songs are covered by people that pose no financial threat to you. No matter what, The Eagles will always have more fans than The Eagles Tribute Band. From the other direction, independent gigging musicians understand that it’s a douchbag move to cover a song by somebody in the same position as yourself. If you’re going to perform covers, perform songs by well known and successful acts.

There’s another category of copyright offense that I don’t understand at all. The article (which is pretty good, if that will make you click through) also mentions crackdowns on open mic and variety nights. This is completely stupid, and like the Teachout article last-ish week, it’s an example of people in a position of power (the RIAA in the music industry, Teachout’s audience at the WSJ) that either have no interest in the long-term prospects of their fields or lack the vision to see what the long term consequences of their actions are. Discouraging people from performing because they either don’t have entry-level venues or they worry about harassment from the RIAA hurts music. Period. By acting in such a foolish and thuggish way, they’re diminishing their future power.

Fan Taxonomy and High Fidelity

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High Fidelity is available to stream on Hulu right now.

High Fidelity is a movie about musical biography, and I’ve always been tickled by this because it’s an integral part of my musical biography. I didn’t listen to a lot of pop music growing up. The only genre of music that I know from my childhood is Motown and oldies, the result of many car rides to the soundtrack of K-RTH 101.1 FM (Oldies Radio!). About the time that I left home for high school, I was getting more curious about music–oddly enough, the album that led to all the others was Seal’s Human Beings–as well as being more aware of how un-cool I was for not knowing any music besides the piano pieces I played. The summer before freshman year, I got a subscription to Rhapsody, and I haven’t stopped listening.

That year, I also saw High Fidelity for the first time. At the time, I was charmed by John Cusack’s monologues and the smart soundtrack. As I learned more about music, I began to enjoy the music banter in the movie more. This time around, I’m struck by the different music-fan archetypes set up by the three record store proprietors, played by John Cusack, Jack Black, and Todd Louiso.

Cusack listens for the way that music makes him feel, for the strange way that a pop song can completely inhabit a memory, or a person, an emotion, a day, a decade. For him to arrange his record collection not alphabetically, but autobiographically makes sense because that’s the way that he listens to music. Cusack cannot separate his love for an album from the circumstances in which he heard it.

Jack Black is the type of listener that’s always chasing the new, as well as a musical partisan. Once an album is regarded as “classic,” Black has less interest in it, not because it isn’t good, but because the record no longer needs help to be heard. He has no patience for music that is tame, or backwards looking. He’s also the most critical.

Louiso’s character is a collector, a completist. When he hears a song he likes, he goes and tracks down all of the albums by that artist, reads about the records, knows the session musicians. He’s the most likely to like deep tracks on an album.

Their interactions are also interesting, and ring true to me as a music fan. All three have comprehensive knowledge of the same general area of music, but because they derive pleasure from different aspects of the listening experience, they all have some degree of suspicion for each other. Cusack, because his love for an album depends to a certain degree on circumstance, finds the other two approaches annoying. They, on the other hand, find him dilettantish. Louiso doesn’t understand how the other two could like an album and not be curious about all the other albums by the same artist. Black hates old sad bastard music, and is deeply suspicious of anybody that likes music that he doesn’t like.

Anybody who talks about music with other people a lot knows these archetypes. I’m a Jack Black style listener, and I often have to catch myself from being mean to the John Cusacks of the world.

Bang on a…Controller

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Via Life’s a Pitch, the news that Bang on a Can, the minimalist/electroacoustic ensemble, has released some of their music for Rock Band play. If the following video of Michael Gordon’s Yo! Shakespeare is anything to go by, minimalist compositions are about as fun as you would think they would be.