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Timothy Dowd explores some of the factors that constrain and/or facilitate production.  The structures, careers, markets, technology, and law of the recording industry are the framework for Dowd’s work.  (Dowd citing Peterson, pg 236).  Classical music received its structure through non-profit organizations; these groups are more concerned with debt reduction instead of profit maximization, much different than the pop music realm.  Classical stations on the radio often have an older, wealthier audience that is willing to donate money, as well as some government and art group subsidies.  The industrial structure of pop radio follows a pattern of previous success, the commercial nature of the recording industry attempting to “commodify that which was once communal” (Dowd citing Hesmondhalgh, pg 237).  The large, vertically integrated record companies had locks on distribution and promotion, forcing other competitors out.  This led to increased market concentration, with only a few large companies at the top of the food chain.  Increased market concentration led to a decrease in diversity; these large record companies “strive for that product which pleases the most without offending any major group of consumers” (Peterson & Berger, pg 159).  Since it became harder and harder to get one’s song played on the radio, some resorted to payola as a promotional tool.  This eliminated the credibility of DJs and also the promoters who were pushing the record.  Peterson and Berger’s study concludes that increased market competition leads to more diversity and innovation, but also that increased concentration leads to homogeneity in music.

In Steve Lee’s article, “Predicting cultural output diversity in the radio industry, 1989-2002,” he tacks on some evidence and ideas to Peterson and Berger’s argument.  Lee argues that as market concentration rises, there is also an increase in format variety.  Before television, radio stations had a diverse array of programming, “as each of the four networks competed with the others to capture the largest national audience” (Lee pg 326).  The Telecommunications Act of 1996 allowed for companies to own several stations within market, which led to increasing formats.  As one company would absolve a market’s stations, each new station could take on a different format to appeal to a certain sect of the audience.  Lee uses statistical data to back his research, consulting with different markets and charts to compile a comprehensive study.  He argues that companies used niche bundling as an attempt to “eliminate competition…and to attract distinct segments of the audience” (Lee pg 333).  This is worrisome to those in the creative process since there is less competition to shop their work to.  The creative work itself is devalued as well as the performer – the structures and institutions behind radio had created a system in which the talent was at the whims of corporations.

When television entered the picture in the 1950’s, a new set of standards was introduced.  There was now a visual element to recorded music, which literally changed the face of pop music.  Susan Douglas discusses the girl groups in the 60’s and the impact that Diana Ross had on the America public and abroad; these groups were polished, nicely dressed, and always on point.  Diana Ross had the mass appeal that advertisers and promoters could sell to anyone.  Not only did musicians have to be skilled at their craft, but for mainstream success they also needed to appear in a certain way.  Rather than practicing their instruments or rehearsing their routine, groups went to “charm school” – prepping the act to be seen in the America’s living rooms.  When MTV entered the picture in 1981, the entire game was flipped upside down; both musicians and record industry players had to reformulate their plans to accommodate this media innovation.  Within two years MTV had become “perhaps the most crucial element in the marketing of a rock’n’roll song. Video has become a powerful force in the music business, and MTV has become an obsession to the music industry.  The video tail is wagging the musical dog” (Levy pg 33).  At this point, it was clear that the creative processes of musicians are affected by media innovation, but it is up to the creator to decide whether an innovation like MTV facilitates or constrains their career.  For some, the visual medium of television could not work any better – artists like Madonna and Michael Jackson exploded and their careers grew exponentially because of their videos on MTV.  It can be argued that Jackson’s presence single-handedly saved the music industry.  Record companies started producing video and this affected what new artists they were signing.  Now, musicians had to be telegenic and the decisions over recording a single were increasing lying in the hands of the record companies.  This eliminates the freedom of recording a record; the structures of MTV and commercialized format-based radio put a stronghold on the creative processes of musicians, composers, and performers.  They allowed for national exposure in ways never imagined in the early 20^th century but at a creative cost that some might not be willing to concede to.

While broadcast media have affected the ways in which creativity and originality flourish, musicians are now seeing the landscape of the music industry democratized by the Internet.  In the heyday of radio and television, the tail was most definitely wagging the dog.  Now, the playing field has been leveled and it is a new, more democratized ball game.  There are new constraints on creativity, but many avenues have been opened as well.

On January 29^th, I came across an amazing record entitled  “Enter The Magical Mystery Chambers,” a mashup of classic Wu-Tang Clan and Beatles records.  In my Facebook feed, Jefferson Theatre promoter Danny Shea had posted a link to download the album for free from Tea Sea Records.  The website described it as “a remix album using Wu Tang acapellas on Tom Caruana beats that sample Beatles songs.”  I grew up listening to my father spinning Beatles records, and as I started to discover my own tastes, Wu-Tang and other Wu-affiliated projects became staples of my musical diet.  The website offered a .zip file containing the entire record, individual song downloads in .mp3 form, or streaming audio – all for free.  This was not an attempt to profit off of other people’s blood, sweat and tears; this was a creative reworking of two insanely influential groups, mashing genres, race,  and stylistic expertise.

I was so pleasantly surprised to see and hear an album like this.  I am a huge fan of remix culture; building on and developing the ideas, sounds, visuals, and concepts of other artists is essential to my collegiate and personal life.  Some see remix culture as stealing – outlandish attempts to take copyrighted material and send it off as your own – I disagree wholly.  For me, remix culture is a fundamental and crucial element of today’s youth: their personalities, tastes, and preferences are all molded and shaped by remix culture.

I was surprised because media scholar and copyright expert Siva Vaidhyanathan has described in detail, both in class and in public talks, the happenings of Danger Mouse’s 2004 mashup entitled “The Grey Album,” and the repercussions of its creation and distribution.  EMI went through painstaking efforts to attempt to stop the dissemination of this album and still failed miserably.  Not only could they not stop it, but also they tarnished their image in the process by sending cease & desist letters to all parties involved, solidifying their position as “the bad guy.” Instead of embracing the publicity surrounding “Enter the Magical Mystery Chambers” and using it to promote older Beatles records, they again took the hard stance as they did in 2004.   They wanted this album to disappear, losing the chance to expand their audience and reinvigorate their customer base.

So, on February 10^th, the album was taken off Tea Sea’s website.  Suddenly,  this album just got better.  I wasn’t supposed to have it, but I did.  I had shared the link with my friends on my blog, so they had it as well.  The value of this record had now jumped significantly; it had transformed from an abundant, free product to a scarcity.  Sure, it could be found on P2P sites and torrents.  But it’s accessibility and convenience dropped significantly.  The album swiftly became less user-friendly.  However, the combination of these effects strengthened the connection between those who already had it.  This album sparked conversation and nostalgia for both Wu-Tang and Beatles fans, and imagined what it would sound like if Paul McCartney and Ghostface Killah had illegitimate children (as witnessed in “Mighty Healthy”).  A real treat is a clip from the deceased Ol’ Dirty Bastard explaining his style of “singin’-rapping,” which he claims was built upon Beatles sensibilities – followed by a must-hear mashup of “Love Me Do,” with ODB singing along with Paul atop the actual song.

Therein lies the beauty and the beast of remix culture; Tom Caruana and Tea Sea Records’ crew came up with beautiful, creative, re-imagined versions of classic artists performing classic songs – and it was shut down by EMI quickly and abruptly.  This is an instance where copyright fails us as a public; Vaidhyanathan has stressed that for copyright to work, the people need to believe in it.  Most of the songs on this record have been significantly modified, some to the point where the original song is barely discernible, yet that doesn’t matter to the powers that be.  It is clear from the number of downloads and rave reviews online that this is a record people want to hear, but I feel this is just another instance of major labels being out of touch. The stance of Mitch Bainwol of the RIAA murmurs and resonates underneath EMI’s cease and desist letters – EMI claimed of both “The Grey Album” and “Enter the Magical Mystery Chambers” that “it’s not a question of damage, it’s a question of rights.”¹ But in the remix environment we inhabit, where mashups are an inevitability, it is time to embrace the creativity and value added to the original compositions – stop heeding progress and use the publicity to monetize and promote the original artists.

them crooked vultures

In August of 2009, I was excited to hear the first snippet of music from Them Crooked Vultures, the supergroup that spawned from Dave Grohl’s 40^th birthday party (at Medieval Times, no less).  It came in the form of a YouTube video, all fourteen seconds of it, and it primed me for what was to come – I expected a heavy, blues oriented production due to frontman’s Josh Homme’s (Queens Of The Stone Age) and John Paul Jones’ (Led Zeppelin) pension for blues.  But what I encountered in this short clip was a pounding guitar riff that repeats itself and never resolves – hinting that this album was going to be much more complex than a straight ahead blues record.  In the next few months, I followed Them Crooked Vultures in the media, but wasn’t compelled to rush out and buy the album.  I was satisfied with what I was seeing on YouTube – full songs from live performances began to appear, and watching Grohl pummel his drum kit into oblivion was much more satisfying to me (than simply listening to it).

I have always been enamored by Grohl’s drumming; in fact, he is one of the main reasons I started playing drums.  “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was the first song I ever learned to play.  Not only did Grohl clearly have the talent and chops, but also he just looked so fucking cool doing it (and had the personality to match).  The visual element to this band seemed to be more important to me than the actual music; it was a spectacle and the YouTube videos fulfilled my desire to check out this band.  It reminds me of McLuhan, in the sense that the medium (viewing and hearing this band on YouTube) was saying more to me than the actual music.  That is to say, these uploaded videos placed me at the show, without having to pay for a ticket, with better seats than I would have gotten (and more comfortable), and allowed for me to experience the music in a different way than if I had bought the compact disc or vinyl.

In March, Them Crooked Vultures released a hilarious viral-esque video documenting Grohl’s coffee addiction spiraling out of control.² Then, almost six months after the album had been released, I came across an advertisement in my Twitter feed from Amazon.  There was a one-day sale of this record online for $2.99. Considering the amount of time I had already invested in this band, the three dollars was well worth it – in fact, paying ten or fifteen dollars would have been worth it for me – but it is rare that I actual pay for recorded music these days, especially from renowned musicians who probably have more money than they can handle.   I delved into the record in a strictly audible manner, and began to appreciate the music more and more.  With these musicians already having clout, they didn’t seem to be worried about fitting into a format and already had a fan base eager to hear new material.  Negus’ fear of promotion affecting the creative process didn’t seem to be present here, and I really appreciated that.  This record plays with odd time signatures and pushes up against math-rock sensibilities, executed masterfully by proven, expert musicians – yet still weaves in Homme’s sultry, lust-driven vocals and allows for each member to showcase their talent.  It’s not the best record I’ve ever heard – but simply put, this album still kicks ass, and has placed Grohl back where he belongs: behind a drum kit.

nine inch nails live

I have been spoiled when it comes to summertime music festivals.  Working for Red Light Management has its perks – and going to Bonnaroo is one of its best.  Since Red Light CEO Coran Capshaw owns some (or possibly all) of the land the festival is held on, the red carpet (covered in mud, of course) is rolled out for salaried employees – and I’ve been lucky enough to experience this twice.  Last year, I was ecstatic to find out that Nine Inch Nails would be performing.  Bonnaroo is a space like none other I’ve ever experienced; it is the closest thing my generation will ever have to the original Woodstock – and a far cry from 1999’s Woodstock train wreck.  In Manchester, Tennessee, the 700-acre farm where Bonnaroo resides is the location for anywhere from 75,000 to 90,000 concert goers for three days of music, food, art, and modern day lawlessness.  As Eisenberg pointed out, the “uplifting fog” of alcohol or narcotics can be very important to music.  Needless to say, live music flourishes there with an unparalleled energy.

Nine Inch Nails were performing on Saturday night and they started promptly at 1 A.M.  (time has a tendency to disappear in a space like Bonnaroo).  At the time, I was with my girlfriend who is barely five feet tall – and I wasn’t going to put her in harms way by slithering and pushing closer to the stage – so we settled on a section of mud farther back.  The show was incredible.  But there were two troubling factors: Trent Reznor announced this would be their last show in the United States (which was only partially true) and I wasn’t able to see as much of the stage as I would have liked (and more importantly, I couldn’t see the drummer!).   This show was the highlight of my Bonnaroo experience, and I was anxious to get home and try to find a decent recording of it.

Upon returning to Charlottesville, my friend and artist manager at Red Light promptly sent me the mix from the soundboard of NIN’s show that he received from his brother, who had downloaded it from a torrent site.  I now could relive my experience sonically time and time again.  Soon after the festival had ended, the YouTube videos documenting the show started to appear – and one particular user posted the entire show, from the stage, with his camera pointed directly at Ilan Rubin, the 21 year old beast behind the drums.  I now had not only an audio recording of the show, but the visual documentation I had regretfully not seen in the physical space.  Digital media allows for access to these performers and performances unlike ever before and I am very grateful for this.  In the years to come, I will have more to offer to the digital world in terms of producing, editing, and managing my own content – giving back to the digital environment that has given me so much.  I recorded a video for YouTube playing along with crowd pleaser “March Of The Pigs,” and it garnered 800 views in two weeks.  The medium is most definitely the message; the fact that music fans have this sort of access, democratized platforms of distribution, and more direct connections to their favorite band (bypassing the major labels) are integral factors in the determining the future of the music industry, but also on a more individual level, the listening and viewing habits of fans.

nostalgia, lineage, & linkage

All three of these listening experiences were propelled forward in my life through hyperlinks.  The Wu-Tang/Beatles mashup was filtered through Facebook and linked back to the original website.  Them Crooked Vultures’ one day sale was a promotion through micro-blogging, where the band utilized word of mouth, grassroots marketing to sell their product.  The Nine Inch Nails performance was uploaded to a torrent site, downloaded, and passed through a series of instant messages until it reached my computer.   The videos from the show were uploaded to YouTube, where they are shared with the world. All three cases share the same ease and accessibility that has become the standard for music distribution.  For me personally, my listening habits usually revolve around nostalgia. Many songs or albums have value added to them when connected with a particular moment in time, usually a fleeting emotion that can be encapsulated in the song.   People take pictures to remember special moments; I tend to relive my experiences aurally, recreating and reworking the feelings I originally felt the first time I heard a particular record, or saw a particular band.  This is why live shows are so important to the music industry – it is the most intimate way for bands to connect with their fans, to give them that moment, their moment: drenched in rain or sweat, floating on top of the energy from the people around you, experiencing the music in an environment where it’s okay to forget your responsibilities for a few hours.  Nostalgia reaches further than the live shows – when a song is attached to any emotion someone is feeling, it gets collected and carried along.  I can’t listen to Explosions In The Sky without reliving breaking up with an ex-girlfriend.  I can’t listen to GZA’s “Liquid Swords” without imagining myself on a high school bus ride to Jamestown to win a huge divisional basketball game.  These experiences – and the space I experienced them in – have had a profound effect on how I listen to music.  Berland’s discussion of preserving local culture bleeds into my thought pattern on this; while she was explicitly talking about preserving Canadian culture for fear of cultural imperialism, I feel that preserving and cultivating the space in which live shows are held is essential to maintaining and developing the relationships that will keep the music industry thriving for years to come.  This is true on the local, regional, and national levels.  The venues need to be seen as sacred spaces, and ultimately where culture is created and shared.

The lineage of bands and musicians are also important to my listening habits.  I tend to stray away from the one hit wonders or flavor of the month bands – most of the bands I really enjoy are career oriented artists.  They have more at stake, or at least make it seem like that, and in turn usually develop tribes of dedicated followers rather than fans of pop culture who are willing to buy into whatever is fresh that day.  The lineage of the bands I have mentioned invited me to explore their older catalogs: hearing new material also made me crave old material.  After listening to Them Crooked Vultures, I went back to listen to Led Zeppelin IV.  I listened to Queens Of The Stone Age’s “Songs For The Deaf.”  I listened to Nirvana’s “Nevermind,” then went back even farther to Grohl’s first band, the legendary DC hardcore band Scream.   Hearing the Wu-Tang/Beatles mashup reminded me of how much I loved the early Wu solo projects, so I went back and listened to Ghostface’s “Ironman” and Raekwon’s “Only Built 4 Cuban Linx.”  The YouTube videos showcasing Ilan Rubin linked me to the band he fronts (playing guitar and piano), The New Regime.  I listened to “The White Album” and “Sgt. Peppers” and “Revolver.”  While I experienced these albums in digital form, they still inspired an analog transition: hearing these older tunes encouraged me to put on my headphones and play drums along with them.  Though in a digital media realm, nothing can replace the analog feeling of playing along or creating your own material on acoustic instruments.  The access to generative tools and programs like Garageband and Fruity Loops may have democratized the production of music in a sense – but nothing can replace the practice, dedication, and hard work it takes to be a true, authentic, talented musician.

The kind of lineage I’m talking about is mimicked by Internet radio stations formats – they provide an echo chamber of what you’ve been listening to.  This echo chamber can be viewed in a positive or negative light, but the success and shear number of users these stations have prove to me that the Internet radio stations are performing a service that people enjoy and want more of.

Though we are a ways away from finding a sustainable, standardized business model for the music industry, the concepts I have mentioned and the new, emerging platforms for discovering new (and old) music are fundamental and crucial elements to the development of a new system.  The good news is that more people are listening to more music than ever.   The bad news is that we as a public must accept the new system wholeheartedly, and the major forces in the music industry must do the same.  As Vaidhyanathan pointed out, for systems like copyright to work, the people need to believe in the rules.  The same concept translates to the landscape of the music industry.  There is a long road ahead of us – the dust from Napster in 2001 still hasn’t even settled.  But, luckily for us, the demand is there, and if I’m lucky enough, I just may be the one to supply and satisfy that demand.  Let’s hope.

Works Kind of Cited:

1 Joseph Weisenthal. “EMI Admits No Harm Came From Grey Album, But Still.”  http://www.techdirt.com/articles/20061110/122849.shtml

2 Fresh Pots. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhdCslFcKFU

Gangster films, as a genre, often have a similar narrative arc.  Warshow notes, “The typical gangster film presents a steady upward progress followed by a very precipitate fall.”¹ This system is utilized in GoodFellas as well, but this film begins with the signature brutality and viciousness found in many of Scorsese’s films. The establishing shot places the main characters in a car as adults and they hear a noise emanating from the supposedly dead body in the trunk.  They pull over to investigate and find that their victim is not as dead as they thought.  Tommy repeatedly stabs the victim, later identified as Billy Batts, and Jimmy finishes him off with a revolver. As Henry closes the trunk, Scorsese freezes the frame on his face and a voiceover comes in. Scorsese uses this technique throughout the film to enhance and further the narrative, and it allows a form of omniscient narration that would otherwise be difficult to achieve.  Told through Henry’s voice, the voiceovers permit Scorsese to pepper the narrative with both foreshadowing and observations made in hindsight. These sonic additions render his vision more clearly, even while the image remains static on the screen.  After the opening credits, Scorsese flashes back to Henry’s adolescence where Henry and Tommy meet for the first time.  Roger Ebert describes the arc entwined in GoodFellas:

We follow them through 30 years; at first, through years of unchallenged power, then through years of decline (but they have their own kitchen in prison, and boxes of thick steaks and crates of wine), and then into betrayal and decay.²

The flashback allows Scorsese to express the desires of Henry as a boy and the narrative moves forward as his dreams of becoming a gangster come true. 

GoodFellas’ narrative arc begins in the city, which, according to Warshow, is a vital setting to the characters: “The gangster is the man of the city, with the city’s language and knowledge….”³ The mobsters embody the urban characteristics of the city; they are tough, gritty, and never remorseful.  Even as their mob family starts to disappear, the characters cannot imagine their lives any other way.  Scorsese diverges from typical gangster films by introducing Henry’s wife Karen (Lorraine Bracco) as a second narrator – not only shifting the point of view of the storyline but also the audience’s emotional positioning.   Karen’s perspective allows a deeper understanding of the characters, creating an emotional attachment to the struggles of not only her criminal-minded husband, but also the very real trials and tribulations of any precarious relationship.  Her narrative permits the characters to briefly enter suburbia, only to bring the hostility of the city with them.  Henry savagely pistol-whips Karen’s neighbor whom she has “known her whole life” as repercussions for an altercation between the suburbanites.  Henry hands her the gun to hide and Scorsese slows down time and manipulates the temporal space as a means of explaining her contemplation over what has just happened. Her voiceover explains how she is attracted to danger like a moth to a flame; to emphasize this, Scorsese immediately cuts to the wedding sequence of the film.  She becomes one with the other mob wives, and through insulation and repetition, Karen is naturalized into the Mafioso existence. Ultimately, Karen gets caught up in the criminal lifestyle and rides the same arc as the gangsters destined for calamity.

One of the most memorable moments in GoodFellas is undoubtedly the “Funny, How?” scene.  It takes place in Sonny Bunz’ Bamboo Lounge, which eventually gets extorted and burned to the ground by Tommy and Henry.  Scorsese masterfully constructs the mise en scéne to position the viewer right at the table with the mobsters.  It allows for not only the viewer to experience what it would be like sit and drink with gangsters, but more importantly it allows the viewer to feel what it is like. The table lights have reddish orange lampshades, painting the entire restaurant with an amber glow and charging the scene with emotion.  The low key lighting creates strong shadows in the background and draws the viewer closer to the characters sitting at the table.  The scene begins with a long take that contrasts with the fast paced editing in the rest of the film; this draws attention to itself and the viewer is drawn in even more – they are placed at an inner circle of the mob.  During the first long take, the placement of the camera arranges the viewer as if he is sitting at the table in between Frankie Carbone and Nicky Eyes.   There are multiple bottles of alcohol on the table but no dinnerware, which signifies that the characters have already eaten yet aren’t planning on leaving anytime soon.  Tommy recalls a comical story of an encounter with police, and the gazes of those at the table are all fixated on him; he is their entertainer.  Scorsese cuts to a reverse shot which keeps the viewer at the table, this time on the opposite end, focusing the gaze on Anthony Stabile, Nicky, and Henry’s maniacal laughter.  The jubilant atmosphere suddenly dissipates when Tommy confronts Henry about being called funny, which he considers an insult.  Scorsese depicts this moment as if the entire restaurant is silenced and all gazes are upon Henry and Tommy.  Frankie and Nicky break their focus on Tommy to exchange a cautionary gaze with each other, foreshadowing Tommy’s volatile nature. The tension built is palpable, and Anthony interjects in an attempt to diffuse the uncomfortable situation.  Tommy rejects this and lets the joke go further, until finally revealing he is just kidding.  Scorsese positions the viewer on a rollercoaster of tension and apprehension as the scene continues on.

A curious addition to the mise en scéne is a man in a suit standing between Tommy and Henry, his head cut off by the frame.  As Tommy tells his story, the man (soon revealed as Sonny) just stands there, his dark suit providing contrast to Henry’s cream-colored jacket and adding a voyeuristic nuance to the mise en scéne.  Scorsese purposely neglects to show Sonny’s head because in Tommy’s world, Sonny doesn’t exist.  He doesn’t care that Sonny is hovering there; Sonny’s gaze is excluded, building tension and curiosity as to why he is standing there.  His face is finally shown, after almost two and a half minutes, to explain that the waiter was afraid to bring the check over.  Tommy is offended by Sonny’s interruption and reacts violently, breaking a glass over his head and throwing a table of dishes at the waiter.  Scorsese cuts to Henry’s fanatic laughter, which lightens the mood but also showcases the gangsters’ psychopathic temperament.  Henry instigates Tommy further and Tommy pulls a gun on Henry nonchalantly, as if it were a regular occurrence.  By this time, the entire restaurant’s gaze is focused on these maniacs, laughing along with the gangsters and succumbing to the idea that these psychopaths are their entertainment for the evening. Scorsese is playing to the idea that gangsters’ behavior repulses outsiders but also attracts them to wait and see what is going to happen next.   Henry instigates one last time, compelling Tommy to jump out of his seat. Scorsese cuts to the crazed look in Henry’s eyes and the sound of his demented laughter as the scene comes to a close.

Scorsese’s vision as an auteur manifests through a unique stylistic approach and carries along intertextual narratives from previous films like Mean Streets (1973), Taxi Driver (1976), and Raging Bull (1980).  In Film, Form, & Culture, Kolker notes,

“While, on the level of story, Scorsese’s films often concern small-time hoods or individuals on the edge or over the edge of psychosis, they are, on a more complex level, about style and reputation, about how it looks and feels to be in the world, looking at people and being looked at, seen, recognized, and hurt by the glance of others.”⁴

Scorsese’s ability to convey and evoke feelings in viewers separates his genius from other filmmakers. GoodFellas could be seen as a film that glamorizes mob life and violence, but there is much more entrenched in the film.  Scorsese accomplishes his goal in creating a world where the language, aesthetic, and feel all converge to produce a filmic experience that is uniquely Scorsesian and yet still maintains the characteristics of the gangster genre.  Like all great creators, he builds upon and stylizes the products of the past until a new masterpiece is created in his own vision.   This attribute can be found in all great auteurs, and Scorsese is most definitely one of the best; GoodFellas is a film that will be remembered not for its violence, but for its aesthetic and vision.

Works Cited

1 Warshow, Robert. “The Gangster as Tragic Hero.” Homepage of Dr. David Lavery. Web. 22 Apr. 2010. <http://davidlavery.net/Courses/Gangster/warshow.htm#tragichero>.

2 “GoodFellas :: Rogerebert.com :: Reviews.” Rogerebert.com :: Movie Reviews, Essays and the Movie Answer Man from Film Critic Roger Ebert. Web. 19 Apr. 2010. <http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/19900902/REVIEWS/9020301/1023>.

3 Warshow, Robert. “The Gangster as Tragic Hero.” Homepage of Dr. David Lavery. Web. 22 Apr. 2010. <http://davidlavery.net/Courses/Gangster/warshow.htm#tragichero>.

4 Kolker, Robert.  Film, Form, & Culture. Third ed. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill, 2006.  Pgs 140-149.

Many of the attributes of early folk music can be seen in modern indie folk, as it was also seen in the folk revivalists of the 1950s.  “[Most of the participants of the folk revival] discovered these musics as young adults, were attracted to them, and developed their own musical styles, drawing on what they learned from them” (Koskoff 2005, pg 119). “The ‘folk’ aspects of indie include locality, ‘liveness’, a DIY, amateur approach…  and understated performance style as marks of authenticity” (Bannister 2006, pg 27).  These shared characteristics of the folk revivalists and indie folk musicians pledge their allegiance to early folk, expanding on and developing what has already been done, but also staying true to the folk process throughout.

The affinity to folk music from indie folk artists today serves as their sense of identity.  “Music can be seen as a marker of certain aspects of one’s identity at any given moment and is often used by individuals or groups to help define themselves in relation to others and as a means for others to define them as well” (Koskoff 2005, pg 19).  Similarly, many find ways to identify themselves by describing what they are not:  “Indie, by virtue of its very name, had a strong investment in difference, concerned with ‘what not to do,’ and this was central to ideological conflicts within the nascent genre” (Bannister 2006, pg 58).  The relationship of forging identities through music is in a state of constant flux, as identities can be adopted or shed easily.  The binary of “what you are” and “what you are not” is mutually dependent.  “’Authentic folk music is presented as an “Other” with which pop music can be adversely contrasted; or its values are seen as surviving… with certain favoured forms of popular music, usually… associated with specified groups or subcultures” (Bannister 2006, pg 26, citing Middleton 1990).

This concept of identity is not only seen in folk musicians but the folk audience as well.  Whether classified as early folk or indie folk music, both genres provide meaning for its’ listeners.  “The meaning is carried in both the actual sound of the music and in the social networks that are necessary to sustain its creation and performance” (Koskoff 2005, pg 60).  In the early twentieth century, folk music was usually performed at relatively small gatherings: house parties, fiddling contests, and in the living rooms of America’s rural towns.  Events of these type always encouraged participation; dancing and singing along are integral elements of old time string band and folk music.  Alice Klein of the Telegraph reviewed Bon Iver’s May 2009 performance at the Brighten Dome and said, the “surprising plain-looking Vernon” was “encouraging the 2,000-strong audience to sing along with the choruses” (Klein 2009).  An interview with Ninila Mason-Cambell revealed Vernon’s thoughts on audience participation: “I don’t want to be the guy with an acoustic guitar singing songs, because that’s boring for the most part. The song actually needs 80-500 people singing or whatever the vibe is of that room, it needs that fight. It needs that to happen” (Mason-Cambell 2008).

In July of 2008, New York Times music critic Sasha Frere-Jones saw Bon Iver for the first time at the Bowery Ballroom.  “In the dark space of Bowery Ballroom—a room that is not small—it felt like several hundred of us were sitting in Vernon’s head. The intimacy of his songs was matched by a focused performance that collapsed the space around us” (Frere-Jones, 2009).  Musicians need to find a way to connect with their fans if they want to remain relevant.  ‘Music should be unadorned so as to communicate directly with the audience … the fewer steps between performer and audience the better’ (Bannister 2006, pg 32, citing Knox 1991).  This notion translates within rock music as well; U2’s current “360 Tour” of stadiums worldwide promises to close the performer/audience gap: “With a cylindrical video system of interlocking LED panels, and a steel structure rising 150 feet from the floor over a massive stage with rotating bridges, the band has truly created an intimate 360 degree experience for concert goers” (360.u2.com 2009).  The expanding gulf between the performer and audience has been growing since the commoditization of early rural working class songs; the folk aims to close that gap.

A troublesome point of contention for indie folk musicians is the way that their audience views and receives them.  Those who only seek out mainstream music are usually more pop-culture fans than genuine music fans; through music, they’re seeking the acceptance of their peers, a way to bond with the masses.  Indie audiences tend to search for more obscure artists, also seeking acceptance, but with a much more select and opinionated crowd.  Eric Yates of the San Diego News Network describes this gravitational pull towards the talented and obscure bands such as Grizzly Bear: “You might not have heard of Grizzly Bear, and you still might not in the near future, as the band seems to yearn for anonymity in the current landscape of untalented, overhyped bands and artists. But as far as musicianship, songwriting and performance go, they’re simply one of the better acts making music today” (Yates 2009).  When an indie artist gets “too popular” or “too mainstream,” many “fans” will turn their back on them simply because it is viewed as limiting their credibility in musical taste.  That is to say, these fans pride themselves on staying ahead of the musical curve. Once a band or artist is accepted into mainstream culture, it is time to for these fans to move on and find the next big thing.  Folk and indie folk artists aren’t necessarily making their music for the masses in the first place; it is more directed to the audiences who are willing to support them.  Bob Dylan said,  “You have to have somebody in mind as an audience otherwise there’s no point. I see that my audience now doesn’t particular care what period the songs are from. They feel style and substance in a more visceral way and let it go at that” (Decurtis 2009).

The DIY attitude shared amongst folk musicians is a common thread that helps sew together the patchwork of folk ideology.  In 1960, Time Magazine said, “the basic cause of the bull market in folk music… is the do-it-yourself trend: folk audiences, unlike jazz audiences, like to participate in the music they admire. At Newport last week, many spectators brought along banjos and guitars with their sleeping bags and sat around campfires on the beaches strumming far into the night” (Time 1960).  In 2005, after the disbanding of Vernon’s previous band DeYarmond Edison, he returned to his home state of Wisconsin, “where he sequestered himself in a remote cabin for four snowy months” to write and record the songs that would eventually appear on Bon Iver’s 2007 release, For Emma, Forever Ago (Deusner 2007).  The DIY approach is also very important in other subculture scenes, including punk, hip-hop, and riot grrrl.  Maroin Leonard cites Carson as “describing how a number of women’s music festivals launched in the US in the mid-1970s were ‘a wrap-around experience of music, art, workshops, networking, talking, hanging out, sleeping in tents or dormitories, and struggling to find common ground’” (Leonard 164).  Parallels can be drawn throughout these various subcultures that all share a common element: authenticity.

Authenticity can be described in many ways.  Richard Peterson describes it as authenticated (not pretense), original (not fake), relic (not changed), reproduction (not kitsch, credible (in the current context), and real (not imitative) (Peterson 209).  Walter Benjamin said, “The authenticity of a thing is the essence of all that is transmissible from its beginning, ranging from its substantive duration to its testimony relies on the artwork’s ‘presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be’” (Albin pg 18).  This was describing the works’ “aura,” which many believe is the essence of attraction to folk and indie folk music.  Aura is something that needs to be experienced by the audience themselves, so unknown artists are often are hard sell to new audiences.  Ralph Rinzer, the director of the Smithsonian Institution’s Festival of American Folklife, had a two-point strategy for attracting an urban audience to see folk artists Clarence Ashley and Doc Watson: “The first was to legitimize them by demonstrating the historic links between the two of them and musicians already acknowledged to be our nation’s prime recording artists in their [folk] field.  The second was to validate the folkness of their roots through detailed biographic notes and articles” (Peterson pg 214, citing Rinzler). As times have changed, the scrutiny of musicians has moved away from issues of authenticity and onto other trivial subjects: who wore what, who is dating who, and the like.  Peterson goes on to say that ultimately, authenticity is being believable and original at the same time; ‘what is taken to be authentic does not remain static but is continually renewed over the years” (Peterson pg 220). The word “authenticity” has a floating definition where there is no authoritative force that demands a particular meaning must always be decoded.  The indie folk scene has renewed and revitalized the authenticity seen in both the 1950s revivalists and the early folk musicians. The mantra of “who we are not” simultaneously dubs the signifiers of indie folk “who we are” as authentic musicians.

In the early days of country music, emphasis was focused on a singer’s ability to orally transport heartfelt ballads, singing at the top of their vocal range.  As in folk music, many artists performed by themselves, unaccompanied, to highlight not necessarily their vocal talent, but the message they were trying to deliver.  The performer personified songs of heartbreak, loneliness, love, and death with their vocal imperfections adding authenticity to the songs themselves.  Vernon’s hauntingly beautiful falsetto in For Emma, Forever Ago is a delicate yet powerful voice. He “gives a soulful performance full of intuitive swells and fades, his phrasing and pronunciation making his voice as much a purely sonic instrument as his guitar” (Deusner 2009).

Although some extra drums and horns were added later in a studio in Raleigh, North Carolina, Vernon wrote and recorded every piece of music in For Emma, Forever Ago, confirmation of his DIY approach.

A main theme of this album is isolation, as well as troubles of the heart, both of which are thematic in early folk and blues music.  Robert Johnson sang blues songs in the 1930s that displayed similar themes.  In “Drunken Hearted Man,” the singer has lost everything but the bottle, and in “Kindhearted Woman Blues” the ups and downs of relationships and the toll it takes.  “Skinny Love” was released as a single off of For Emma, Forever Ago and was very well received by critics and fans alike.  The lyrics provide vivid imagery and place the listener right inside the narrator’s heart.  The song has a distinctly folk feel – Vernon is playing acoustic guitar and the recording method makes it sound as if it was recorded during a living room gathering.  This intimate feeling is transcendent throughout Bon Iver’s music, and is translated through Vernon’s distinct voice. It “isn’t what one would associate with most modern folk singers.  Instead, his falsetto and the deep tremor in his throat suggest more of an urban singer who sings on the corner in front of a Baptist church in Chicago, not a resident of Eau Claire, Wisconsin. His vocal style does not come across as worn out, nor do his lyrics and song structures, which are anything but conventional” (McKenzie 2008). The song builds with tension as Vernon lyrically explains the demise of a relationship and the healing process afterwards:  “Come on skinny love just last the year/ Pour a little salt, we were never here.”  Layers are added as the guitar playing gets more percussive and hand-claps enter slowly in the background.  Emotion protrudes from every crack in Vernon’s falsetto throughout the roughly four minute song: “And now all your love is wasted/ And who the hell was I?/  I’m breaking at the bridges /And at the end of all your lines.”   For folk musicians, many times the music tends to flow through them rather than something that needs to be meticulously thought over and created; Vernon admits this was the case during the recording of For Emma, Forever Ago:  “In a way, I feel not responsible for it.  It sounds weird, but I feel that I definitely was there to erect it but it was almost… it was an album that was meant to be there and I just jotted it down” (McKenzie 2008).  This humble attitude reflects the folk process embodied by both early folk musicians as well as today’s indie folk artists.

In 1965, when Bob Dylan plugged in his electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival, it simultaneously infuriated and enticed his colleagues and audience.  “Backstage, Pete Seeger was in a rage and, according to one account, ran to get an ax, threatening to chop the power cables” (Filene 2000, pg 184).  At the time, folk music was strictly acoustic and rock n’ roll symbolized the death of folk music.  Both Dylan and Seeger served as 1960’s folk stylists; Vernon serves as one as the more innovative folk stylists today.  In January of 2009, Bon Iver released a four song follow-up to For Emma, Forever Ago entitled the Blood Bank EP.  Bon Iver’s indie label, Jagjaguwar, said this of the record: “As much as Emma is about the cold, the Blood Bank collection is about the warmth that gets you through it. These four songs explore the darker and lighter natures of the seasons and what they signify, and offer a dynamic glimpse into the natural energy and refined craftsmanship that characterize Justin Vernon’s music” (Jagjaguwar.com 2009).  The song “Woods” includes excessive vocoder usage, auto-tuning Vernon’s voice with a robotic modulation typically heard in modern hip-hop and R&B.  It is an a cappella folk tune, layered and harmonized by Vernon’s filtered vocals. The feel of “Woods” is “disorienting and delicate, a mix of Vernon’s staunchly organic vocals and otherworldly effects, punctuated, on occasion, by sharp, falsetto howls” (Petrusich 2009).  Bon Iver’s indie branding has allowed for fluctuations in style and experimentation within the indie folk scene.  The folk stylings of Dylan, Joan Baez, and Peter, Paul, and Mary paved the way for newer folk musicians to take chances and expand the expected sound of folk music.

Indie folk music has expanded on and stylized different elements derived from American vernacular music.  Whether rooted in ballads, blues, or folk music, these original elements can still be seen through bands like Bon Iver, who aim to create something new while concurrently embodying the authenticity of the folk process.  Indie folk has a strong foundation in instrumentation, songwriting ability, and maintains a DIY attitude, all of which were passed down from the godfathers of folk.

Bibliography

Albin, Zac J.  “The Poetics of Rock:  Cutting Tracks, Making Records.”  (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2001), Pp 17-23.

Bannister, Matthew. “White Boys, White Noise : Masculinities and 1980s Indie Guitar Rock.”Abingdon, Oxon.  Ashgate Publishing, Limited, 2006.<http://site.ebrary.com/lib/uvalib/Doc?id=10211199&ppg=56>

“Bon Iver: Blood Bank EP.” Jagjaguwar.com. 20 Jan 2009.  11 Nov 2009.  <http://www.jagjaguwar.com/onesheet.php?cat=JAG134>

“Bon Iver.  Broken Man Makes Lovely.” Daytrotter, LLC.  Web. 23 Oct. 2009. <http://www.daytrotter.com/dt/bon-iver-concert/20030270-3737628.html>.

Decurtis, Anthony.  “Bob Dylan as songwriter.”  The Cambridge Companion to Bob Dylan.   Ed. Kevin J. H. Dettmar.  Cambridge University Press,  2009.  Cambridge Collections Online.  Cambridge University Press.  06 November 2009  DOI:10.1017/CCOL9780521886949.004

Deusner, Stephen M.  “Bon Iver For Emma, Forever Ago.”  Pitchfork.com.  2009 Pitchfork Media Inc.  4 Oct. 2007.  7 Nov. 2009. <http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/10709-for-emma-forever-ago/>

Filene, Benjamin. Romancing The Folk: Public Memory & American Roots Music. (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina, 2000).

Frere-Jones, Sasha. “Into The Woods: The Bon Iver Sound.” Newyorker.com. The New Yorker, 12 Jan. 2009. Web. 24 Oct. 2009. <http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/musical/2009/01/12/090112crmu_music_frerejones>

Klein, Alice.  “Bon Iver at the Brighton Dome, review.” Telegraph.co.uk. Telegraph Media Group Limited 2009, 19 May 2009.  7 Nov. 2009. <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/rockandpopreviews/5349577/Bon-Iver-at-the-Brighton-Dome-review.html>

Koskoff, Ellen. “Music Cultures in the United States.” (New York: Routledge, 2005), 342.

Leonard, Marion. “Gender in the Music Industry Rock, Discourse and Girl Power” (Ashgate Popular and Folk Music Series). Grand Rapids: Ashgate, 2007. Print. Pg 164.

Mason-Cambell, Ninila. “Bon Iver.” Pitchfork.com.  2009 Pitchfork Media Inc.  27 May 2008.  7 Nov. 2009. <http://pitchfork.com/features/interviews/7502-bon-iver/>

McKenzie, Justin. “Bon Iver: Echoing Solitude Through Intimacy.” Hpr1.com. High Plains Reader, Apr. 2008. Web. 11 Nov. 2009.

“Music: Folk Frenzy.”  Time Magazine. 2009 Time Inc. 7 Nov. 2009.  <http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,871656,00.html>

Peterson, Richard A. “Creating Country Music: Fabricating Authenticity” (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1997), 208-209.

Petrusich, Amanda.  “Bon Iver: Blood Bank EP.” Pitchfork.com.  2009 Pitchfork Media Inc.  20 Jan. 2008.  11 Nov. 2009. <http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/12581-blood-bank-ep/>

Ruehl, Kim. “Indie Folk.” About Folk Music.  Ed. The New York Times Company. Web. 23 Oct. 2009. <http://folkmusic.about.com/od/folkmusic101/p/IndieFolk.htm>.

Yates, Eric. “San Diego fans bullish on indie band Grizzly Bear.” San Diego News Network, LLC, 23 Oct. 2009. Web. 11 Nov. 2009. < Http://www.sdnn.com/sandiego/2009-10-23/concerts-music-clubs/san-diego-fans-bullish-on-indie-band-grizzly-bear.>

Melodramas follow and exaggerate emotions, evoking intense reactions from its viewers.  Kolker explains in Film, Form, & Culture, “the desire to provoke emotions, and, for the audience, to have them provoked, was a driving force in the development of American cinema’s classical style.”² Interview With The Vampire’s musical theme is consistent throughout the film and molds the viewer into an emotive state of being.  The narrative of the film is told through flashbacks, as Louis (Brad Pitt) is interviewed by Daniel Molloy (Christian Slater) in modern day San Francisco. Elsaesser mentions in his article “Tales of Sound and Fury: Observations in the Family Melodrama” that music is a device used to dramatize a given narrative, and also “ is a form of punctuation…it is both functional (i.e., of structural significance) and thematic (i.e., belonging to the expressive content) because [it is] used to formulate certain moods – sorrow, violence, dread, suspense, happiness.”³ The musical theme is introduced at the cut of the first flashback, placing the characters in Mississippi in 1791.  The rhythm and timing of the music coincides with its literary counterpoint; the theme is repeated each time Louis starts talking about a new chapter in his life. The cuts are most definitely aligned with the music.  Similarly, the theme also reoccurs when Louis and Claudia (Kirsten Dunst) share tender moments, inciting an emotional response from the viewer from the viewpoint of a father and daughter’s love.  The music and cutting pattern is repeated when a vampire acts in an otherworldly way – as Molloy eases into the fact that he is interviewing an actual vampire, Louis’ movements are exaggerated with sonic punches and quick cuts that make his motion seem instantaneous and frightening.

This film fetishizes the eloquence and elegance of colonial America, using classical piano and harpsichord pieces to help color the scenes.  In his renowned article entitled “Encoding/Decoding,” Stuart Hall discusses how media texts are encoded with particular messages that then need to be decoded by the viewer to fully understand the intended meaning.  The musical and visual connotations and denotations that exist within the film help create an emotional atmosphere that strengthens the melodramatic elements within.  After Louis is turned to darkness by Lestat (Tom Cruise), the two vampires are found in a southern plantation where the entire mise en scène is highly romanticized and sexually charged.  The room is draped in red velvet, full of red furniture, and contains trademark symbols for elegance: wine, fresh fruit, and expensive untouched china.  The viewer is prompted to decode these symbols, whether consciously or not; their victim is wearing a red dress, conjuring up images of both love and the blood that will soon be drained from her body.  As Lestat and Louis start to suck her blood, the victim teeters on the brink of ecstasy and orgasm while simultaneously losing the life she once knew.  Lestat drains her blood into an empty wine glass, encoding the film with messages of vampire elitism and sexuality.  The viewer is placed into an emotional purgatory, following two distinct emotions:  fear (of death) and erotic pleasure.  Therein lies the mystique surrounding modern vampire film – arousing its audience with sexual overtones while maintaining the fear of an evil being.

Once turned into a vampire, Louis is plagued by his lingering respect for life and lives off the blood of animals.  His gradual acceptance of the nature of vampires is accompanied by a hatred for Lestat’s bloodlust; this is what separates Louis from the rest of the vampires and is the reason Armand is so drawn to him.  The typical vampire tale is thrown for a loop by upending some of the stereotypes contained within vampire film. Elsaesser describes this process: “by turning a body of techniques into a stylistic principle that carried the distinct overtones of spiritual crisis, [those who consciously adopted melodramatic techniques] could put the finger on the texture of their social and human material while still being free to shape this material.”⁴ The viewer is drawn into Louis’ moral turmoil, creating a connection with the character and focuses the viewer on his internal struggle.  The film consistently cuts back to the present, where Molloy adds to the narrative by debunking some of the vampire stereotypes.  They discuss light, stakes through the heart, and crucifixes; in actuality they are setting the stage for which myths will be carried along through this media text.

The emotions felt by the audience must be directly transmitted from the actors on screen.  Kolker says, “for melodrama to work, an audience must be told what to feel and when to feel it; viewers must be hooked and reeled in.”⁵ Claudia’s realization of being an immortal child violently comes to fruition after seeing a naked woman from the street.  Her internal struggle is projected outward when she discovers she cannot change; she will remain in her prepubescent body for eternity.  The climax of this sequence occurs when Claudia hastily chops off her own hair, screaming, “can’t I change?” and then storms off to look at herself in the mirror.  Mirrors are often used in melodrama to reflect the characters to not only themselves but the viewer as well.  The film cuts to a close up of Claudia in the mirror, and her hair has already grown back, again positioning the viewer to feel what Claudia is feeling.  The next shot includes a calm Louis explaining to her that vampires will never grow up; they are forever static in the body in which they were turned.  At this cut, the musical theme is reintroduced and signifies the connection between Louis and Claudia.  This arrangement of shots and music prods the viewer into feeling distinct emotions, transmitting the internal struggle of the characters to a new internal struggle within the viewer; sympathy is bound with fear as the viewer has to decode and decide which emotion to follow through.

Interview With The Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles is a melodramatic film that “sutures the viewer into its fabric and makes the viewer’s emotional response part of that fabric’s pattern.”⁶ While the film preys upon certain emotions, melancholy and infinite sadness are present throughout the duration.  Roger Ebert sums up this film remarkably well:  “the movie never makes vampirism look like anything but an endless sadness. That is its greatest strength. Vampires throughout movie history have often chortled as if they’d gotten away with something. But the first great vampire movie, “Nosferatu” (1922), knew better, and so does this one.”⁷ As the film progresses from flashback into the present, Louis marvels in the creation of film, and clips are shown from Sunrise (1927) and Nosferatu as a way to pay homage to the early workings of film and show the progression of the emotional vulnerability of vampires in film.  This film demands that the viewer is ensconced within the emotions portrayed, and as Kolker explains, “turns the outrageous into the plausible and asks us to believe that plausibility is close to reality.”⁸ Interview With The Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles is a great example of how melodrama works in modern cinema and is a mainstay of modern vampire films.

Works Cited

1 “Interview With The Vampire :: rogerebert.com :: Reviews.” Rogerebert.com :: Movie reviews, essays and the Movie Answer Man from film critic Roger Ebert. Web. 22 Feb. 2010.  <http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/19941111/REVIEWS/411110301/1023>.

2 Koelker, Robert.  Film, Form, & Culture.  Third ed. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill, 2006.  Pg 232-243.

3 Elsaesser, Thomas.  “Tales of Sound and Fury: Observations on the Family Melodrama.”  Movies and Methods, ed. Bill Nichols, vol. 2 (Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985).

4 Ibid pg 172.

5 Koelker, Robert.  Film, Form, & Culture.  Third ed. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill, 2006.  Pg 232-243.

6 Ibid.

7 “Interview With The Vampire :: rogerebert.com :: Reviews.” Rogerebert.com :: Movie reviews, essays and the Movie Answer Man from film critic Roger Ebert. Web. 22 Feb. 2010.  <http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/19941111/REVIEWS/411110301/1023>.

8 Koelker, Robert.  Film, Form, & Culture.  Third ed. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill, 2006.  Pg 232-243.

One of the ways in which The Sopranos differs from other mafia dramas is that when Tony starts having panic attacks, it leads to him to seek out therapy.  The viewer is able to get inside Tony’s head through his dealings with his therapist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi.  She tries to help Tony balance the demands of his home life with those of a mob boss.  In the opening credits, Tony is seen driving, emerging from the Lincoln Tunnel and entering the New Jersey Turnpike.  The view transitions from a rough urban landscape through New Jersey’s industrial zones to Tony’s suburban home.  Much can be said about this opening sequence and the meaning it conveys.

A semiotic analysis of the opening sequence of The Sopranos involves delving into each particular shot, movement and sound; it must be acknowledged that every scene serves the purpose of providing meaning and insight into the episode the viewer is about to watch.  The fast moving clips are not accidentally placed in a seemingly random position; each has been meticulously thought over and edited in a way to convey meaning.  Every single clip has been encoded with different signs, consisting of signifiers and signified objects, which require decoding by the viewer.  Stuart Hall, a prominent cultural theorist, has discussed at length the discursive loop of encoding and decoding: producers encode their content with a preferred meaning, which is then decoded by the viewer.  Based on the viewer’s articulation of the text, the producers can then encode the next message to realign the viewer to the preferred meaning (if not achieved on the first course).

The beginning to every episode of The Sopranos starts the same way.  The first view provided is of HBO’s own branding – a screen full of static appears and then disappears to reveal their logo, accompanied by a harmonious sound of a choir rejoicing.  HBO wants to signify a time of celebration, the glorious occasion of watching their network.  This frames the parameters for the story about to be told.  Any program being shown on HBO signifies several meanings.  From this five-second clip, the viewer is already cued in that this program will contain no commercials, since it is on premium cable network.  Since premium networks do not have as many regulations as network television stations, graphic language, nudity, and excessive violence enter the realm of possibility for the upcoming show as well, layering it with excitement.  Also, as Bob McChesney explored, due to the commercialization of society, it is expected that the production value of the show should be higher based on the fact that viewers have to pay extra to obtain HBO.  After all, a main purpose of electronic media is to provide buyers to sellers, and in this case, television watchers subscribing to HBO.  These cues are part of a dominant or hegemonic code, that is, they are codes so engrained in our society that they can easily go unnoticed due to their naturalization; this makes the process seem like one step instead of two.  The first order of the HBO sign is the actual image of the logo and the idea of a premium cable network.  The second order is the idea of a premium network and the connotations that come along with it: no commercials, less government regulation, and higher production value.  These transitive properties are all encoded within this five-second opening clip.

Many interpretations can be derived from each segment of the title sequence.  This is called polysemy: the idea that one sign can contain different meanings.  The sequence opens with the view from a car exiting the Lincoln Tunnel and getting on the New Jersey Turnpike.  This starts to prepare the audience for the episode by establishing the setting and context in which the Sopranos live.  The driver, later revealed as Tony, is emerging from the belly of the underworld to return to his suburban home.  This serves as a metaphor for the show in general – coming from the dark into the light puts a lens on the delicate balance Tony encompasses, teetering back and forth between mob boss and loving father, all of which is explored through his sessions with Dr. Melfi.  The entrance to New Jersey emphasizes the characters living not in a glamorous, ostentatious New York City mafia world, but rather the gritty, industrial landscape of New Jersey.  The images seen are real landmarks in New Jersey, which helps transform the fictional world where Tony lives into the real world that the viewer occupies (Lavery 2006 pg 29), furthering In the first three seasons, a shot of the Twin Towers was shown in passenger side mirror.  This image was later removed after 9/11, at the start of the fourth season.  It would be a painful reminder to all Americans; since it was seen through a rear-view mirror, it would undermine the importance and deflate 9/11 to merely an afterthought, something to be glossed over and forgotten.

David Chase, the creator of The Sopranos, aims to normalize Tony by injecting the protagonist into every day situations that the viewers will relate to.  In the creation of Tony’s identity, it offers a structure for viewers to negotiate which can further the development of their own identity.  In this case, The Sopranos helps the audience identify themselves as Italian-Americans, fathers, mothers, and businessmen, but is definitely not limited to these characteristics. Upon entering the New Jersey Turnpike, the camera pans to the left to show Tony for the first time, reaching out and grabbing a ticket from the tollbooth.  The orientation of the camera bounces back and forth, first showing what is seen through Tony’s eyes and then looking directly at him.  This gives the audience more perspective on what to expect in the show; one lens focused on how Tony sees the world and one lens focused on how the rest of the world sees Tony (Lavery 2006 pg 29).  He reaches out to grab the ticket, and there is a quick cut of the camera to him yanking the ticket inside his vehicle.  Reaching out to grab the tollbooth ticket may seem like insignificant event, but it demonstrates that everyone is equal; not even Tony Soprano, the Don of New Jersey, can take the Turnpike without paying tolls.  Again, this a technique used by Chase to naturalize Tony into the viewer’s world.

The tollbooth clip is the audience’s first glimpse at Tony.   It is at this moment when the viewer starts to form their opinion about the main character through previous codes and stereotypes, where television as a medium has always been a site of struggle of identity. In 1922, Walter Lippman “referred to stereotypes as ‘pictures in our heads’ of other people or, more accurately, of the identity or nature of other groups of people” (Grossberg 2006, pg 235).  The representation of Tony epitomizes Italian gangster stereotypes.  Through the quick cutting sequence, the audience sees a clean-shaven Tony with broad shoulders, big hands adorned with gold jewelry, and a cigar hanging out of his mouth.  The size of Tony’s upper body alone signals the viewer to ideas of power, influence, or control as an alpha-male.  Tony lights the cigar, igniting not only the tobacco but also ideas of danger and excitement that are forthcoming in the episode.  An undesired consequence of this representation relates back to the media shaping our identities through images on television; since the show revolves around Italian-American culture, it reinforces the idea that all Italian-Americans are merciless gangsters or immoral criminals.  This can lead to changes in behavior and attitude from the audience, fearing Italians or pigeonholing them all as criminals. The shot of “Pizzaland” also feeds into this representation; rather than display the culinary proficiency and expertise of Italian chefs, this small brick building is a generic and lackluster depiction of Italian cuisine.

The identity challenge faced by The Sopranos was similar to that faced by the Amhed family in Lynn Schofield Clark’s essay, “Media, Home, and Family.”  The Muslim Ahmed children were dealing with how to appear different and distinct, yet also like a “regular person,” (Clark 2003 pg 93).  The children are dealing with a  “two worlds” perspective: “in the United States their prohibition on music served to reinforce their identification with Muslim culture, yet in Libya their knowledge of music reinforced their identification with North American culture” (Clark 2003 pg 93).  Similarly, Tony is living in two worlds as well.  The shot of the Cathedral Basilica of the Sacred Heart supports and characterizes the religious world that Tony and his family, especially wife Carmella, occupy.  This helps develop Tony’s identity as a family man – but this is then juxtaposed with a shot of a Paul Bunyon-esque model, an American symbol for the rugged working class, followed by power lines, and a cemetery.  These three quick clips explore Tony’s other world, the underbelly from which he was emerging in the opening scene.  They symbolize the connection between Tony’s work and the possibility, or even probability, of death.  The audience can identify with Tony as many of them struggle in their daily lives to walk the straight and narrow path that some religions insist on. The realization of Tony’s two worlds can be seen in James Gandolfini’s face as Tony pulls into his driveway.  As he opens the door and exits the car, the look on his face demonstrates the recognition that his two worlds are connected.   At the end of the day, he has to face his family, shouldering all the weight and burdens from his profession.  The Sopranos logo is then shown, with a pistol taking the place of the letter “r.”  It contrasts the life of a New Jersey family with the threat of violence; the logo shapes the identities of Tony’s worlds, one in which he is “The Dad” and one in which he is “The Boss”.

Throughout the opening sequence, A3 (or Alabama 3)’s “Woke Up This Morning” serves as the soundtrack for the audience’s drive through New Jersey.  The lyrics lend more imagery and meaning to the opening credits, and also emphasize some of themes throughout The Sopranos.  It opens with “You woke up this morning/ Got yourself a gun/ Your mama always said you’d be/ The Chosen One” which, from the onset, involves two important thematic ideas throughout the show’s history, violence and mothers.  It goes on to mention “Your Papa never told you/ About right and wrong,” a statement which also fits into Tony’s upbringing.  While the lyrics are relatable to Tony’s life, the rhythm and low-end reverberation of the music itself operates as another way to connect the viewer and protagonist.  The song keeps the pace of the introductory visual sequence and also seems to be what Tony is listening to as he drives home.  This is a way for television to connect to viewers; creating the identity of the characters while including the audience in its creation also has influence on the identity of the viewer.   The pulsating bass line and sharp horn blips help drive the music and Tony’s car back to suburban New Jersey.  As he exits the car, the song comes to a screeching halt, as if someone has pulled the needle off the record.  This break in sound signifies to sit back, relax, and prepare to be entertained; the episode is about to begin.

While the title sequence alone has encoded many polysemic ideas, there is an alternative view that The Sopranos represents the death of the novel, a view that Neil Postman might be willing to adopt.  Postman is a firm believer that television is detrimental to culture, weakening the public discourse.  Since so many Americans are growing closer and closer to their screened technologies, the character development and primary themes of The Sopranos replicate those found in the Great American Novel.  John Freeman said, “most of all, [The Sopranos] told this story in a deeply American language: a gutter growl leavened (and toughened) by ethnic self-consciousness, embittered by money’s inability to make one belong” (Freeman 2007).  With such quality coming out of an electronic medium, Marshall McLuhan might agree that a show like The Sopranos can aid in a shift of consciousness away from novels and towards television. David Johansson said of the opening sequence, “Everything shown stands for everything not shown and as a result what is excluded is as significant as what is included” (Lavery 2006 pg 30).  The meaning conveyed in the opening sequence of The Sopranos provides insight into the changing landscape of television, the media corporations that produced it, and the impact on its audience in terms of behavior, attitude, and identity.

Works Cited

Freeman, John. “Has the novel been murdered by the mob?” Http://www.guardian.co.uk/. Guardian News and Media Limited 2009, 5 July 2007. Web. 14 Nov. 2009. <http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2007/jul/05/comment>

Grossberg, Lawrence, Ellen A. Wartella, D. Charles Whitney, and J. Macgregor Wise. MediaMaking Mass Media in a Popular Culture. Minneapolis: Sage Publications, Inc, 2005. Print.

Hoover, Stewart M., Lynn Schofield Clark, and Diane F. Alters. Media, Home and Family. New York: Routledge, 2003. Print.

Lavery, David. David Johansson. Reading The Sopranos Hit TV from HBO (Reading Contemporary Television). London: I. B. Tauris, 2006. Print.

Shusterman argues that appropriative sampling as a key element of rap; “House of Flying Daggers” begins with a sample from a kung fu movie – a concept recycled throughout Wu-affiliated records.  Kung fu movies such as Shaolin & Wu Tang, The Four Assassins, and Five Deadly Venoms have been sampled and inserted to layer the music with intertextual meanings.¹ The song moves directly into a reuse of the call and response chant from “Clan in Da Front,” a song from Wu-Tang Clan’s debut record Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers).  This phrasing, uttered by GZA, serves as the chorus.  Rap lifts “concrete sound-events, prerecorded token performances,”² and in this case, Wu-Tang boosts their own ego by repeating a musical pattern off of their debut record.  Rap “insists that originality can be manifested in the revisionary appropriation of the old, whether this be old records or [kung fu samples], but creatively endows it with new meanings.”³ From the beginning, RZA, Wu-Tang’s founder and producer, thought this of their music: “There would be a million people in the world who would get a whole new enlightenment: of creativity, of wisdom, of spirituality, and I thought it would help the world out.”⁴ This pattern of duplicating past phrasings operates as reinforcement of Wu-Tang ideology, rather than being seen as a lack of creativity or laziness.  Rap as a postmodern art “creatively deploys and thematizes its appropriation to show that borrowing and creation are not at all incompatible.”⁵

The animated music video for “House of Flying Daggers” is graphic to say the least.  Since its creation, hip-hop has aimed to bring the conflicts and struggles of the ghetto into the eyes and ears of the rest of America.  The Wu-Tang Clan has been at the forefront of this effort since Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers).  Since then, several members have released multiple successful solo albums, helping to solidify Wu-Tang’s influence and presence within hip-hop.  “Wu-Tang’s legacy is built not only from the vocal talents of its nine MCs and the innovative production of RZA but from a business model that centers on the strength of the collective.”⁶ The video “provides the most potent visual representation of the Wu aesthetic in many, many moons, where Wu-Tang conjures a diabolical alternate universe made up of kung fu, crime, and coded wordplay.”⁷ The video begins like many kung fu movies, with a voiceover provided by RZA that provides the framework for the story about to be told.  The featured rappers are represented as superhero like figures, each specializing in a particular style of kung fu relating back to the animal characteristics of scorpions, toads, centipedes, snakes, and lizards.  As each verse is delivered, an opponent appears and then is soon annihilated by each rapper using their specific style of combat.  The different kung fu styles are interpreted as lyrical approaches and as metaphors for Wu-Tang’s aesthetic.  Rather than simply alluding to “big fish in small pond” content as many other rappers do, Wu-Tang created a clan of kung fu masters, lyrically chopping away at the competition. The striking expulsion of blood throughout the video maintains the idea that no one can compete with the Wu-Tang style and anyone seeking competition will be thoroughly dismantled. Enclosed in the coda of the song is another kung fu sample, this one describing the amateur ability of Wu-Tang’s challengers:  “your basic kung fu is no good/ You can’t move fast enough/ And you don’t have enough strength/ And your body movements are like a string climb/ It’s too easy for me to trip you up…Hahaha, you still got a lot to learn.” The young directors of the video, Erick Sasso and Brian Wendelken, got their directives straight from the source: “Raekwon wanted it to be graphic. He said, “Let’s make it something people are going to talk about.” He trusted us to use our bizarre imaginations. So we didn’t worry about censorship. It’s 2009– we knew this was going to mainly be seen on the Internet anyway.”⁸ The animation is purposely over the top to create a buzz surrounding the single and through the use of the Internet, the directors succeeded.

The delivery of lyrics is an important feature of “House of Flying Daggers” as well.  Rap differs from poetry or literature in that it needs to be heard, rather than merely read: “the very method of reading… will involve ignoring some of its most important aesthetic dimensions and its intended mode of aesthetic appropriation.  It cannot convey the complex aesthetic effects of the multiple rhythms and tensions between the driving musical beat and the word stress of the rap delivery, which in contrast to popular songs maintains its own speech rhythms.”⁹ In several cases, the beat is dropped out to accentuate particular phrasings.  “House of Flying Daggers” was the first single of Raekwon’s much-anticipated Only Built 4 Cuban Linx II; in the wake of fellow clan member Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s death, Raekwon “explained that he thinks ODB would have wanted the group to continue working together in order to make a living.  ‘At the end of the day,’ he said, ‘the show must go on.’”¹⁰ Raekwon is unveiled on this track with the first line of his verse serving as an a cappella dagger, cutting through the beat and home stereos speakers.

Part of the aesthetic surrounding the Wu-Tang Clan is viewing supporters as “disciples,” a constantly growing audience as Wu-Tang’s legacy ripens with age.  During Method Man’s verse, he explores the Wu-fandom and legacy: “See these fans can’t resist the rush, they Wu-Tang for life/ Scarred for life, they can’t forget the cuts/ Got a whole line of classic joints.”  At this point in the video, a layer of intertextual meaning is supplemented by a shot of an enemy resembling a character Method Man played in his 1995 video with Mary J. Blige, “I’ll Be There For You/You’re All I Need to Get By.”  Both characters have no color in their left eye, a prominent visual that reminds the viewer of the long history of Wu-Tang’s “classic joints.”   The enemy in “House of Flying Daggers” is tries to conjure up the strength to compete but is quickly disposed of by GZA, signifying Wu-Tang’s desire to acknowledge the past yet look forward to the future.  Raekwon discussed this idea with Sasso and Wendelken, when explaining “what Shaolin and Wu-Tang means to him and how it’s a dynastic cycle,”¹¹ furthering the complexity of Wu-Tang’s art.

Criticism of rap music is often centralized around perpetuating violence and misogyny, ignoring rap’s credibility as an art form. Shusterman ‘s “Challenging Conventions in the Fine Art of Rap” imparts the framework that allows rap to be seen in this way. The song and video for “House of Flying Daggers” is a prime example of how complex and multi-layered rap can be, thick with metaphor and compelling imagery.  The lyrics are dense and potent, and yet the accompanying video still manages to provide a more detailed construction of each rapper’s lyrical kung fu style. The Wu-Tang Clan’s aesthetic and continued creativity furthers the belief that rap should be viewed as a legitimate art form and not street thugs with microphones.

Endnotes

1 Steven Leckart. “Wu-Tang Clan’s RZA Breaks Down His Kung Fu Samples by Film and Song.” Www.wired.com. © 2009 Condé Nast Digital, 23 Oct. 2007. Web. 15 Nov. 2009. http://www.wired.com/entertainment/music/magazine/15-11/pl_music

2 Richard Shusterman “Challenging Conventions in the Fine Art of Rap.” That’s the Joint! The Hip-Hop Studies Reader. New York: Routledge, 2004. Print.

3 Ibid

4 Steven Leckart. “Wu-Tang Clan’s RZA Breaks Down His Kung Fu Samples by Film and Song.” Www.wired.com. © 2009 Condé Nast Digital, 23 Oct. 2007. Web. 15 Nov. 2009. http://www.wired.com/entertainment/music/magazine/15-11/pl_music

5 Richard Shusterman “Challenging Conventions in the Fine Art of Rap.” That’s the Joint! The Hip-Hop Studies Reader. New York: Routledge, 2004. Print.

6 Hess, Mickey. Icons of Hip Hop [Two Volumes] An Encyclopedia of the Movement, Music, and Culture (Greenwood Icons). New York: Greenwood, 2007. Print.

7 Ryan Dombal. “Director’s Cut: Raekwon’s “House of Flying Daggers”" Pitchfork.com. © 2009 Pitchfork Media Inc, 4 Sept. 2009. Web. 15 Nov. 2009. http://pitchfork.com/news/36396-directors-cut-raekwons-house-of-flying-daggers/

8 Ibid.

9 Richard Shusterman “Challenging Conventions in the Fine Art of Rap.” That’s the Joint! The Hip-Hop Studies Reader. New York: Routledge, 2004. Print.

10 Hess, Mickey. Icons of Hip Hop [Two Volumes] An Encyclopedia of the Movement, Music, and Culture (Greenwood Icons). New York: Greenwood, 2007. Print.

11 Ryan Dombal. “Director’s Cut: Raekwon’s “House of Flying Daggers”" Pitchfork.com. © 2009 Pitchfork Media Inc, 4 Sept. 2009. Web. 15 Nov. 2009. http://pitchfork.com/news/36396-directors-cut-raekwons-house-of-flying-daggers/

Since the release of their debut album Pablo Honey in 1993, Radiohead has blazed an unparalleled trail through the increasing complex landscape of the modern music industry.  The band has put out six studio albums since then, each record reinvigorating its fan base and sparking critical debate amongst the industry’s most popular and influential characters.  Kid A, Radiohead’s fourth studio album, is often seen as the most controversial, as it divided fans and critics alike on the future sound of the band.  Radiohead reinvented their sound as each member redefined their instrumental function within the group.  They drifted away from the guitar-laden rock albums of the past and adopted an electronic minimalist mantra that fueled the eighteen-month recording session.  Ten songs from these sessions took on form in the shape of Kid A, while the remainder went on to become b-sides and 2001’s Amnesiac.  The songwriting technique for more than half of this record mimicked the process utilized by David Byrne for the Talking Heads’ 1980 release Remain in Light. Portions of songs and half formed ideas were cut up and throw into a hat; they were then randomly picked out and placed together to form the lyrical structure.¹ This evolutionary period for the band was instrumental to their continued success as “mainstream ambassadors for musical innovation.”² Nearly ten years after its release, Kid A is being hailed as one of the greatest records of the decade.

This break from linguistic structure and rock music traditions stemmed from the mega- success of Radiohead’s multi-platinum OK Computer, which debuted in June of 1997.  After extensive touring, Yorke and the rest of the band were burned out and frustrated with the state of rock music and its mythology.  The endless touring and interviews had especially taken its toll on Yorke, as seen through the lens of Meeting People Is Easy, a documentary that followed the band through the OK Computer world tour.  Yorke explained, “There’s nothing more boring than a rock ‘n’ roll star, someone who has been on the road for 10 years, expecting attention wherever he goes, drinking himself stupid, who is obnoxious, incoherent, uncreative and has a massive ego. There’s nothing more pointless.”³ Writer’s block had set in for Yorke, a two-year lull in creativity that resulted in an inexpressible anger, frustrating himself into a downward spiral of self-loathing.⁴ In an effort to detach his own personality from the work he was creating, Yorke took to programming software and instruments, as well as piano: all of which contained an excited sense of novelty.  The abandonment of typical rock instruments also coincides with the break in linguistic structure; Kid A prominently features the ondes Martenot, one of the earliest electronic instruments.  Similar in sound to the Theremin, the ondes Martenot’s distinct sonic complexion is most commonly recognized from the Star Trek theme music.  An inquiry into the semiotics of Kid A reveals that the fragmented lyrics and sounds sew together an ingenious musical patchwork, where the whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.

The work of Ferdinand de Saussure starts the engine to explore the mechanisms behind a structural and semiotic analysis of Kid A.  Critical to the development of linguistics and semiotics, Saussure feels the meanings contained within language are products of the structures ruled by language itself.  He first divides language into two parts: the signifier and the signified, both of which need to be used in conjunction to create a sign.  Meaning is derived by the process of selecting and combining said signifier and signified.  For example, the word cat, written on paper, is a message made up of three letters; it is also the concept of four-legged feline.  The combination of the two makes up the sign, despite the arbitrary relationship between the signifier (the written words) and the signified (the concept of a feline). This is the result of convention; it is the cultural agreement of language.⁵ Saussure delves further to divide language again, this time creating a partition between langue and parole.  As John Storey helps explain, “Langue refers to the system of language; the rules and conventions which organize it.  Parole refers to the individual utterance, the individual use of language.”⁶ The complexity of Kid A begins here at this basic linguistic level.  Speech and writing (in this case lyrics) are thought to be linear in nature, assumed to be one-dimensional by Saussure.⁷ Without knowledge of the unusual songwriting technique, the cultural agreement of language is flipped upside down without the listener’s knowledge.  The listener believes the lyrics are as potent as those on OK Computer, The Bends, and Pablo Honey when in reality Kid A dismantled both langue and parole; the system and rules by which we understand language were replaced with non-linear, non-cohesive texts, neatly packaged in a familiar format in which unsuspecting consumers dissect and search for meaning.  In conjunction, the extensive use of vocoders, which infused Thom Yorke’s vocals with an eerily robotic inflection, modified lyrics and utterances with a distancing aversion to other rock music and speech patterns.  While listeners may be tricked into believing the abstract lyrics are on a higher level of understanding, they are really being exposed to the methodology for breaking free of personally imposed mental limitations and the discarded ideas that stopped up Yorke’s writing.

British Cultural Studies is an analytically broad, dynamic set of processes that aim to account for how we make meaning in the world.  It serves as a system and critique from within, exploring the unconscious for why particular ideas get naturalized.  Culturally, the widespread acceptance of Kid A as one of the top records of the decade suggests that society may, as Stuart Hall phrased so eloquently, be the “cultural dupes” that are “able to be manipulated at will and against their own interests by the moguls of the culture industry.”⁸ Here is an album that purposely lacks linguistic structure and cohesiveness, yet has been embraced by the masses for its intellectual content and innovation.  Radiohead fanatics in particular pride themselves on having esteemed musical taste and knowledge, adopting Radiohead as judge, jury, and executioner of all that is sacred in popular music.   But, many of these fans are duped into willingly buying the very ideology that attempts to win over their consent to a system that ensures their own subordination. After all, creating music is not only an art form, but is a business within a capitalist society. To put it in the language of Louis Althusser and John Fiske, Kid A “hails” the audience riding the clout and success of OK Computer, which therein frames the social roles of Radiohead as a supreme artistic producer and the public as culture industry consumers. The album “hails us, and in recognizing ourselves in the we being spoken to, we are constituting ourselves as subjects in the ideological definition of us that the [record] proposes.”⁹ The language of OK Computer, rooted in themes of technology, globalization, and transportation, carries over to Kid A as interpellation, “whereby language constructs social relations for both parties in an act of communication and thus locates them in the broader map of social relations in general.”¹⁰ For Kid A’s European tour, the band literally carried an anti-globalization statement with them by touring under a ten thousand capacity, advertisement free tent.  With each Radiohead album sequentially snowballing with critical praise and expanding on new media platforms, the band has taken on intertextual references as the predominant progressive force in the music business, both musically and economically.  Culture occurs in the dynamics of groups, and the hegemony that cultural studies suggests is at play, whether duping the consumer with obscure lyrics or enlightening him with the methodology to reinvent oneself.  Despite the cut-and-pasted mishmash of lyrics, the act of communicating with the audience through music helps maintain the social role and cultural identity of the consumer.

One of Stuart Hall’s main contributions to semiotics is his article entitled Encoding/Decoding.   As one of, if not the key figure in British cultural studies, Hall’s work is extremely influential in the realm of semiotics and academia as a whole.  Encoding/Decoding investigates the relationship between producers and receivers of media texts, focusing his lens on television and how the audience receives messages.  The same concepts can translate to music; messages are produced with an encoded meaning, which then needs to be decoded and therefore interpreted by the consumer.  Hall explores the denotation and connotation of signs: the former maintaining an almost universally recognized, “natural” meaning void of the intervention of a code, and the latter embodying the “associate meanings, which clearly vary from instance to instance and therefore must depend on the intervention of codes.”¹¹ It is the combination of aspects from both denotation and connotation that Hall determines is the true meaning of the sign, since the denoted is rarely (if ever) organized to signify only its literal meaning.  The commonly shared meanings are considered the dominant or preferred meanings, a discourse where the receiver decodes the message in the way the encoder intended.

In the case of Kid A, Radiohead has encoded the album in several ways: one is purposely not including the lyrics in the liner notes.  Listeners are deliberately not meant to focus on the lyrics; in an interview with New York Rock, Yorke said, “There is no point in taking the lyrics alone, apart from the music. That’s one of the reasons why we won’t have a lyric sheet with the album. You just can’t separate it.”¹² The second encoded message reveals not only are the fragmented lyrics an integral part of Kid A, but the delivery of vocals and ways in which the listener receives them is just as important. Critics from The Wire believed, “The vocal tricknology on Kid A was perhaps the most off-putting aspect for many listeners, prompting accusations of emotional withdrawal and a refusal to connect with the audience.”¹³ But as bassist Colin Greenwood explains, Radiohead

used [Yorke’s] voice like an instrument and we used the lyrics like pieces in a collage, pieced something together and created an artwork out of a lot of different little things. Thom is really fed up with being the spokesperson of a lost generation until all eternity, with all their fear, angst, loneliness and post-millennium neurosis. He’s trying to escape that fate by moving, always moving forward, never standing still, always developing…¹⁴

The robotic modulations of Yorke’s voice helped distance the performer himself from the art he was creating.  The tones are masked and covered with filters in an effort to disguise Yorke’s voice from himself.  “’It did my head in, that whatever I did with my voice, it had that particular set of associations,’ Yorke says. ‘And there were lots of similar bands coming out at the time, and that made it even worse. I couldn’t stand the sound of me even more.’”¹⁵ Through this deconstruction of lyrics and singing, Radiohead encodes Kid A with an avenue for creation rather than recycling, an avenue that was temporarily shut down by Yorke’s writer’s block.

Despite the numerous ways media text can be encoded, the decoding of the text by the consumer trumps the importance of its original encoded meaning.  Polysemy, the idea that signs can contain many meanings, enters the receiver’s realm of interpretation.  According to Hall, there are three hypothetical positions one can adopt for decoding messages.  A dominant or hegemonic position is achieved when the receiver decodes the message in the way that the encoder intended; the dominant ideology is easily transmitted along these lines.  The text is interpreted in the ways the producers wanted, yielding the preferred meaning.  An oppositional position is one in which the decoder rejects all interpretations, assumptions, institutions, and techniques surrounding the message in a globally contrary way.  The negotiated position – most likely to be implemented by listeners of Kid A – is one that accepts and fits into the dominant ideology, but the individual needs to place it locally to make sense of it.  Hall explains,

Decoding within the negotiated version contains a mixture of adaptive and oppositional elements: it acknowledges the legitimacy of the hegemonic definitions to make the grand significations (abstract), while, at a more restricted, situational (situated) level, it makes its own ground rules – it operates with exceptions to the rule.¹⁶

There is nothing inherent in the text itself that identifies its’ fragmented lyrical structure, and many listeners interpret the lyrics as well thought out, unified ideas, despite their occasionally chaotic flow.  The audience decodes the text in such a way to relate it to shared experiences, which therein creates and reinforces their construct of culture.  While the lyrics from “Everything In Its Right Place,” “Kid A,” “The National Anthem,” “Optimistic,” “In Limbo,” and “Idioteque” were all patched together through the cut-and-paste songwriting method, the audience still yearns to “make meanings that are useful to them in making sense of their social experience and therefore of themselves.”¹⁷ By consciously, naively, or unknowingly ignoring the creative processes in the making of Kid A (yet still entrusting it as a great record), the listeners are unconsciously  “recognizing that the signifieds exist not in the text itself, but extratexutally, in the myths, countermyths, and ideology of their culture.”¹⁸ Radiohead carries along an air of pretension, serving as the face of rock ‘n’ roll; they are a band that no matter what they produce, it is seen as the cream of the crop.  Spin Magazine’s Chris Norris criticizes Radiohead, proclaiming, “Even the nuttiest hyperbole reflected a growing belief that Kid A had revealed the future of rock, although it actually revealed the future of Radiohead… they kept making pleasing beat reveries, enjoying continued success with fans, and [receded] ever further from the larger culture.”¹⁹ Norris’ critique fails to acknowledge and ignores the multitude of potential decoded meanings from Kid A, all of which gives the album profound depth beyond his ideas of Radiohead’s “immersive experience of sound, light, pattern, rhythm, and utter, paralyzing boredom.”²⁰ It is in the personal decoding of Radiohead’s work that unifies fans under the umbrella of musical preference.

While certain critics found Kid A to be difficult, confusing, or downright awful, there are many opposing ideas that can be drawn from the text since they have no particular meaning directly attached to them.  In his book, Killing Yourself To Live, Former Spin Magazine senior writer Chuck Klosterman decodes the nonsensical text of Kid A as a telltale for each passing moment of the most notoriously famous day in America’s recent history, saying Yorke  “accidentally predicted the events of September 11 on Kid A.”²¹ Klosterman admits he does not think Yorke is a modern day Nostrodamus, but instead he reaffirms that the abandonment of lyrical complexity and mainstream instrumentation led to one of the most prolific albums in the last decade.  He claims that the lack of structure is the only possible reason this could happen: “Lyrically, there is no conscious structure to Kid A‘s songs at all. Which is, of course, the only way this could have happened. A genius can be a genius by trying to be a genius; a visionary can only have vision by accident.”²²

The artistic credibility of Radiohead has placed codes in each of its albums that can be deciphered in a multitude of ways, many of which have transitive properties that draw parallels to concrete objects.  The track “Kid A” sets the tone for the entire record, meshing both the denotated and connotated ideas of the album into a sonic puree of meaning.  Against Yorke’s wishes, an analysis of the lyrics reveals the larger theme that decoding musical texts is an inevitable component to the construction of culture. The slivers of audible words are camouflaged in a vocoder lullaby; at some point, they were scribbled down, torn apart, and then rearranged in a miraculous orientation as if a magician has just pulled a rabbit from his hat.  They explain Yorke’s writer’s block and frustration (“I slipped away”), followed by his ability to overcome adversity through the lyrical magic hat, tricking the audience in the process (“I slipped on a little white lie”).  He gloats, basking in the glory of destructing of his mental block, accrediting his band members as well – he also admits to playing their role in the social hierarchy (“We’ve got heads on sticks”).  Yorke attacks the audience who is being duped, fooled by the talking heads that society has deemed culturally important; but also aims to show the band’s humility and modesty, hinting at absurdity as cultural producers (“And you’ve got ventriloquists”).  Faced with the daunting task of following up OK Computer, Yorke is claustrophobic and nervous, numb and stuck in the mental prison he has created (“Staring at the shadows at the edge of my bed”).  The magic hat provides relief, giving Yorke the self-confidence he needs to progress while criticizing and deflating the cultural dupes and those seeking to monetize art (“Rats and children’ll follow me out of town/ Rats and children follow me out of their homes”).  The weight of the song lightens as the beat drops out, floating in a synthesized buzz, only to come to fruition when uttering the last lyric (“Watch it”).  It is a direct order to watch the album materialize into a full entity, a masterpiece completed; an order not to listen, but to view the art Radiohead has produced.  However, it also a siren song warning the consumer of its nonsensical form, to be careful of the pitfalls of searching for meaning where it does not exist.  All of these meanings live in the text, yet none of them actually exist – that is, they are not the intended meaning; rather they are merely my own creation, decoding the text as if it were linear in nature, as if each word was deliberately poised to convey a particular message.

Therein lies the mystique Kid A was able to capture, the simultaneous ability to communicate a message without saying anything coherent at all.  There is an almost Seinfeldian aspect to the record; by creating a “show about nothing,” Radiohead created an monster album that could diffuse a plethora of connotations and additional meanings, providing an open ended prompt for listeners to decode.  But, the most important characteristic of the record is that Kid A symbolizes the universal theme that in order to advance, you must abandon the fears and anxieties that plague personal development.  By breaking free from the structure that binds us – in Radiohead’s case, instrumentation and lyrical composition – more powerful and convincing implications can be transmitted.  This is true within the realm of music, but also applicable in the real world.  I have had to overcome my own fears and paranoia about coming back to school as a nontraditional student, and in particular the self-conscious panic imposed on myself about writing this essay.  As I delved into the record more and more, I realized the parallel that exists between Kid A and my unique experience; reinvention of self and the deconstruction of fear is at the heart of creating something new, something important, something worth exploring in the first place.  This is what Radiohead accomplished with Kid A; I can only hope that meaning that I have decoded and carry with me will aid in my continual push to dismantle the past, assist the present, and facilitate the future.

Bibliography

1 “Reflections on Kid A.” Interview by Gijsbert Kamer. Http://3voor12.vpro.nl/loladamusica. 2000. Web. 19 Nov. 2009. <Accessed via YouTube, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkzmyarSNzQ>.

2 Reynolds, Simon.  “Walking on Thin Ice.”  The Wire.  July 2001.  Accessed via  http://www.followmearound.com/presscuttings.php?year=2001&cutting=131

3 Zoric, Lauren. “I think I’m meant to be dead…” Guardian News and Media Limited 2009, 22 Sept. 2000. Web. 9 Dec. 2009. < Http://www.guardian.co.uk/print/0,,4066362-103408,00.html.>.

4″Reflections on Kid A.” Interview by Gijsbert Kamer. Http://3voor12.vpro.nl/loladamusica. 2000. Web. 19 Nov. 2009. <Accessed via YouTube, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkzmyarSNzQ>.

5 Storey, John. Cultural Theory And Popular Culture An Introduction. New York: University of Georgia, 2006. Print. Pg 69.

6 Ibid Pg 71-72.

7 Wiens, Elmer G. “Hearing Heidegger and Saussure.” Egwald Web Services Ltd. Web. 30 Nov. 2009. <http://www.egwald.ca/ubcstudent/theory/heidegger.php>.

8 Fiske, John. “British Cultural Studies and Television.” Channels of Discourse, Reassembled Television and Contemporary Criticism. New York: The University of North Carolina, 1992. Pg 254-86. Print.

9 Ibid pg 259.

10 Ibid pg 259.

11 Hall, Stuart. “Encoding/Decoding.” Media and Cultural Studies Keyworks. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006. 163-73. Print.

12 “Radiohead: They’re Not So Angst-ridden Once You Get to Know Them.” Nyrock.com. © 1996 – 2007 NY Rock, Dec. 2000. Web. 15 Nov. 2009. <http://www.nyrock.com/interviews/2000/radiohead.asp>

13 Reynolds, Simon.  “Walking on Thin Ice.”  The Wire.  July 2001.  Accessed via  http://www.followmearound.com/presscuttings.php?year=2001&cutting=131

14″Radiohead: They’re Not So Angst-ridden Once You Get to Know Them.” Nyrock.com. © 1996 – 2007 NY Rock, Dec. 2000. Web. 15 Nov. 2009. <http://www.nyrock.com/interviews/2000/radiohead.asp>

14 Reynolds, Simon. “Walking on Thin Ice.”  The Wire.  July 2001.  Accessed via  http://www.followmearound.com/presscuttings.php?year=2001&cutting=131

15 Ibid.

16 Hall, Stuart. “Encoding/Decoding.” Media and Cultural Studies Keyworks. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006. 163-73. Print.

17 Fiske, John. “British Cultural Studies and Television.” Channels of Discourse, Reassembled Television and Contemporary Criticism. New York: The University of North Carolina, 1992. Pg 267. Print.

18 Ibid pg 272.

19 Norris, Chris. “MYTH No. 1: Radiohead Can Do No Wrong | Spin Magazine Online.” Music For Life | Spin Magazine Online. SPIN MEDIA LLC, 1 Dec. 2009. Web. 4 Dec. 2009. <http://www.spin.com/articles/myth-no-1-radiohead-can-do-no-wrong?aggr_node=55990>.

20 Ibid.

21 Klosterman, Chuck. Killing Yourself to Live 85% of a True Story. New York: Scribner, 2005. Print.

22 Ibid.

In the 1940’s, the hipster materialized out of black culture in the cities, particularly in New York City, where jazz was making its presence known.  Albert Goldman wrote in 1974 that the early hipster was a “typical lower-class dandy, dressed up like a pimp, affecting a very cool, cerebral tone – to distinguish him from the gross, impulsive types that surrounded him in the ghetto – and aspiring to the finer things in life, like very good ‘tea,’ [or] the finest of sounds –jazz or Afro-Cuban.”¹ Modern hipsters aim to employ a working-class aesthetic by embracing symbols and icons of blue collar existence such as “American Apparel V-neck shirts, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and Parliament cigarettes, all of which have been appropriated by hipsterdom and drained of meaning.”² There is an unspoken assumption within and around hipsters that, as defined by Robert Lanham’s Hipster Handbook, “they [possess] tastes, social attitudes, and opinions deemed cool by the cool.”³ It is important that is what is deemed “cool” (or “deck” as hipsters have dubbed it) is always a construction; there is nothing inevitable or imminent about the next stylistic, musical, or fashion trend. Through expropriation of other subcultures, the hipster takes it upon himself to be judge, jury, and executioner reigning over the fraudulent appearance of a developing youth subculture.

Hipsters have adopted the styles of other subcultures such as punk, beat, hippie, and grunge.  The popularity of hipsters has grown with mainstream fashion support from companies like Urban Outfitters and American Apparel, though many would never admit to shopping there. The mass produced clothing that previously needed to be painstakingly sought after, hunted for, and seemingly required to be branded as “authentic” is now readily available to all. This is the eternal frustration for hipsters: it is inevitable that their hip styles will be copied by the mainstream, resulting in a cyclic pattern of ironic t-shirts, keffiyehs, and fixed-gear bikes.  The irony lies within these hipsters acting as hamsters in the cultural wheel – their own lack of authenticity is what has allowed for its growth as a global trend.  Christian Lorentzen said, “under the guise of ‘irony,’ hipsterism fetishizes the authentic and regurgitates it with a winking inauthenticity.”⁴ The more mainstream, mall walking hipster is not worrisome as a cultural dead-end; it is those who reduce the trend without appending any new content. The androgyny and adoption of homosexual style as “metrosexuality” drifts and wafts around as the hipster flounders from thrift store to high priced salon to get a one hundred dollar haircut.  Lorentzen went on to say, “These aesthetics are assimilated—cannibalized—into a repertoire of meaninglessness, from which the hipster can construct an identity in the manner of a collage, or a shuffled playlist on an iPod.”⁵ This collage of flannel plaid, skinny ties and jeans, tattered t-shirts, and an overall mirage of homelessness, all existed previously; it surfaced in the form of Kurt Cobain, The Ramones, Deadheads, and other subculture figureheads and participants.  The landscape now in which hipsterdom exists is a wasteland of reproduced, uninspired clichés.

Music is often a critical issue and point of contention within hipsterdom. Those who only seek out mainstream music are usually more pop-culture fans than genuine music fans; through music, they are seeking the acceptance of their peers, a way to bond with the masses.  Hipster audiences tend to search for more obscure artists, also seeking acceptance, but with a much more select and opinionated crowd. When an artist gets “too popular” or “too mainstream,” many hipster fans will turn their back on the band simply because it is viewed as limiting the credibility of their seemingly impeccable musical taste.  That is to say, many hipsters pride themselves on staying ahead of the musical curve.

In the song, “Admit it!!!” by Say Anything, songwriter Max Bemis spells out the dilemmas of hipsterdom and its mentality.  The song is an effective commentary on the current hipster state, including the sardonic attitudes of the listener and possibly Bemis himself.  It should be noted that many of Say Anything’s fans are “underage scenesters,” and as JP Porretta pointed out, “I am getting way too old for this scene.  It was during my early years of high school that I adopted an interest in this music, and I’m starting to realize that high school is where it should stay.”⁶ The song begins with a gang vocal yelling, “Admit it!” and begins to call out hipster inclinations with resentment and ferocity: “You adhere to a set of standards and tastes that appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges… Bullshit!  Giving your thumbs up and thumbs down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of music and art.”  Bemis goes on to embody the irony of hipster subculture himself by speaking in the first person to describe a “shamelessly self-involved” person who “spends hours in front of the mirror making [his] hair elegantly disheveled.”  While these lyrics appear as satire, there is an element of truth to the stanza in which they lie, due to the honesty in the forthcoming lyrics.  Bemis has publicly struggled with bipolar disorder.  He admits, “My bipolar disorder is an important part of the story of this band and how we function, as well as who I am, and it deserves to be mentioned if people don’t know about it.”⁷ The song continues on, teetering back and forth between confessions and accusations: “I self-medicate with drugs and alcohol to help treat my extreme social anxiety problem. You are a faker! Admit it! You are a Fraud! Admit it! You’re living a lie! your life is living a lie!” According to Haddow, “It’s an odd dance of self-identity – adamantly denying your existence while wearing clearly defined symbols that proclaims it.”⁸ The hipsters implement this “bipolar” framework into their own lives by simultaneously declaring and ignoring their own identity.

Considering the speed that information travels at these days, the hipster must be incredibly nimble to dance in and out of new consumer trends without giving any particular trend their full commitment.  This noncommittal attitude is rooted in hipster apathy. Marketers and advertisers view the publications monitored by the hip; the content in magazines like Vice, Another Magazine, and Wallpaper serves as a focus group by which the trends are renamed, repackaged, and sold back to consumers.  Punks flaunted their rebellion; early hip-hoppers prided themselves on social change; hippies touted peace and free love; but the increasingly self-conscious hipster has formed to be nothing more than a consumer. Haddow saw this as, “An amalgamation of its own history, the youth of the West are left with consuming cool rather that creating it… the hipster’s self-involved and isolated maintenance does nothing to feed cultural evolution.”⁹ The problem goes further, as hipsterdom is not fenced in by the United States’ physical and imaginary boundaries.  The global hipster consumes all in front of him, a shark swimming amongst a sea of chum. Tim Walker describes this predator: “There’s a bit of Eurotrash here, some British punk there, a swatch of Asian minimalism, and a sizeable off-cut of blue-collar chic from both sides of the Atlantic.”¹⁰ The media landscape allows local styles to be quickly disseminated and absorbed worldwide over different platforms; social networking sites (Flickr, Photobucket, Facebook, and MySpace), television (MTV and Fuse), and print media (Vice and Another Magazine) all have influence on the producers and the consumers of hipster ideology.

Past subcultures challenged the status quo and evoked revolutionary thinking in areas of music, art, and government.  The hipster personifies the visual patchwork of culture stemming from punks, hippies, and beats, but fails to contribute anything new to it.  The continued hipster approach to society will result in a detachment from culture that ultimately will kill off all rebellion and originality.

Bibliography

1 Hebdige, Dick. Subculture The Meaning of Style.  New York: Routledge, 1981. Print. Pg 48.

2 Haddow, Douglas. “Hipster: The Dead End of Western Civilization.” Www.adbusters.org. Adbusters Media Foundation, 28 July 2008. Web. 1 Dec. 2009. <https://www.adbusters.org/magazine/79/hipster.html>

3 Mueller, Gavin.  “Hipster or Not?” Www.stylusmagazine.com. 28 Jan. 2004. Web. 2 Dec. 2009. <http://www.stylusmagazine.com/articles/pop_playground/hipster-or-not.htm>

4 Lorentzen, Christian. Why the hipster must die.  A modest proposal to save New York cool.  Www.newyork.timeout.com. Time Out New York, May & June 2007. Web. 2 Dec. 2009. <http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/features/4840/why-the-hipster-must-die>

5 Ibid.

6 Porretta, JP. “Say Anything gives audience something to rave about.” © 2009 The Fairfield Mirror, 2 Apr. 2008. Web. 2 Dec. 2009. <http://fairfieldmirror.com/2008/04/02/sayanythinggivesaudiencesomethingtoraveabout/>

7 Tate, Jason. “Say Anything (Max Bemis) – 06.19.07.” Absolutepunk.net. © Copyright 2009 AbsolutePunk, LLC., 19 June 2007. Web. 2 Dec. 2009. <http://www.absolutepunk.net/showthread.php?t=246310>.

8 Haddow, Douglas. “Hipster: The Dead End of Western Civilization.” Www.adbusters.org. Adbusters Media Foundation, 28 July 2008. Web. 1 Dec. 2009. <https://www.adbusters.org/magazine/79/hipster.html>

9 Ibid.

10 Walker, Tim.  “Meet the global scenester: He’s hip. He’s cool. He’s everywhere.” Www.independent.co.uk/. Copyright 2009 Independent News and Media Limited, 14 Aug. 2008. Web. 2 Dec. 2009. < http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/fashion/features/meet-the-global-scenester-hes-hip-hes-cool-hes-everywhere-894199.html>