This work provides an analysis of the ways that new media are experienced and studied as the subjects of history, using the examples of early recorded sound and digital networks. In "Always Already New", Lisa Gitelman explores the newness of new media while she asks what it means to do media history. Using the examples of early recorded sound and digital networks, Gitelman challenges readers to think about the ways that media work as the simultaneous subjects and instruments of historical inquiry. Presenting original case studies of Edison's first phonographs and the Pentagon's first distributed digital network, the ARPANET, Gitelman points suggestively toward similarities that underlie the cultural definition of records (phonographic and not) at the end of the nineteenth century and the definition of documents (digital and not) at the end of the twentieth. As a result, "Always Already New" speaks to present concerns about the humanities as much as to the emergent field of new media studies. Records and documents are kernels of humanistic thought, after all, part of and party to the cultural impulse to preserve and interpret. Gitelman's argument suggests inventive contexts for "humanities computing" while also offering a new perspective on such traditional humanities disciplines as literary history. Making extensive use of archival sources, Gitelman describes the ways in which recorded sound and digitally networked text each emerged as local anomalies that were yet deeply embedded within the reigning logic of public life and public memory. In the end, Gitelman turns to the World Wide Web and asks how the history of the Web is already being told, how the Web might also resist history, and how using the Web might be producing the conditions of its own historicity.

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Always Already New: Media, History, and the Data of Culture

: Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture . Henry Jenkins.

It is ‘the logic of these late-capitalist phenomena’ that Augé attempts to describe. So far, so good, but this is only from Non-places’ back-cover blurb. In fact the book is very disappointing: the author offers a bland narrative of the experience of modern life, for example, on the supermarket: ‘The customer wanders round in silence, reads labels, weighs fruit and vegetables on a machine that gives the price along with the weight, then hands his credit card to a young woman as silent as himself—anyway, not very chatty—who runs each article past the sensor of a decoding machine before checking the validity of the customer’s credit card’ (pp.99–100). He nostalgically contrasts this to some romantic idealization of the (French) past, and mixes it up with what can only be described as pretentious waffle. To be fair, some of the concepts introduced are interesting. Anthropological places are contrasted to spaces; places in turn are contrasted to nonplaces: ‘If a place can be defined as relational, historical and concerned with identity, then a space which cannot be defined as relational, or historical, or concerned with identity will be a nonplace’ (pp.77-78). Modernity is contrasted to supermodernity: it is supermodernity which creates non-places, ‘spaces which are not themselves anthropological places and which, unlike Baudelairean modernity, do not integrate the earlier places...’ (p.78). For example, ‘in the modernity of the Baudelairean landscape ... everything is combined’, the old and new are interwoven; on the other hand, supermodernity ‘makes the old (history) into a specific spectacle, as it does with all exoticism and all local particularity ... in the non-places of supermodernity, there is always a specific position ... for “curiosities” presented as such’ (p.110). It’s true that airports, supermarkets, new housing estates, suburbs and so on are alienating (non-)places—just listen to Strummer’s lyrics to ‘Lost in the Supermarket’ (The Clash, London Calling, 1979); it is also true that we are forced to spend more and more of our lives in such (non-)places. This is why this little book appeared promising. But the concepts Augé employs are hopelessly inadequate to explain the proliferation and character of these ‘late capitalist phenomena’. The definition, cited above, of place vis-à-vis non-place begs the questions: relational to whom?, concerned with whose history?; whose identity? Augé’s point is, of course, that everywhere 144 Capital & Class #60

Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity

and general in order to be able to be performed on a wide variety of new inputs. The inputs may be an inventory of notes based upon key, style, et cetera. (Pressing’s cognitive model calls this the “referent.”) My taxonomy is a way of making those inputs clear. 184 Since improvisation (and composition) is fundamentally cognitive and motor selection, then this presupposes a set of things from which to select. One can only select if there are options, choices. Now, it seems that whether a person (agent) is aware (conscious or cognizant of the options (all or even some)), one may always post facto reconstruct the set of choices which were available or present to the agent at the time of selection. By this I mean the set of choices that were available to the agent from an objective point of view. This set has little to do with the actual, individual conscious states of the agent; however, it does involve many specific conditions of the agent and the agent’s environment. For example, a musician S may say that “it never occurred to me to play that B-flat after the A,” even though objectively that choice was available to S. Sometimes, however, we describe others, and even ourselves, as just doing something—no other options presented themselves to consciousness. So, “selection” may seem like an inappropriate term or concept for what is going on in improvisation. It may, however, seem more accurate in composition. When humans perform actions in quick succession, consciously it does not seem like a choice or decision is being made for each separate action. In fact, in some cases it may be difficult to individuate the rapid succession of actions into discrete units. It seems to be a unitary flow of movements. These are half-intentional actions. Beside the (SCI) case, examples of this kind of phenomenon are playing sports, talking, and just mundane actions like walking to the market. From a phenomenological perspective, in some moments the choice or decision aspect can be discerned, while other moments “feel” automatic. Consequently, it is in these seemingly automatic moments that selection may be an erroneous description. But there are several pieces of evidence that suggest that in both cases similar or the same processes are realized. First, it would be impossible to account for talent and skill if some sense of choice or selection or decision was not involved. Indeed, psychologists and others 185 indicate that some people are better than others (usually in some specific domain of behavior) in their speed of thinking, choosing, and moving in situations that require rapidity. In other words, if we cannot attribute responsibility to selection or choice, even in an attenuated sense, training and effort would be diminished or demolished. Why would one train if one could not control the automatic thinking or moving? What would be our understanding of talent and expertise? Second, there is reductio ad absurdam argument that can be given here, analogous to the one Thomas Nagel presents in the classic “Moral Luck” article. One could argue that artistic agents are never responsible for anything they do; they have no agency because all novel thoughts impinge. Humans do not cause their thoughts and selection. My only response is that creativity is still a mystery, and we are not yet epistemically entitled to run this argument to the point of absurdity. Furthermore, cognitive science has informed us that even in these moments sub-conscious motor and kinetic programs or mechanisms are running. Some of these were delineated for improvisation above. This is one reason why a phenomenology needs to be appended to cognitive models and the like. One should also be interested in what is present to the consciousness of the agent, and what is consciously occurring while playing (if anything), not only the underlying processes posited by a cognitive theory, nor what could be going on as argued for in a philosophical theory. David Sudnow is perhaps the best example of a phenomenological approach to improvising. By introspecting on his improvised piano playing and his learning how to play 62 For example, see Sian Beilock, Choke: What the Secrets of the Brain Reveal about Getting It Right When You Have To (New York: Free Press, 2010). 63 Thomas Nagel, “Moral Luck” in Mortal Questions, Canto Classics Series (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 24-38. 64 David Sudnow, Ways of the Hand: The Organization of Improvised Conduct (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978), and David Sudnow, Ways of the Hand: A Rewritten Account, foreword by Hubert L. Dreyfus (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001). 186 paino and improvise, Sudnow gives excellent descriptions of the process and actions. One of the most important insights he gives is that selection in jazz piano improvisation is in large part about fingering and the way one’s hands and fingers move across the keys. I can attest that the same is true for stringed instruments, like guitar. Often, when I improvise, my attention is on finger patterns that I know work (with embellishments) over certain “changes.” How strongly the phenomenology of playing an instrument comes to play in thinking about creativity and improvisation in particular comes to the fore in this extraordinary account of a conversation with the famous, brilliant pianist Bill Evans. ... I [Gene Lees] kidded him [Bill Evans] about his rocking a finger on a key on a long note at the end of a phrase. After all, the hammer has already left the string: one has no further physical contact with the sound. ‘Don’t you know the piano has no vibrato?’ I said. ‘Yes,’ Bill responded, ‘but trying for it affects what comes before it in the phrase.’ Evans reveals that there are motor selections that do not enter into the perceivable product (in this case sounds) but yet affect properties of that product. Not all selections will be perceivable in the final product (e.g., performance, recording). One should also be aware that selection may be coerced in both a literal and metaphorical sense. External factors such as authorities may constrain what artists do, thereby eliminating or reducing choices. I may only have the resources to learn one instrument. If I only know how to play saxophone, I am not going to pick up a trumpet. At any given time t, the agent (improviser, player, performer) has twelve pitches available in the range physically determined by the instrument. This range is vague because 65 Gene Lees, “The Poet Bill Evans,” in Reading Jazz: A Gathering of Autobiography, Reportage, and Criticism from 1919 to Now, ed. Robert, Gottlieb (New York: Pantheon, 1996), 424. 187 given certain techniques, which some musicians are able to do and others not, and physical enhancements to instruments, the range can be extended, both to the top and bottom of the frequency or pitch range. But it would wrong to suppose that this complete selection options set is fully available every time, in every context to an improviser. What decreases the possibilities of the selection options group are the constraints that are given and/or accepted by the player, the genre, context, et cetera. Now, the agent may at any point deviate from these constraints (intentionally or otherwise), but she may not deviate from the complete selection options group, unless she changes instrument or technique. The idealized selection options group is coextensive with the set of all physically realizable pitches and all possible durations. This set may be expressed in many ways. For instance, one could simply give the Hertz (Hz) cycles (frequency) of the pitch indexed to a timed duration, such as eight seconds or two seconds. Obviously, this is an infinite set, because the duration of a produced pitch could be infinitely long, and the sound waves, although severely limited by human audibility capacity (even non-human animal audibility) could be infinitely low or high, although there are frequencies which we cease to call sounds. Practically, in Western music theory, the accepted range of pitches is the human audition range (called audio or sonic), 66 I am assuming the agent is using the Western Equal Temperament (ET) tempered system. On the drawbacks of the exclusive use of the ET system that was more or less codified in the eighteenth century, see Ross W. Duffin, How Equal Temperament Ruined Harmony (and Why You Should Care) (New York: W. W. Norton, 2007). Scholars have identified at least 150 different temperament tuning systems in Western art music. Of course, ET does not apply to many non-Western music systems. The locus classicus is J. Murray Barbour, Tuning and Temperament: A Historical Survey, Dover Books on Music Series (n.d., n.p., 1951; reprint ed., New York: Dover, 2004). 188 which is approximately from 20 50 Hz (the lowest pipe organ sounds) to 20,000 30,000 Hz; while the accepted range of durations caps out at 128 notes. Selection is the process of choosing an output. The output may be physically realized or produced sound, or a notation for a realizable sound, or both. A single selection is actually an array of various factors as explicated in Pressing’s cognitive model. In using the term “choosing,” or “choice,” again I make no commitment to a theory of free will. This theory and taxonomy may remain neutral. If free will is false, then the selection process will be a product of some set of causal laws. Those causal laws will still have to operate within the taxonomy. Moreover, ideally a selection may be viewed as a choice of each discrete unit with relevant arrays, even though phenomenologically one may not be aware of all of the arrays. A musical phrase or lick may be played wherein the agent chose to play the lick as a whole. The entire phrase, then, which may consist of several pitches of different durations, dynamics, rhythms, and attacks, is the unit of selection—not each discrete pitch et cetera. Following are the selection options sets for musical sound generation (

The metaphysics of improvisation

A distinguishing feature of video games is their interactivity, and sound plays an important role in this: a player's actions can trigger dialogue, sound effects, ambient sound, and music. And yet game sound has been neglected in the growing literature on game studies. This book fills that gap, introducing readers to the many complex aspects of game audio, from its development in early games to theoretical discussions of immersion and realism. In Game Sound, Karen Collins draws on a range of sources--including composers, sound designers, voice-over actors and other industry professionals, Internet articles, fan sites, industry conferences, magazines, patent documents, and, of course, the games themselves--to offer a broad overview of the history, theory, and production practice of video game audio. Game Sound has two underlying themes: how and why games are different from or similar to film or other linear audiovisual media; and technology and the constraints it has placed on the production of game audio. Collins focuses first on the historical development of game audio, from penny arcades through the rise of home games and the recent rapid developments in the industry. She then examines the production process for a contemporary game at a large game company, discussing the roles of composers, sound designers, voice talent, and audio programmers; considers the growing presence of licensed intellectual property (particularly popular music and films) in games; and explores the function of audio in games in theoretical terms. Finally, she discusses the difficulties posed by nonlinearity and interactivity for the composer of game music.

https://mitp-web2.mit.edu/sites/default/files/titles/content/9780262033787_sch_0001.pdf

Game Sound: An Introduction to the History, Theory, and Practice of Video Game Music and Sound Design

Any Sound You Can Imagine: Making Music/Consuming Technology

From the Publisher:
Theberge places recent technological developments within a broad social and historical perspective to illuminate the changing relationships between musical concepts, styles, and technology.

In recent years, various forces within and outside the music industry - record producers, hardware and software suppliers, and Internet service providers - have created techniques and tools that allow recording studios in remote locations to be networked in ever more complex and intimate ways. The effort behind the creation of the ‘network studio’ is, in part, the result of an overall progression in the historical development of the tools, architectures and practices of the contemporary recording studio. Studios do not exist in a musical or cultural vacuum, however: traditionally, music scenes, session musicians, and local aesthetics and practices have played an important role in the development of specific approaches to recording and have had an influence on the resulting sounds. But the rise of the network studio raises fundamental questions about such relationships and about the role of space and place in sound recording and, in this regard, can be considered as an expression of larger tendencies descr...

The network studio: Historical and technological paths to a new ideal in music making

With the rise of the Internet, fans have engaged in a variety of online discussions related to their interests: newsgroups in the “alt.music” and “alt.fan” categories are full of groups devoted to specific music genres and individual With the rise of the Internet, fans have engaged in a variety of online discussions related to their interests: newsgroups in the “alt.music” and “alt.fan” categories are full of groups devoted to specific music genres and individual stars. But what is of interest in this context is the transformation of those other, more-or-less organized, “official” fan clubs, where the tensions between fandom and organized consumption are most evident. In this regard, online fan clubs have taken on a new dynamic: marked by the appearance of a more direct form of dialogue between artist and fans and a more regular, even daily, ability to connect both artists with fans and fans with one another, fan clubs are now regarded as a new kind of “community” by some and a new source of revenue by others. This paper discusses how Internet fan clubs have become an important mediating factor in relationships between fans and artists, and between fans themselves.

Resume : Depuis la montee d’Internet, les fans participent a une diversite de discussions en ligne associees a leurs interets : a ce titre, des groupes de nouvelles comme « alt.music » ou « alt.fan » rassemblent pleins de groupes consacres a des vedettes ou genres musicaux particuliers. Ce qui est interessant dans ce contexte, c’est la transformation de ces autres clubs pretendument officiels d’admirateurs plus ou moins organises, ou les tensions entre fans et la consommation organisee sont les plus en evidence. Ces clubs en ligne ont du adopter une nouvelle dynamique : ils sont marques par une forme plus directe de dialogue entre artistes et admirateurs et des echanges plus frequents — voire quotidiens — entre artistes et admirateurs ainsi que parmi ces derniers. Certains percoivent ces clubs comme une nouvelle sorte de « communaute » tandis que d’autres les percoivent comme une nouvelle source de revenus. Cet article explique comment les clubs d’admirateurs en ligne sont devenus un facteur mediateur important dans les rapports entre artistes et fans ainsi que parmi ces derniers.

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Everyday Fandom: Fan Clubs, Blogging, and the Quotidian Rhythms of the Internet

Any discussion of the role of technology in popular music should begin with a simple premise: without electronic technology, popular music in the twenty-first century is unthinkable. As a point of departure, however, such a premise demands that one develop an understanding of music technology as more than a random collection of instruments, recording and playback devices. Technology is also an environment in which we experience and think about music; it is a set of practices in which we engage in making and listening to musical sounds; and it is an element in the discourses that we use in sharing and evaluating our experiences, defining, in the process, what music is and can be. In this sense, the ensemble of electronic devices that are used to make, distribute and experience contemporary music are not simply a technical ‘means’ through which we experience music. Technology has become a ‘mode’ of music production and consumption: that is, technology has become a precondition for music-making, an important element in the definition of musical sound and style, and a catalyst for musical change (Blacking 1977). However, technology does not simply determine music-making. Pop artists and consumers have often used technology in ways unintended by those who manufacture it. In this way, pop practices constantly redefine music technologies through unexpected or alternative uses.

Paul Théberge

Papers

Any Sound You Can Imagine: Making Music/Consuming Technology

Any Sound You Can Imagine: Making Music/Consuming Technology

The network studio: Historical and technological paths to a new ideal in music making

Everyday Fandom: Fan Clubs, Blogging, and the Quotidian Rhythms of the Internet

‘Plugged in’: technology and popular music