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Handwash Jukebox: Battling COVID-19 With Music Discovery

May 7, 2020 · Leave a Comment

At the beginning of ‘Corona-Time,’ I was re-introduced to Daniel Bremmer, who I first met around 1999 at a coffeehouse in Orange County, CA. I was on tour with the band GusGus, and he invited me to do an impromptu off-the-beaten-path DJ set at the café before the Los Angeles show.

Time goes by, and we all move on to different things and careers. I’m doing … well, this. And Daniel is a creative director working with the likes of National Geographic, No Kid Hungry, and Barack Obama’s youth voter registration campaign Vote For Change. So I was psyched to hear from Daniel after all these years and learn about his brand new project: Handwash Jukebox.

“The idea came to me in the shower,” Daniel explains. “I had just watched a video that explained how the detergent molecules in soap break up the SARS-CoV-2 virus behind COVID-19. I had, of course, read that washing your hands worked, but that made it visceral and real, and the 20-second thing made sense. I wondered if there was something I could do to help people wash their hands for the full 20 seconds. I’d heard of the alphabet song, but that sounded tedious. Then I wondered if these smart speakers we already have in our homes could be a cool way to solve that problem, by offering different fun 20-second experiences that would keep people washing their hands to the end.”

Utilizing Amazon Alexa, Handwash Jukebox is a ‘skill‘ that — upon the command, “Alexa, open Handwash Jukebox!” — plays a cool 20-second song to accompany your sudsy routine. Unlike the same old “Happy Birthday” refrain, the songs are hip and fun, coming from the likes of The Slackers, Lisa Loeb, Azalia Snail, Rithma, and Shana Falana. The artists are diverse, across all genres, and from around the world.

Not only is Handwash Jukebox a brilliant move to make washing hands for the allotted time fun, but there’s an embedded element of music discovery. A voice-over reveals the names of the artists and where to find their music when each song finishes. It’s a fascinating concept, exploring an outside-of-the-box opportunity for bands and musicians made possible through emerging technology. Handwash Jukebox presents a compelling tie-in without that brand-aligning ickiness. It should make us eager to brainstorm other unexpected technology-meets-discovery collaborations.

I spoke with the core team behind Handwash Jukebox — Daniel Bremmer (creative director), Layne Harris (creative technologist), and Lucy Kalantari (artist & music supervisor) — to get their insight and perspective on the project, the reactions they’ve gotten, and how it opens doors to future similar artist-technology collaborations.

What were the challenges in putting together Handwash Jukebox? What’s it like working with the Alexa platform on something like this?

Layne: I have worked on a few branded Alexa Voice skills in the past, so I was pretty familiar with how to both make and promote them.

Daniel: The software was the easy part — Layne had a demo up in a little over a day. The most time-consuming process was reaching out to artists and working with them to get music that was right for the occasion, getting the licensing done correctly and working with Amazon’s Alexa team to make sure that we weren’t in violation of any laws or policies relating to a skill directed at both children and adults.

Layne: Alexa is a pretty friendly platform to develop on, but it’s helpful to have had experience with building these. You sometimes really have to have your ducks in a row to get approval. Things like sound compression settings can be very specific.

How did you quickly find your first musical collaborators?

Lucy: I’m a songwriter, composer, and producer and have been focusing my work to make quality content for children and their families. My last album won a GRAMMY award for Best Children’s Album. The Kindie community (that’s what we call kids independent music) is a close-knit group of musicians. And when I put a call out to my friends about needing some hand-washing music, I had a handful of tracks within 15 minutes! During this trying time, we feel the need to DO SOMETHING, and this was a call-to-action we could all get behind.

And how have the musicians reacted to their music in Handwash Jukebox?

Lucy: The artists are thrilled to be participating in something meaningful during a difficult time. And since I’m friends with some of the artists, they often recount what the experience has been like for their children using the skill at home. Emotions range from, “Hey, that’s my mom’s song!” to groovin’ to the addictive beats of Kent Lucas’ awesome track. I love that we can become each other’s fans, and families around the world get to dive into all this great new music with us.

I imagine creating experiences for people during a crisis in a delicate act. How did you approach this differently than you would in normal times?

Daniel: One of the things we’ve really tried to adhere to early on is the mindset of the user. When we started, all this felt precautionary — but we knew that people were going to be personally affected. So we’ve made an extraordinary effort to keep the tone light and fun. Yes, we all need to change our habits for a serious reason, but no one wants to be reminded of why when they know someone who has COVID-19 or just lost their job. I hate having to ask artists who are volunteering their time to change lyrics or to turn down submissions I personally like, but if we aren’t making it a rewarding and useful experience, then people aren’t going to use it and aren’t going to slow the spread.

Now that people are using Handwash Jukebox, have there been any surprises?

Layne: I love that people who know me were using it not knowing it was me that built it! That’s pretty exciting and humbling.

Daniel: Something I only discovered by using the final pre-launch build was that certain songs make the 20 seconds fly by — even if they are actually longer. My favorite example is the song by Icelandic artist Ólöf Arnalds. The song switches perspectives halfway through the song, and the musical build carries the listener. It not only makes the time pass, but it gets stuck in your head. I’ve found myself walking our dog and signing it to myself.

It’s great that people can find new bands by simply washing their hands. How important was the discovery element in developing Handwash Jukebox?

Daniel: While this is primarily a tool to get families to wash their hands, we designed this from the very beginning to give the artists credit and to direct people to where they could support the artist. This caused some delays in the approval process, as it kept getting flagged as advertising. But it was important to us, so we worked with Amazon to make sure that it was absolutely clear that we were just crediting artists and not up to anything untoward.

How did your own experiences prepare you to work on a project like this?

Layne: I think of myself as a maker, the result of which is ending up in roles where I either take the lead on coming up with wacky inventions or support other people’s creativity. I’ve been a huge fan of voice tech for some time, and have really enjoyed developing content for voice platforms, so this project was a no-brainer for me.

Daniel: This is kind of a perfect combination of things I’ve been obsessed with since I was a kid — music, technology, and trying to make the world better. Like Layne, I make my living in advertising — creating experiences and campaigns that people like to connect with. And like with any creative job, you bring your interests and experiences to your work, but seldom this many at once.

Lucy: When Layne approached me about Handwash Jukebox, I felt the immediate need to connect with families who struggle to have their children wash their hands for 20 seconds. I know I was having a hard time with my own son. He would sing the alphabet at lightning speed, cutting it down to a mere 7 seconds, which was impressive in itself but wasn’t getting the job done.

Despite the stressful times that inspired Handwash Jukebox, it’s fun and surprising that hand-washing is now something that helps people find bands.

Lucy: People digest music in so many different ways, and discovering new music while doing a seemingly innocuous thing like washing hands is not something I ever would’ve predicted a few years ago! If we can find more ways to integrate music into our daily routines — creating a soundtrack for our lives — we’ll discover some incredible and eclectic works being published. It’ll be an important and new way to feed our musical souls.

Learn more about Handwash Jukebox at www.handwashjukebox.com.

On the Guest List: VIP Clubbing Goes Virtual

April 16, 2020 · Leave a Comment

We hear a lot about virtual concerts, with artists and bands performing using various tools (Twitch, Instagram, YouTube, and so on). These tools were (at least) tangentially created for these uses. Twitch is perhaps the most appropriated, initially intended as a video gaming platform, and now hosting all manner of live experiences.

Zoom is now being led far astray from its original purpose. It’s a business conferencing platform transformed into an engine for the likes of happy hour meet-ups, birthday celebrations, and family check-ins. Despite its immediate growing pains and merited controversies, Zoom is leading the isolation zeitgeist, inspiring memes, and brilliant #stayathome music videos:

Bands are successfully adapting their performances and experiences to the livestreaming space, but what about the nightclubs? That leads to another unexpected role for the Zoom platform: the virtual VIP club. As this article in Bloomberg reveals, “Just as a choose-your-own-adventure book hacks the static nature of a novel, these parties are hacking corporate technology for new purposes.” Here’s more:

In some senses, if you’ve been to one Zoom club, you’ve been to them all. The platform’s layout is always the same: A featured musician performs a set underneath a carousel of small windows with voyeuristic views into people dancing or lounging in their homes. Channeling the true spirit of nightlife, it’s up to the crowd to create the party’s vibe via active participation—turning down the lights, throwing on a costume, talking to each other in the group chat. These social interactions can feel new and awkward, but we’re hungry for it.

These ‘clubs’ are more elaborate than you might think. Zoom’s technology allows for multiple rooms, including ‘secret’ rooms that require a password. Each room can have a theme, or a DJ, or a dress code. There are sponsors — according to the article, Red Bull and Paper Magazine are in on the act — as well as bouncers and mingling celebrities. And ideas for monetization are materializing.

The biggest Zoom nightclubs — and some of them are quite big — were dreamed up by desperate promoters no longer able to throw parties in the meatspace. And, as happens with these things, finding ways around one set of limitations reveals new possibilities. As one promoter says in the piece, “We now have access to people who can’t attend clubs because they have children, social anxiety, disabilities, or live in places that don’t have clubs.”

The requirement is that we all agree a space — virtual or otherwise — is a nightclub. This idea reminds me of the time I was invited to an exclusive day time event on the beach in Miami. When I arrived, I found an impromptu nightclub, created by a large circle of folding chairs connected with rope. Inside the circle, there were about 50 people, a bunch of coolers serving as the bar, and a DJ priming the sandy dance floor. There was a cover charge — though you could hear the music just as well outside of the ring of chairs, you weren’t inside the circle (literally and metaphorically), so, incredibly, people were paying for the privilege. I knew the promoter and he motioned me in, like lifting some invisible velvet rope. I followed him into the ‘club’ and discovered there was an additional half-circle at the far end of the circle of chairs — a lip in the larger ring that served as the VIP room. Remember — this was all happening on an open public beach, an exclusive nightclub invented by some rope, a lot of folding chairs, and the participants agreeing on the idea.

It seems these spaces for creating community alongside a sense of exclusivity can exist anywhere. I admit, my first thought was a dismissive one upon hearing about the Zoom nightclubs, which is why I thought about Miami Beach. But now I see these virtual clubs as an inventive way for some promoters to adapt to the Strange Times and for stuck-at-home party people to recapture the clubbing experience. As with a lot of the recently concocted ad hoc solutions for maintaining a hint of normalcy, the concept will likely outlast COVID-19 and spawn new platforms. I’ll see you on the dance floor.

Update: I expanded on this post in the latest issue of my weekly newsletter. Check it out here.

Curiosity, Mystery, Anonymity

April 8, 2020 · Leave a Comment

An anonymous artist paradoxically often attracts more attention because of anonymity. Curiosity draws us in for a closer look. Just look at Bansky, with mentions of his accomplishments usually sitting alongside guesses to his identity. And we can’t forget all the electronic artists accused of secretly recording as Burial throughout the end of the ’00s. The scrutiny created problems for the reclusive recording artist and, unlike Banksy (so far), he gave in to the pressure. Hua Hsu in the New Yorker:

When Burial was nominated for the Mercury Prize, a British tabloid writer tried to figure out his true identity, but was thwarted in part by Burial’s fans, who wanted him to live according to his own choices. As the curiosity about his identity started to overshadow his work, though, Burial revealed his name: William Emmanuel Bevan. Still, he refused to do interviews or to perform live shows, and he claimed to have little interest in the Internet.

Disguises became a thing, too. Artists as mainstream as Sia obscured their mugs, but there wasn’t anonymity. We know Daft Punk aren’t robots and recognize their real names (some of us even DJ’ed with them before they donned masks). There’s a purported idea of ‘let the music speak, not the image of the musician.’ But isn’t the mask, the anonymity, an image in itself? Of course, it is. And, same as the outrageous exploits of a controversial rock star (including those also disguised), it can even overshadow the music.

The Residents followed a doctrine of ‘The Theory of Obscurity.’ Formulated by the equally mysterious artist N. Senada, The Theory of Obscurity poses that an artist can only deliver their most authentic work without pressure or influence from an audience or the outside world. The Residents decided anonymity would help them follow the theory but the outside world proved inescapable. The band changed their appearance frequently through the ’70s but got stuck in the eyeball and top hat disguise for years. The image was just too popular with fans to shake.

Before Hardy Fox died in late 2018, he revealed that he was a founding member of The Residents and responsible for most of their musical output. In turn, we surmised that the still-active Homer Flynn is the ‘singing Resident,’ supplying most of the distinctive vocals. Die-hard Residents fans suspected this as Flynn and Fox acted as ever-present representatives and spokespersons for the band and their company, The Cryptic Corporation. When Homer Flynn speaks, it’s with an all-too-familiar southern drawl that those familiar with The Residents’ songs instantly recognize. Here’s a video documentary from 1991 with Flynn and Fox making appearances, and a young Penn Jillette also acting as an early-80s band representative:

(There’s a more recent, feature-length documentary titled Theory of Obscurity. It’s available to stream on Kanopy and some other spots.)

Fans whispered that Flynn and Fox were secretly the main two eyeballs in The Residents. As with Burial, the fans also — for the most part — protected these identities. And the two repeatedly denied any connection beyond their duties as managers/spokespersons. But then Hardy Fox nonchalantly revealed his actual role in a newsletter to fans a year before his death from brain cancer.

As a longtime Residents fan with a shared North Louisiana connection — more on that in a sec — I’m torn by the unmasking. The mystery of The Residents was a big part of my appreciation of the music. Again, there’s the paradox. If a purpose of anonymity is to present music without the baggage of personality, then how can the opposite result happen? It was impossible to listen to The Residents without separating them from the unearthly presences in their videos. They didn’t seem human, like they arrived in 1972 fully formed and naïve to the expectations of us earthlings and our musical norms. The mystery made them ominous, too. Just look at them here in what might be my favorite promotional photo of any band ever:

But now I think about Hardy Fox when I listen to The Residents. I think about how he met Homer Flynn in Ruston, Louisiana. They were randomly assigned dormmates at Louisiana Tech University. I went to that school for a semester and DJ’ed on the radio station for longer than that. Often I played The Residents across Ruston’s airwaves, no idea that I was paying homage to local heroes. I also think about Hardy Fox’s ARP Odyssey synthesizer, which is the star of this touching article in Tape Op. These weirdos were big-hearted humans in the end. How could they not be? But, in this discovery, the Residents lost the sinister enigma of the strange photo above.

But I also appreciate these revelations. It’s all part of the tricky business of anonymity and mystery. There’s a great quote from psychoanalyst D.W. Winnicott: “It is a joy to be hidden, but a disaster not to be found.” In a way, the unveiling is a gift — we listen to the music differently with this knowledge. The songs almost become new. Even Burial’s atmospheric tunes take on new meanings to explore with a name attached, even if still not much is known about the producer.

I’ve heard The Residents’ music many times before, but now there’s a history attached. The context shifts and, in a way, the music becomes something else. “Santa Dog” is an especially wild proposition when it’s traced to these artsy outcasts, freshly escaped from a life in the Bible-belted deep south. And, now listening to the music, boy, can I relate.

This post was adapted from Ringo Dreams of Lawn Care, a weekly newsletter loosely about music-making, music-listening, and how technology changes the culture around those things. Click here to check out the latest issue and subscribe.