Music is different to the other arts.
You might feel a passion for Picasso, but at the end of the day the Guernica is on the wall of the Reina Sophia, and the best you're going to do is a postcard. Theatre is worse, only existing within 90 minutes of time before vanishing again into the darkness. And film, well - you can see the faces and the bodies of an iceberg's tip of those involved: you can see that film isn't yours.
And sure, there are films that have moved me, and my emotions on seeing Apollo and Daphne are going nowhere - but broadly, I know those experiences are also on loan. My love for Bernini is conditional on the Villa Borghesi continuing to exhibit his work. But music! What about "our song"? What about the "song of the summer"? What about that mix tape, or that radio request? We so often substitute music for our own words, or ideas, that it becomes part of us. Should I be paying off Virgin when I wake up humming Wannabie? Should I write a cheque to the Jackson estate if I want to sing Yellow Submarine in the shower? Do I owe Cliff Martinez a drink when, apropos of nothing, the soundtrack to Solaris compliments my day?
As Spotify puts it, everybody loves music.
Business have been struggling with this model for some time. It's familiar trivia that the Disney company owns "Happy Birthday" - not true either. It's owned by Time Warner, they make $5000 off it a day and will do until 2030. I'm sure, however, that you feel you too "own" Happy Birthday. You sing it at parties. If you sing it in any sort of public place, however - like a restaurant, say - you need a license.
At this point, we get into the tricky territory of what companies can and cannot own. As far as I'm concerned, Happy Birthday is part of world heritage. A bit like Facebook succeeding to copyright the word "face":
So copyright is often very counter-intuitive - you may think you have a right to use the word face, or sing Happy Birthday but actually think very, very carefully about how you do so, because you probably don't. There is something about those two cases which is fundamentally morally incorrect.
Music is different, of course - it is morally correct to repay the creators and performers, else they will die in a garret. But that's still counter intuitive - when I wake up humming "Wouldn't It Be Nice?", it's reminding me of the summer when I bought the CD; the New Zealand road trip; my school Speech Day; Tom Stoppard's "Rock and Roll", and how I fell in love while watching it; and Torchwood: Children of Earth: Day Five; and the fact that nowadays, I've listened to the Beach Boys so much to cheer me up that it actually triggers negative feelings. It does not remind me that in 1966, a group of guys got together in a recording studio to try and put a "vibration" on tape and that I should probably recompense them for all those memories.
Bullshit! Those memories are mine! They're just locked up inside the song, like giving a librarian rights to all the books in his library.
Spotify was the greatest, the best act ever performed against piracy. It combatted it by giving the pirates what they want - all the music, all the time - but used the model of a radio station to recoup profits. But it recently became clear that all was not well - Spotify seemed only to advertise itself. And now, the long-expected axe has fallen. From the start, I was suspicious it's perfection was merely that kindly free heroin sample given by your friendly neighbourhood dealer:
What music execs seem to underestimate is the level of entitlement associated with music. It becomes part of our natures, our histories, our very souls. This doesn't excuse piracy, but an easy excuse. Copying technology has also threatened the very nature of posession. If I buy a book, I can give it to my friend, or to a charity shop. If I buy a song off the internet, they are suddenly wary because the same ability to give it to my friend (my posession, which I bought) also means I have the ability to share it with all my friends, and so forth.
And alas, I'm not going to pay £120. I don't buy CDs except very rarely, and then after having listened to them to the extent they become a necessity (and where would I do that?). It's the same way I buy everything, buying only necessities. My music budget is already blown on concert tickets.
Do I, therefore, renounce my right to listen to music? Am I to be separated from my memories?
You might feel a passion for Picasso, but at the end of the day the Guernica is on the wall of the Reina Sophia, and the best you're going to do is a postcard. Theatre is worse, only existing within 90 minutes of time before vanishing again into the darkness. And film, well - you can see the faces and the bodies of an iceberg's tip of those involved: you can see that film isn't yours.
And sure, there are films that have moved me, and my emotions on seeing Apollo and Daphne are going nowhere - but broadly, I know those experiences are also on loan. My love for Bernini is conditional on the Villa Borghesi continuing to exhibit his work. But music! What about "our song"? What about the "song of the summer"? What about that mix tape, or that radio request? We so often substitute music for our own words, or ideas, that it becomes part of us. Should I be paying off Virgin when I wake up humming Wannabie? Should I write a cheque to the Jackson estate if I want to sing Yellow Submarine in the shower? Do I owe Cliff Martinez a drink when, apropos of nothing, the soundtrack to Solaris compliments my day?
As Spotify puts it, everybody loves music.
Business have been struggling with this model for some time. It's familiar trivia that the Disney company owns "Happy Birthday" - not true either. It's owned by Time Warner, they make $5000 off it a day and will do until 2030. I'm sure, however, that you feel you too "own" Happy Birthday. You sing it at parties. If you sing it in any sort of public place, however - like a restaurant, say - you need a license.
At this point, we get into the tricky territory of what companies can and cannot own. As far as I'm concerned, Happy Birthday is part of world heritage. A bit like Facebook succeeding to copyright the word "face":
In August, the company sued Teachbook , arguing that "book" is a term associated with Facebook. Selecting "book" was a completely arbitrary choice and "pilfers a distinctive part of the Facebook," Facebook said. Travel site PlaceBook also changed its name to TripTrace after Facebook contacted the site and said its name was confusingly similar to its own.Not to be vulgar, but FUCK OFF, I think you'll find the word BOOK is associated with BOOKS. Books, and libraries, and learning, and (say) teaching.
So copyright is often very counter-intuitive - you may think you have a right to use the word face, or sing Happy Birthday but actually think very, very carefully about how you do so, because you probably don't. There is something about those two cases which is fundamentally morally incorrect.
Music is different, of course - it is morally correct to repay the creators and performers, else they will die in a garret. But that's still counter intuitive - when I wake up humming "Wouldn't It Be Nice?", it's reminding me of the summer when I bought the CD; the New Zealand road trip; my school Speech Day; Tom Stoppard's "Rock and Roll", and how I fell in love while watching it; and Torchwood: Children of Earth: Day Five; and the fact that nowadays, I've listened to the Beach Boys so much to cheer me up that it actually triggers negative feelings. It does not remind me that in 1966, a group of guys got together in a recording studio to try and put a "vibration" on tape and that I should probably recompense them for all those memories.
Bullshit! Those memories are mine! They're just locked up inside the song, like giving a librarian rights to all the books in his library.
Spotify was the greatest, the best act ever performed against piracy. It combatted it by giving the pirates what they want - all the music, all the time - but used the model of a radio station to recoup profits. But it recently became clear that all was not well - Spotify seemed only to advertise itself. And now, the long-expected axe has fallen. From the start, I was suspicious it's perfection was merely that kindly free heroin sample given by your friendly neighbourhood dealer:
- you may each track for free up to a total of 5 times (that's forever, by the way)
- Additionally, total listening time for free users will be limited to 10 hours per month after the first 6 months. That’s equivalent to around 200 tracks or 20 albums.
What music execs seem to underestimate is the level of entitlement associated with music. It becomes part of our natures, our histories, our very souls. This doesn't excuse piracy, but an easy excuse. Copying technology has also threatened the very nature of posession. If I buy a book, I can give it to my friend, or to a charity shop. If I buy a song off the internet, they are suddenly wary because the same ability to give it to my friend (my posession, which I bought) also means I have the ability to share it with all my friends, and so forth.
And alas, I'm not going to pay £120. I don't buy CDs except very rarely, and then after having listened to them to the extent they become a necessity (and where would I do that?). It's the same way I buy everything, buying only necessities. My music budget is already blown on concert tickets.
Do I, therefore, renounce my right to listen to music? Am I to be separated from my memories?
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