8Sided Blog

a zine about sound, culture, and the punk rock dream

Transported by Ambience

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Status: 2021-02-22 16.28.45

Recorded audio can have a transportive intention, from the ‘it’s like you’re there’ feel of a great live album to the third LP in the Environments series plopping the listener in the middle of a hippie be-in. 

Environments! That series was launched in 1969 when sound recordist Irv Teibel realized listening to the ocean waves he captured for a Tony Conrad film improved his concentration. Teibel eventually released eleven installments, with a few of the Environments records displaying this bold motto on the cover: “The music of the future isn’t music.”

Hippie be-ins aside, many used the Environments LPs like how we have ‘mood’ playlists on Spotify or ‘music for studying’ YouTube channels. The sounds were played in the background, non-intrusive for the most part, aiding the listener in achieving a flow state.1There’s a fabulous email newsletter called Flow State that gives music recommendations to listen to during your workday. You can lessen the anxiety of paper-shuffling and deadlines by making the brain think you’re working amid gentle rain in a pine forest.2I’m not a Star Trek fan, but for a few years, this was my constant deep work soundtrack. I think this sound hits my pleasure zone because it reminds me of a quiet overnight airplane flight.

These ‘environments’ take on an extra layer after months of lockdown and working from home. Concentration and flow state are still goals, but the transportive aspect has prominence. We want to feel like we’re somewhere else, to break up the Groundhog Day-ness of repetitive tasks in the same room. Every. Single. Day. 

One recent example is I Miss My Bar. Set up by an actual bar in Monterrey, the site provides a series of looped audio feeds of sounds you might hear in your favorite drinking establishment. Sliders allow you to adjust the volumes of the various loops, or you can mute sounds entirely. You can also tailor the sounds to resemble a coffeehouse if that’s your flavor. 

This isn’t the Environments record that transports us into a pine forest or a deserted beach. I Miss My Bar and sites like it imagine city life — the busy, crowded pub and the cheerful night out. Telling the brain that we’re in a forest is relaxing, but hanging out in a forest isn’t normal for most of us. Recapturing normalcy in these times is oddly regenerative, and for many of us, that’s the social sounds of a bar or coffeehouse.

As usual, YouTube takes things a step further. In The New York Times, Eliza Brooke writes about YouTube’s version of urbanized environments that features imaginary spaces and pop culture references. Of course, there’s the Rainy Day Coffee Shop, but there’s also the Twin Peaks diner and lots of Harry Potter. There’s an additional visual aspect with YouTube, often a static shot or animation looped alongside the audio, and sometimes subtly creative as in this subway ambience stream. 

Writer Kyle Chayka refers to these videos as “an imagination aid” to help you “pretend you’re somewhere else, or someone else, far from your current worries.” While transportive, the Environments records were primarily for concentration, the cover text often noting their meditative qualities. 2021’s ‘environments’ deliver transportation first and foremost. The soothing, flow states are a byproduct of aurally planting ourselves outside of our overly familiar settings. These streams promise distant travels from a small room. 

Content ID’s Closed-Door Controversy

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There’s continuing controversy over YouTube’s Content ID rights management platform. You might think I’m talking about content creators complaining about video takedowns for music violations. But I’m actually referring to the growing number of artists demanding direct access to the Content ID tools.

Here’s a quick overview of Content ID from the artist’s perspective: a song submitted to YouTube’s Content ID system is available to creators for use in videos without extra permissions. Content ID will auto-magically identify when songs in its library appear in YouTube videos. The artist (or other rights-holder) can then elect to block the video, monetize the song’s placement in the video (via advertising), or forgo either action by ‘white-listing’ the video. Most of the songs in a major label’s catalog and many independents are a part of this Content ID library.

The problem is that artists and labels can only access these tools through a YouTube-approved third party. This party is usually someone like AdRev or a distributor like Symphonic. As expected, in the monetization option, the third parties will take a cut of any income. Some artists find a mandatory reliance on a third party aggravating, especially when giving up a share of the money is unavoidable.

There is a lawsuit against YouTube filed by artist Maria Schneider and the company Pirate Monitor to challenge this requirement, arguing that Content ID should open up direct access to anyone. The brunt of the argument rests on the challenges of those who can’t utilize Content ID. That is, if a song used in a video is not in YouTube’s system, the reporting and takedown process is inadequate and ineffective. In that case, the artist or label would manually ‘flag’ the video and wait for YouTube to take action. As you can imagine, it’s not an effective process.

YouTube argues that Schneider is not affected by any deficiencies in its approach, as reported in Complete Music Update. She uses a third party already, says YouTube, so she’s an example that the tools are readily available to anyone. Pirate Monitor also has its issues: 

As for Pirate Monitor, YouTube is more scathing about its involvement in the lawsuit. The counterclaim makes various allegations about the conduct of the anti-piracy firm, concluding that that conduct demonstrates why Content ID access is not available to all. It accuses Pirate Monitor of setting up various anonymous accounts on YouTube, uploading snippets of films controlled by its clients, and then issuing takedown requests against those uploads.

Perhaps, but one could look at Pirate Monitor’s alleged actions as to why Content ID should be more widely available. It’s become another system that encourages ‘gaming’ from those left out of its tools. 

You probably know my opinion. The point isn’t that Schneider has the access — it’s that she’s beholden to a third party to get it. With that in mind, I’d say an artist who licenses music under Creative Commons has a better case. 

I’ve written previously about Kevin MacLeod, a musician who allows free use of his music in anyone’s videos.1This strategy has paid off as MacLeod has gotten quite a few paid music gigs based on the widespread appearance of his music. A third party will not represent him because he doesn’t want to make money off YouTube placements — there’s no income and no cut. But, he needs the protection Content ID provides. MacLeod has run into others downloading his music and illegitimately submitting it to a service like AdRev without his knowledge. The videos with MacLeod’s songs are then monetized against his will with the income going to some shadowy figure. 

There’s little that MacLeod and others like him can do when this happens. They can’t access Content ID, the third parties reject them for representation as there’s no income, and YouTube — as expected from a huge corporation — is slow to respond (if at all). MacLeod eventually got YouTube’s attention, but it took a long time repeatedly pleading with the company. YouTube’s eventual solution? They gave MacLeod direct access to Content ID. It’s that easy — YouTube should find a way to open up Content ID for all. 

Exploring New Opportunities in Livestreaming

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Quarantine has led to the proliferation of livestreamed concerts, confirming the need for music in uncertain times. I’d guess that many more people are checking out livestreams than regularly went to shows before the pandemic. And like every other change that’s occurred in quarantine’s wake, there’s a lot of thought on how livestreaming might remain established once things normalize (fingers crossed). Before COVID-19, there were suggestions that virtual touring might gain popularity as a means to offset the environmental toll of actual touring. Current events have pushed the prospect to the forefront for entirely different reasons.

It seems there are two main categories of livestreamed concerts. First, there’s the streamed band performance, like a concert movie with the artists playing a straightforward set from a stage. And, secondly, the intimate live-from-home show, where band members — individually or together — perform casual, stripped-down versions of songs. The nature of live-streaming changes the dynamics of performance through its limitations, but, for the most part, it’s an imitation of an in-person performance. Here’s Cherie Hu in Pitchfork:

Recreating such emotions in livestreaming requires taking advantage of the medium, which often means getting rid of the superfluous spectacle you might otherwise see in normal stage setups. From the fan’s perspective, the “stage” in a livestream is just the screen, and the audience is the chat room. There’s a diminished sense of hierarchy between artist and the fan, leading to interactions that can be much more social, interactive, and intimate.

There’s a lot for the artist to lean into here. The trick is emphasizing the unique aspects of livestreaming — the loss of hierarchy, the ability to interact with fans (and for them to interact with each other), the flat screen — rather than relying on what’s lost. The platforms that win are the ones that build features that could only exist in a digitally livestreamed ecosystem. And the artists fully exploring and exploiting these features will have the upper hand, too.

Creating experiences that are exclusive to a live-streaming format — you won’t get this in clubs! — also adds possibilities for monetization. The key is giving something special, not found elsewhere. Free streams of concerts are found all over YouTube, and, to offer a high-profile example, Coachella livestreamed the last few festivals without any fee. As DJs are also finding out with their DJ sets, years of offering performances for free makes monetization of similar content difficult. Getting creative and thinking far outside of what happens in a club environment is a must.

Another note: if, after COVID-19, live-streaming remains an established part of a band’s marketing and income toolbox, then I see an opportunity for studio spaces and music venues. Many cities could have brick-and-mortar ‘livestream studios’ where bands could perform. These spaces would have the technology and infrastructure to stream performances and make each one distinct and tailored to the act. The interactive and livestream-exclusive features I mention above are built-in, with each studio offering a different specialty or feature set. Engineers and staff are on hand to manage technical as well as online (e.g., chatroom and social media) tasks. The artist would book a date, plan the details of the performance, show up, and play. The business could be stand-alone, or part of a live music venue, a recording studio, or even a co-working space. And it’s not just for bands — theatrical plays, author readings, performance art, and academic talks are some of the other potential client use cases. If live-streaming continues its path to normalization and you’re an entrepreneur looking for a future business idea, this might be something to consider.

Commodifying Coziness and the Rise of Chill-Out Capitalism

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In the article Why Are So Many Brands Pivoting To Coziness?, Vox’s Rebecca Jennings reveals a curious marketing trend: brands displaying promises of comfort to attract millennials and Gen Z’ers. In youth-oriented magazine advertisements, we’re used to photos of adventurous consumers climbing mountains or traversing an exotic, unfamiliar city. Now you’re as likely to see a picture of someone sitting at home seated on a couch or maybe even — gasp! — reading a book. Combined with emerging products like weighted blankets and CBD shampoo, it’s evident that chill is ‘in.’

Media theorists point out that horror movies are popular during times of unease and distrust in society. Jennings has a similar reason for the rise of coziness: “Things are bad, and people are anxious about whatever ongoing horrors are metabolizing in geopolitics, the environment, and capitalism.” However, there’s an always-online twist to this movement. “The selling point is that this product will make you feel calm and safe, but the experience of using it is still supposed to look good enough for other people to see.”

Ambient music isn’t exactly mainstream, but it’s more in vogue — and pervasive — than it’s ever been. The flavors are varied, from dark drones to nature noises, from New Age throwbacks to chill-hop YouTube streams. If we’re defining ambient music as music that sits in the ambiance, politely ignored as we go about our lives, then all of those styles qualify. And, like brand-marketed coziness, the music is often pushed as an antidote for a hectic life. There’s something spacey and unobtrusive playing in the background as that person sits on the couch reading his book.

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Streaming has enabled an even more utilitarian strain of ambient music, something that The Baffler’s Liz Pelly refers to as “emotional wallpaper” and “music that strategically requires no attention at all.” This music is made to fall into playlists that play on repeat as we study, or meditate, or slowly fall asleep. The primary purpose isn’t to calm our brains but to rack up Spotify plays as the playlists churn in repetition. Ambient music is perfect for this — we can only listen to the same pop hook so many times. An ambient drone might as well be endless.

Of course, music has always had calming and self-healing properties. That’s ancient history. And it’s untrue to say that ‘western’ music ignored this aspect, with blues and — of course — gospel as examples of genres containing elements of spiritual remedy. But the connection came as a surprise to many of ambient music’s forerunners. Take John Cage, whose life and direction changed after a conversation with Indian composer Gita Sarabhai in the 1940s. She pointed out that it’s okay for music to be meaningless, to exist solely to “sober and quiet the mind.” It makes sense to us. But this was a revelation for Cage, a stone thrown in the pond with ripples continuing outward.

What’s new is our era’s odd commoditization of relaxation music. Sure, the New Age genre was a small phenomenon in the late ’80s — those Windham Hill CDs flew off the shelves at the Camelot Music I worked at as a teenager. But playlists targeted to sleeping ‘listeners’ for money-making purposes is a bizarre twist. Consider the Sony-affiliated Sleep & Mindfulness Thunderstorms playlist, featuring 990 one-minute tracks containing sounds of rainstorms. Why a single minute each in length? Because Spotify will deliver a micropayment to a track that plays for at least 30 seconds.

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But let’s get something straight. Personally, I love ambient music. I work to it. I relax to it. I sometimes sleep to it. And, if you can’t tell, I’m fascinated by it. That presents a quandary as I’m using the music in the same way as those studying to ChilledCow’s YouTube channel. What makes my cozy space so sacred?

Simon Reynolds’ recent Resident Advisor long-read about the state of ambient music is worth a look. He grapples with chill-out capitalism in his article, stating:

Still, there is something unnerving about the idea of ambient and New Age music uncoupled from any higher purposes and applied to the task of self-repair. Like power yoga or microdosing, it is taking an agent of change that was originally part of a culture of liberation and discovery, and putting it in service of the status quo. As David Toop, author of ambient bible Ocean Of Sound, wrote recently, “if ambient music only serves as an app to incentivise or a backdrop to productivity, networking and self-realisation, then it has no story of its own, no story worth hearing.”

Are we adding too much baggage to ambient music? Perhaps it’s just meant to be, like a soothing wallpaper hue or the bird sounds outside my window. Burdening this music with a special purpose or the responsibility of solace might be self-defeating. But, true enough, so is placing a profit incentive on our coziness.

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.

The Legal Argument Formerly Known As Fair Use

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The definition of ‘fair use’ is a muddle. We can accept that fair use might apply if a derivative work doesn’t seek to earn a profit, transforms the original in some way, and won’t discourage purchases of the original work. But the key word there is ‘might.’ it’s all a bit vague, and, in the USA, the definition will vary court-to-court, case-to-case. If you’re going to claim ‘fair use,’ be prepared to defend your interpretation in the legal arena.

Prince’s representatives have tussled with fair use claims before, most famously losing the long-running ‘dancing baby’ case. It turns out a short snippet of a song playing in the background of a home video does fall under fair use. That makes sense.

In the most recent fair use case for the Prince estate, Kian Andrew Habib isn’t as fortunate. Via Complete Music Update:

[Prince’s estate] targeted six videos recorded and uploaded to YouTube by a man called Kian Andrew Habib. The estate’s reps argued that the recordings of Prince’s performance infringed the copyright in the songs being performed. […]

[Habib] reckoned fair use applied because his videos were “non-commercial and transformative in nature … used no more of the original than necessary, and had no negative effect on the market for the work”. […]

[However, a judge ruled that] Habib’s artistic decisions when filming Prince perform did not mean his use of the musician’s songs was “transformative in nature”. And while he may not have directly financially benefited from posting his content to YouTube, by bigging up his videos as being “rare” and “amazing” recordings of Prince performing live he drove traffic to his YouTube channel, thus ensuring he benefited from his use of the musician’s work.

So, there you go. Even though you’re not directly earning a profit, using someone else’s work to build your reputation or follower count qualifies as commercial gain in the eyes of the law. I’m no lawyer, but my sound advice is to be wary of the protective value of fair use.

🔗→ US court rules fair use didn’t apply to unofficial Prince videos on YouTube
🔗→ ‘Dancing Baby’ Wins Copyright Case

Looking Back to Go Forward

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Predicting is a slippery business. We can spot trends and have a general idea where things are going, but how can we accurately predict? Is it worth the effort? Alvin Toffler said that “No serious futurist deals in prediction,” while Warren Ellis stays out of the game as “it’s a quick way to look like an idiot.”

For example, in the ’90s, there were plenty of yearly predictions, but few that foresaw the approaching tsunami of the internet, soon to wipe away the music industry. Some accurate predictions, or at least ones that the powers-that-be would listen to, would have been helpful. Instead, there were a lot of ‘idiots.’1I didn’t see the tsunami coming, either.

David Bowie was known for his prescience, and he wasn’t afraid to casually lay down a prediction or two. After all, it’s the seasoned player — but one open to changing possibilities rather than in resistance or denial — who has great insight on the future. The young are often seduced by the new, while nostalgia binds the oldsters. But some are like Bowie, using tradition and history as lenses for viewing technological disruption.

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Here’s what David Bowie told the New York Times in 2002:

“Music itself is going to become like running water or electricity … So it’s like, just take advantage of these last few years because none of this is ever going to happen again. You’d better be prepared for doing a lot of touring because that’s really the only unique situation that’s going to be left. It’s terribly exciting. But on the other hand it doesn’t matter if you think it’s exciting or not; it’s what’s going to happen.”

The idea seems quaint now but, in 2002 — the age of Friendster! — Bowie’s words were a shot across the bow. The most radical part is his acceptance, a confidence that the genie is loose, and the bottle is rolling down a hill. Only a few in the industry felt this way. Instead, there was the grasping, the hanging on, the desire to extend the status quo of inflated compact disc profits.

Some more from Bowie:

“ I don’t even know why I would want to be on a label in a few years, because I don’t think it’s going to work by labels and by distribution systems in the same way,” he said. ”The absolute transformation of everything that we ever thought about music will take place within 10 years, and nothing is going to be able to stop it. I see absolutely no point in pretending that it’s not going to happen. I’m fully confident that copyright, for instance, will no longer exist in 10 years, and authorship and intellectual property is in for such a bashing.”

Again, crazy talk for 2002. Of course, copyright does still exist, but Bowie wasn’t too far off. The magnitude of user-generated content and YouTube’s use of ‘safe harbor’ under the DMCA was unforeseeable, from a copyright perspective, in 2002. It turns out Napster was the pre-show.

But this disruption isn’t total. That’s why it’s wise to listen to voices that can look back and understand how technological developments fit within longstanding traditions. We can change how we listen to music, but we’re still listening to music in the same way. We can change how we make music, but we’re still essentially making music in the same way. Our incentives remain untouched by the march of progress.

Looking forward is important for reasons of preparation and, as my friend Craig says, “going where the puck’s headed instead of simply chasing the puck.” But we should always remember why we’re here. Despite all the talk of AI and VR and which tech company is acquiring a different tech company, we want to love music. We want to get excited and tell our friends and exist in this music universe as social beings. David Bowie is right that changes are happening whether we like it or not. But the exciting part is working out how these changes bring us together as music fans. To lose sight of why we’re here is as misguided as chasing the genie’s bottle down that hill.

With that in mind, I participated in SynchTank’s Trends to Watch in 2020 (‘trends,’ not ‘predictions’), joined by three industry pundits of serious smartness. Bucking Ellis and his quote above, their predictions are wise and thought-out, and their proximity to my opinion certainly helps my case.

I’ve been thinking a lot about social media and an artist’s fealty to corporate platforms. My contribution to the Trends piece reflects this and combines prediction with a dose of wishful thinking:

Over the past decade, artists and labels — using technological tools — have become increasingly independent, capturing control and ownership of publishing, masters, and avenues of distribution. But independent marketing fell into the trojan horse of social media, with many artists exclusively relying on the likes of Facebook to get the message out. The keys to discoverability were firmly in the hands of a new crop of corporate gatekeepers.

Undesirable actions by these platforms — such as algorithmically cutting access to fans and unrepentant involvement in political and privacy scandals — started opening eyes to the pitfalls of this reliance. Displeasure continues to grow as these companies fight back by further segmenting audiences and requiring even larger ‘boosts’ to reach one’s fans. The 2020 election — a looming social media shit-show — will move this dissatisfaction even more into the mainstream.

Thus, independent artists are increasingly introducing homegrown strategies that are entirely within their control. We see this in the rising talk of reclaiming fandom, direct support of artists, and the importance of individual ‘stories.’ And we see new twists on old concepts. Email lists, creative artist sites, blogs, localized grassroots outreach — tactics that predated social media, now coming together with the latest technological innovations to form a new breed of DIY.

In the aftermath, social media will remain a tool, but merely a tool — downgraded but still handy. It’s a hammer, not a house. Independent artists will understand that, along with increased interest in owning masters and administering rights, control over how artists reach and interact with their audiences is just as vital.

The point stands: technological breakthroughs, especially those that promise too-easy solutions or purport to disrupt, should face the lens of tradition. We relied on these technologies — these shortcuts — to deliver our messages to fans. We believed online connections were authentic when, in fact, our fanbase was closer to commodity, inaccessible and exploited in our names. Instead, we should use technological tools to claim our rights, creative works, and fanbases, not to transfer these to others. That transfer is the easy route, and unfortunately, it’s what the technology was built to offer.

That’s why I’m looking back as I go forward. The future is filled with possibilities that are promising and, yes, others that are terrifying. But considering the roots of why we act like humans — how our intentions are evergreen — can keep us sober and grounded as technology continues to seduce and overwhelm. Our decisions and actions as artists and listeners should rely on our deepest fundamentals and a core understanding of what brought us here. So, TL;DR: In 2020, let your love of music be your guide.

🔗→ David Bowie, 21st-Century Entrepreneur
🔗→ Music Industry Analysts on the Trends to Watch in 2020

Opening Up Content ID for Everyone

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Complete Music Update:

The eight Congress members who wrote to [Google CEO Sundar] Pachai last week acknowledged the benefits of Content ID, writing in their letter that “we appreciate Google’s efforts to combat the illegal distribution of content on YouTube”. However, they then said: “We are concerned that copyright holders with smaller catalogues of works cannot utilise” the copyright tools. […]

Expanding on this point, the Congress members’ letter goes on: “It has come to our attention that access to the Content ID system is only granted to companies that ‘own exclusive rights to a substantial body of original material that is frequently uploaded to the YouTube user community’. We are concerned that copyright holders with smaller catalogues of works cannot utilise Content ID, making it more difficult or impossible for them to effectively protect their copyright works from infringement and, ultimately, impacting their livelihoods”.

I’ve faced this issue as a music publisher. I’d rather directly submit my works to Content ID than through a third-party distributor, especially as many of our tracks are production music and not commercially released. I’ve reached out and received crickets.

YouTube’s requirement that an applicant’s catalog has to be already ‘frequently uploaded to the YouTube user community’ is a head-scratcher. Applicable music should be in the Content ID system in advance. If it takes multiple viral videos to get an acknowledgment from YouTube, then there’s money due to songwriters left on the table.

Prolific music producer Kevin MacLeod brings up another problem in his interview on 2 Girls 1 Podcast. MacLeod lets anyone use his music for free in videos as part of a Creative Commons license. As an independent music creator, he didn’t have direct access to Content ID. And using a third party for Content ID made no sense. Most of his music is not commercially available and, as anyone could use his music — no questions asked — there’s no money to be made on the distribution side.

The dilemma for MacLeod appeared when other people started claiming his music using Content ID through third-party distributors. That’s right — nefarious folks were seeing this unregistered music racking up views on YouTube and took advantage by registering it as their own.

Eventually, after repeated appeals to YouTube, MacLeod was able to work something out and get direct access to Content ID. But only after the nightmare scenario of video creators using his music, trusting there would be no issues, and then having their videos monetized or pulled by an unknown party.

I planned to set up a Creative Commons catalog for non-commercial user-generated content through my publishing company. But MacLeod’s story gives me cold feet. There’s no way I’m allowing our music used on YouTube without an assurance the rights won’t be questioned. Perhaps Google will heed Congress’s concerns and give rights-holders a choice — to use a third party for Content ID or go direct. That’s not so different than how SoundExchange operates. So, file this story under ‘fingers crossed.’

YouTube Grapples with the Short and Unintentional

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Here’s an interesting development in how YouTube handles claims of copyright infringement for the appearance of “very short or unintentional” musical content. Let’s go to TechCrunch:

Going forward, copyright owners will no longer be able to monetize creator videos with very short or unintentional uses of music via YouTube’s “Manual Claiming” tool. Instead, they can choose to prevent the other party from monetizing the video or they can block the content. However, YouTube expects that by removing the option to monetize these sorts of videos themselves, some copyright holders will instead just leave them alone. […]

Creators were also given tools of their own that let them easily remove the clip or replace the infringing content with free-to-use tracks.

The Verge:

Creators on YouTube have increasingly struggled with record labels claiming copyright on their videos when snippets of music appear momentarily in the background, like from the radio of a car passing by. YouTube’s new rules don’t stop these claims from happening, but they attempt to discourage the claims by removing a key incentive for copyright holders: the ability to make money. […]

There are a couple of big caveats to the policy, though. It only applies to “manual” copyright claims — that is, when a record label or other rights holder identifies something that belongs to them and files the violation notice by hand. If a music clip is caught by YouTube’s Content ID system, which scans videos for infringing material, then rights holders will still be able to make money off of the video, regardless of how brief or unintentional the music is.

Complete Music Update:

YouTube also suggests creators make sure that there is no music playing in the background when a video is shot. Even though, in many countries, that would be covered by a copyright exception anyway, meaning no licence should be required. But, of course, rights management tools on user-generated content platforms are still struggling with the ins and outs of copyright exceptions and, in the US, the always ambiguous concept of fair use.

There have been exceptions for music use considered ‘diminutival’ (a fancy word I learned from a lawyer at Podcast Movement in reference to, say, singing a single line from a song in your podcast). And traditionally music that appears in live broadcasts — for example, a news report with a song playing at a business where an interview is taking place — is exempt. Though, in that case, any not-live rebroadcast would need to clear the song. It’s tricky.

In the past, a music rights-holder could claim a song appearing in a video that falls under the category “very short or unintentional” — like a song blasting out of a passing car for a second — and monetize the entire video for herself. In some cases, this claim process makes sense, but, in others, it’s potentially abusive. The Verge notes a popular YouTuber who lost monetization on a prominent video because he quoted a line from Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer.”

YouTube’s new approach is unique. Monetization became an incentive to overindulge in copyright claims, so that option is no longer available for these short uses in manual claims. Instead, the video can be blocked, or its monetization credentials removed for everyone. The video creator has the option to edit the offending song out of a problematic video to reinstitute monetization. It’s important to note that if the Content-ID robot identifies a song, then all bets are off — as before, the rights-holder can claim full monetization without any options to the video creator.

The solution is flawed and, I’m sure, an experiment. The push-back is that any video that incorporates a song becomes a derivative work of the infringing content, no matter the length or context. Thus the work becomes the claim of the infringed rights-holder. I see that point, and the recent EU judgment on Kraftwerk’s metal-on-metal hit shows how diminutive length often doesn’t matter.

But my feeling is that, for now, this is a suitable compromise. The legal boundaries of user-generated content are still under review. Experiments like these will help define how we, as rights-holders, deal with an ‘everyone is a creator’ culture in a way that exercises ownership without discouraging spontaneous homespun creative works.

Choosing, Not Chosen

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Here’s an informative video that inspired a spirited conversation in my household:

I can understand the overwhelming temptation to appease and filter for THE ALGORITHM when you’re making a living off your YouTube and online efforts. But there’s a loss of voice, akin to the loss of agency that casual listening creates. Rather than choosing we’re being chosen.

There’s an SEO plug-in installed on my blog, and it tells me that I should optimize my titles and my content for traffic-catching metrics. I was paying attention to its demands for a while, changing snappy short titles to longer (less fun) ones that complied with SEO-recommended character limits. I was told to insert keywords into the content and always attach eye-catching featured images (I was never good at that aspect). I’d get stressed out when the plug-in told me that I wasn’t adhering to the internet’s mysterious ordinances.

But, here’s the thing: there are many blogs and newsletters that I love, and none of these follow the rules. Some of these authors have a voice that flies in the face of these rules — one-word titles, blog posts with only a few sentences, the minimalist of minimal site layouts. I frequent these outlets for the voice of the author, not any click-worthy title or high search rank. I fear that if we all follow the SEO or algorithmic guidelines, then these voices would disappear. Pleasing the SEO computer is trying to please everyone, and we all know the cliché about what happens when you try to please everyone. But it’s more than ending up not pleasing anybody — it’s about not connecting with your people, to not have a flag on the map of your territory, to be invisible from your tribe.

There are those who are going for mass and, according to their goals, choose to follow the rules. That’s cool. Derek Muller, in the video above, is doing so grudgingly but he’s in the machine where 5 million vs. 10 million views have a direct impact on his project’s budget. Veritasium is a channel with — at the least — staff and travel requirements, so there’s a good reason to keep the views and funding high.1And it’s a well-done science channel, worth your subscription in my opinion. But my needs — and the needs of the bloggers and channels I follow — are different. We’re looking for that longterm connection and an audience that’s on board because of our way of saying things. It’s not that Derek doesn’t want that — it’s evident from his video that his voice and point of view are essential and he’s struggling with maintaining these — but the success of his platform is affected by more important things. On the other hand, at this point, I measure my success by people enjoying what I do and, to paraphrase Seth Godin, missing me when I’ve gone quiet.

I’m thinking about the direction of this blog all of the time. I change my mind about it constantly. But what always sticks is that I want it to be fun for you and — most importantly, if I’m honest — fun for me. I’m using this to find my people, to have conversations, and make those connections. And I’m using it to find potential friends, collaborators, clients, and employers. An SEO plug-in’s suggestions won’t be much help there. I see these imposed guidelines as a detriment and I’m happy to resist. So expect the blog to get more personal, more specialized, and obtuse — my private-made-public playground. No holding back the freak flag.

Viral Dinosaur

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It’s rarely disputed that word-of-mouth is the best form of marketing, such as getting fans to organically spread your song. This scattering used to be territorial, with songs suddenly gaining hold in an urban center — often due to organic support from a local radio DJ — and spreading outward.

It was a challenge to determine how and why some songs spread. But tracking should be simple now that ‘virality’ is mainly an internet phenomenon. Metrics and data-gathering offer transparency on the distribution of these sonic ‘memes.’ So it’s fascinating when something unexpected falls through the cracks. Here’s a recent example from Pitchfork:

Dinosaur Jr.’s 1994 song “Over Your Shoulder” hit the Billboard Japan charts this week, topping the Hot Overseas chart and entering the Hot 100 at #18 (above other Western artists such as Ariana Grande and Queen). […] “Over Your Shoulder” was never released as a single, and has not been reissued in any capacity in Japan recently. It does not appear in a new popular film, nor does it appear to soundtrack a meme or viral video. Pitchfork has been unable to source the video or videos that garnered these plays; Billboard was also unable to find the source of the 8 million views.

An update to the Pitchfork article surmises that the song was somehow featured in a popular Japanese game show. This might have led to posts of the footage on YouTube (since pulled) as well as content uploaded by show fans with the song. All these YouTube plays added up to 8 million hits for “Over Your Shoulder” which counted toward its Billboard Japan chart position. Suddenly Dinosaur Jr. is (temporarily) big in Japan.

There’s something wonderful about not knowing for sure how this happened. Let’s celebrate these untraceable viral surprises while we still can.

Update → via Gizmodo:

In the end, no one factor made “Over Your Shoulder” a Billboard hit in Japan. Nearly 25 years ago, it was released. More than 15 years ago, it was used on a Japanese reality show about boxing bad boys. Six years ago, Billboard started counting YouTube plays. And just days ago, YouTube apparently began recommending pirated episodes of that reality show to Japanese users, who seemingly binged it in the thousands, playing “Over Your Shoulder” over and over again in the process.

🔗→ A 25-Year-Old Dinosaur Jr. Song Is a Hit in Japan. Nobody Knows Why.
🔗→ How TV Pirates Accidentally Pushed a 25-Year-Old Indie Song to the Top of the Charts in Japan