As this course unfolds I am becoming increasingly aware of the way our lives are mediated by computer code. The obvious examples are things like the alarm on our phone, or the software used to design the books we read (even the paper ones!). So I tried to think of objects or experiences in life that are not mediated by some kind of computer code. Think about making dinner. Those vegetables you bought, that little sticker on them contains a number that is scanned by a computer to help a computer keep track of inventory. The very cookware you are using was likely manufactured through a computer controlled process.
I love that this week's blog question sent us out into the world to look for examples or instances where that code mediated experience breaks down, and the code behind the scenes becomes visible. It reminds me of Bowker and Star who said that the infrastructure (in this case, the code) that governs our lives is really only invisible when it breaks. It also reminds me of Lessig, and his, Code is law.
What about those people who break things on purpose, and in doing so, usher in a new aesthetic?
In honour of the re-launch of the Cosmos television series, now hosted by Neil Degrasse Tyson (NDT), I wanted to write a blog post that showcased intentional breaking, but also allowed me to name drop NDT.
I bring you a brief history of pitch correction software. Better known as Auto-Tune.
In the above video, the creator of Auto-Tune demonstrates the ability of the software to digitally change the pitch of a singer while maintaining the tone. He goes on to emphasize that this software was always meant to be used as a secret weapon of the audio engineer, and never meant to be public knowledge. The thing I did not know was that the software is capable of live performance pitch correction! That for me was reminiscent of the quote from Wednesday, March 12th's lecture, in which the live performance only exists in opposition, or contrast, to the existence of our ability to represent the performance later on through recording. That quote leads me to wonder, if live performances are mediated by computer code, is there any contrast to the recording? How do we set about creating performance spaces that are not mediated by computer code?
Or in this reverse case, how do we intentionally break or expose the code? Cher surprised us all.
If Cher's vocals are content subsequently contained by Auto-Tune code, then where does the artistic exposure of the limits of software sit? In the content? Or in the container? It is a troubling question that I find hard to answer. Maybe because our model of content and container is broken, and the true answer is that the relationship of content to container is paradoxical. They bootstrap each other into existence. What do you think?
I love that this week's blog question sent us out into the world to look for examples or instances where that code mediated experience breaks down, and the code behind the scenes becomes visible. It reminds me of Bowker and Star who said that the infrastructure (in this case, the code) that governs our lives is really only invisible when it breaks. It also reminds me of Lessig, and his, Code is law.
What about those people who break things on purpose, and in doing so, usher in a new aesthetic?
In honour of the re-launch of the Cosmos television series, now hosted by Neil Degrasse Tyson (NDT), I wanted to write a blog post that showcased intentional breaking, but also allowed me to name drop NDT.
I bring you a brief history of pitch correction software. Better known as Auto-Tune.
Or in this reverse case, how do we intentionally break or expose the code? Cher surprised us all.
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ReplyDeleteI removed the previous comment because I noticed a couple of typos. I fixed it now:
ReplyDeleteCaleb, I won't attempt to answer the question you posed - it's too complex to attempt on a Friday afternoon. :) Your post, though, made me think of the resurgence of the "un-mediated existence", for lack of a better word. I'm referring to the desire of some people to shake free of the computers and other hi-tech devices that surround us. Whereas in the 1950s TV dinners were all the rage, now organic home cooking is the aspiration for many people. Part of it is health motivated, but I think that a large part of it is the desire to be free of technology. Perhaps a better example is knitting. Lately (in the past 10 years or so) younger people started knitting and crocheting. What was once reserved for retired old ladies is now embraced by teens (really!). The idea that you are creating something with your own hands is very powerful, and I think people are drawn to knitting and similar activities because it allows us to rebel against the computer, so to speak. Doesn't matter that the needles and yarn were probably manufactured by computer-controlled machinery - people (and I include myself :)) do what they can to get away from the uniformity imposed by this technology, even if it results in some nearly un-wearable items.
I guess this is a bit of a rant (sorry!), but thinking of people being creative by breaking or "misusing" the code made me think of the other response to code, which is simply to try to escape from it.
Hi Polina, I really like your phrase "response to code." How we respond as individuals and as a culture are so interesting to me. Their seem to be many camps of in every category. Even as you mentioned the 1950's I could not help but think of Helen and Scott Nearing and their book The good life. A book that helped to launch the famous Back-to-the-land movement. Basically, a bunch of people rejected mainstream culture and started organic farming in the 1950s!
ReplyDeleteOf course, there is merit to your suggestion that people were loving TV dinners. The technology boom of the post-war years introduced many fads and great sci-fi ideas. In fact, I think that you may have unwittingly pointed out a great example of container/content model. If dinner is really just about pieces of food, then a TV dinner should be very satisfying. However, we both know they don't compare to a sit down family dinner with a side-dish of embarrassing stories and mildly intoxicated relatives.