Pejk Malinovski, “Don’t Be Boring”, September 16 2016

Originally trained as a poet, Pejk Malinovski considers himself to be a composer of documentary-based interviews, uniquely creating montages that operate outside of traditional narrative structure. His audio pieces often result from cutting many different sources together: audio clips from movies; children reading and interpreting stanzas of poetry; music created for specific geographies.

Although both language-based, the comparison between sound work and written work is worth considering. Perhaps the control of time is a fundamental distinction between the two. When reading, individuals have an easier ability to set the pace at which they engage the material. They may skim and only read headings, or flip back and re-read a paragraph not immediately understood, or even take extended breaks between chapters. This change in ‘timing’ occurs with the same sense in which the work is consumed: visually. To stop reading, or to reread, happens with our eyes. However with audio, the manipulation of timing cannot occur by telling our ears to stop listening, or to re-listen. The track continues on despite our mental thought. Thus, the manipulation or interruption of an audio piece requires action. Pausing a track happens with our fingers, pressing the fast forward button distorts the sounds and they come illegible. The ability to self-navigate through an audio track is not impossible, but it is a deliberate action. In this way, the creator of an audio track has significant control over how a listener consumes the pace of the piece.

Perhaps this control over the sequencing of the story is necessary when considering the lack of control regarding in what context the piece is heard. It may be in a quiet living room on speakers, or through earbuds on a crowded bus, or in passing while riding in a taxi, listening to the driver’s radio. How and where we consume creative content—whether it be auditory, static visuals, motion-based, or text—is increasingly out of the creators control. Everything is on the Internet and the Internet is everywhere.

Malinovski discussed his approach to establishing a place within his sound pieces, describing them site-specific responses. Through this specificity, whether it be the living complex for elderly actors in New Jersey or explicitly Poetry, Texas, the narrative is grounded geographically. By providing a physical context within the narratives, perhaps the physical context of the listeners is less relevant. They themselves are not in the story, but are hearing about characters as they relate to the established place. It is a world not to get lost in, but to observe and consider.

Follow-up questions for Malinovski:

  • In pieces for radio, what is your expectation for how or where they are heard? Is it something that factors into the work, or do you take the position that they should be heard anywhere?

On ‘Original’ Content, Abstraction and Sampling

This post was prompted by Jonathan Lethem’s “The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism” and Kirby Ferguson’s “Everything is a Remix” TedTalk. Evidence of their ideas seemed to spring up everywhere over the past few days.

In a lecture entitled “Ultraconcentrated: Image, Media, Software” given at the International Centre for Photography, Casey Reas discussed his software-based collage work. His work from the past four years draws from mass media for source material – whether that be social media profiles, broadcast signals, or photographs from newspapers. This original content is often transformed into continuous generative collages. Yet in looking (and listening) to the finished work, the original media sources are abstract, largely unrecognizable. Faces are reduced to single-color pixelized layers; public television transmissions are extracted, amplified and stochastically looped; the onslaught of front-page news imagery forms ribbons of abstracted color and form. By blurring the original content, the work pushes viewers to question its influence on our lives. Has mass media become a latent undercurrent that we unquestionably ‘move through’? Do we interpret the images and video ourselves, or do we blindly and willingly accept the subjectivity of the producer?

Reminiscent of Reas’ visually layered work, Girl Talk layers audio track upon audio track to build up an entirely new musical piece. And while Reas’ work may abstract the original content beyond recognition, the original samples used by Girl Talk are instantly recognizable. The original content: the musical notes and instruments, the lyrics, the artist’s voice remain unmodified. Yet the point of difference between the ’original’ audio and the ’sampled’ audio is context. In cutting various clips together, he creates relationships between sounds that weren’t originally juxtaposed. In scrolling though the composited track list for All Day or watching the visual timeline by Matt Adereth, it’s evident where samples overlap, break apart or give way to each other. Inevitably the lack of modification to the original samples raises questions of legality.

Through abstraction, Reas avoids copyright concerns – what individual or company could possibly recognize their own work, faces, photographs within his collages? But GirlTalk seems intimately aware of the contention surrounding sample based music: his record label is cleverly called “Illegal Art”. However, Girl Talk argues that his work is transformative and the samples are sufficiently short enough to qualify under fair use.

In “The Ecstasy of Influence” for Harper’s Magazine, Johnathan Lethem sees this reinterpretation and recombination of others’ work as the defining characteristic of many art movements. Early in the essay he states, “Collage…might be called the art form of the twentieth century, never mind the twenty-first.” This notion is further supported in comments by Girl Talk during a live chat with the Globe and Mail as documented by Blaise Alleyne for TechDirt:

Look around the internet. So much content comes from pre-existing media. We’re used to it now. Christian Bale goes crazy on the set of T4. That turns into a techno song, which then turns into a cartoon on YouTube, which will then turn into a T-shirt. Everyone is constantly exchanging ideas and building upon previously existing material. So the idea of a remix being a real artform is being validated in our culture every day.

In the end, I ask: does the ‘original’ matter? Perhaps only in that it provokes further work. It is a starting point – at once both a commentary on the conditions in which it was produced, but also a provocation for future production. Everything is a step along the way to something else. The practice of sampling music stretches back well before Girl Talk. Lethem acknowledged the foundation of blues and jazz to be an open source foundation of musical frameworks and it continues to be experimented with by contemporary artists. Although a hopeless endeavour, it’s exciting to speculate what form, shape, and sound future art and media will take.

Fundamentally, the interpretation of others’ work is a constant negotiation. Whether passively or actively, what we consume influences what we produce. With that in mind, perhaps creation – of ‘new’ art, science, text, media – should be viewed as an act of interpretation rather than invention.


Notes for further reading:

Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”

Roland Barthes, “The Death of the Author”

Popbitch, “All Mapped Out” argues that Maps by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs is the most influential pop song of the 21st century

Reimagining Audio Tours

Detour

Detour provides location-aware narratives for 10 cities around the world and is further collaborating with cultural institutions for indoor experiences. (link) The company’s innovation lies exploiting built-in technologies of the phone: the gyroscope, accelerometer and GPS. Using data from these sources, the audio tour adjusts to the user’s location so they never run ahead or fall behind the narration. Furthermore, the company is exploring indoor tours such as their collaboration with San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. By using wifi to locate users within the building, they’ve created ‘conditional’ audio tours rather than linear narratives. Visitors move through galleries freely, triggering specific audio clips to be played as their location is identified.

Audio Tour Hack

Audio Tour Hacks creates audio tours of art exhibitions reimagined in new contexts. Some of their work has included children analyzing art on display at the MoMA or presenting John Chamberlain’s sculptures as an exhibition about the Transformers.

Ideas

  • An audio tour that is irrespective of location, but is direction/action-oriented. Walk north for five minutes, consider your surroundings. Is it a trail in a park? A busy street? A rural road? If you encounter someone going the same direction, slow down. Would this be classified more as a guided meditation through physical space?
  • An audio tour narrated by tweets collected around hashtags with pitstops provided by geotags.
  • An audio tour of the internet. Is it link-based, using the endless connections afforded by related Wikipedia articles? If someone narrated their internet navigation, could listeners follow along?

On Listening and Moving, or Not Moving

I get to the corner of 12th and Avenue B too soon, I’ve walked too quickly. Unable to stand idly, I cross the street four times — north, east, south, west. Can I do it again without someone noticing? I hope no one noticed. Someone probably noticed. I would notice. Maybe I’ll keep walking on 12th. I can’t remember what the map showed. Finally a relief: I’m told to keep walking east.

Audio tours are expected in certain contexts: museums, art galleries, historical landmarks. Here, being plugged in, stopping and staring, is the norm. Groups form and reform around selected pieces of art, listening together but separately. We are engaged in the same one-sided conversation, collectively looking at the same details. We perform as expected: standing, looking, reading, examining, thinking, moving slowly. Then we dissipate. New masses form around new pieces.

Standing mid-block, staring at the building across the street, I’m self conscious about standing, waiting, not looking at my phone. Why can’t I find somewhere to sit? I feel that people are looking at me. I know it’s a foolish thought; everyone is preoccupied with their own destination, phone, companion.

On the sidewalk, moving is the expected behaviour and behaving differently draws attention. New York is not a place for dawdling. What does it mean to “go slow” when everyone else moves so quickly? When we are alone and stop, are we obligated to engage—is standing and looking not enough? Phones provide a relief: she’s busy scrolling, he’s messaging his roommate. Benches and chairs imply reason for being somewhere: he’s resting his tired legs, she’s waiting for her lunch companion. We are visibly occupied.

What else is everyone listening to? I don’t know my classmates well enough to recognize anyone else on this audio walk. Would I feel less self-conscious in a group? Would it draw more attention: three people, standing together but plugged in to individual devices, staring at the same elementary school building? Perhaps it would attract others to stop and stare.

”Passing Stranger,” an audio tour by Pejk Malinovski, creates a museum out of the East Village. There are no wall labels indicating pieces within the collection and no stationary groups to become anonymous within. But there are also no admission fees, no hushed murmur of people whispering, no rules about standing too close to the art. This museum is always open and the exhibition will continue to change over time in unexpected ways.

I listen to Jim Jarmusch tell me about W.H. Auden. I want to ask questions but this is a one-way conversation. Perhaps in the future audio tours will behave like Siri. Perhaps it’s better just to listen.