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Can You Copyright a Toilet Flush?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2002
I thought I had heard it all. Or I guess it's what I DIDN'T hear. Some news from the British music industry may have some copyright lawyers wringing their hands and cackling with glee.
Apparently, silence can be copyrighted.
I'll bet you're gaping, open-mouthed in stunned silence, as you read this. Yes, silence can be copyrighted. And by gaping silently at these words, you're violating that copyright right now.
Okay, that last part isn't true. But creating a silent track on your own CD can actually land you in some legal hot water, as Mike Batt, former member of the UK band The Wombles, is finding out. He's facing a potential lawsuit for copying silence from avant-garde composer John Cage ("avant-garde," from the French meaning "No one cares except a bunch of black-turtle-neck-wearing-ramble-on-about-existentialism coffee house barflies.")
According to the London Independent (official motto: "You're Not the Boss of Me!"), Batt received a letter from the Mechanical-Copyright Protection Society, the British organization charged with collecting royalties for composers and publishers.
The MCPS sent him a standard license form for his Postmodern composition, "A One Minute Silence," because he listed Cage as a composer, and supposedly demanded royalty payments for his own 60 seconds of non-sound.
"Postmodern" is German for "avant-garde."
The MCPS claims Batt used a quotation from Cage's piece "4 minutes, 33 seconds," a composition composed entirely of four minutes and 33 seconds of dead silence. Cage, being the clever avant-garde artist, named the piece to match it's length. It should have been titled "Truly Pointless and Stupid" so it could have matched the concept instead.
But Batt says this isn't true. "My silence is original silence," he told the Independent, "not a quotation from his silence." And as he said in a National Public Radio interview this week, the composition is also original, ". . . because it's digital."
Oh well, if it's digital, then what's all the fuss?
The problem started when Batt gave credit to "Batt/Cage" on the composition (he said he did it "for a laugh"). But according to Andante Magazine, Gene Caprioglio, a representative of Cage's American publisher, says that Batt listed Cage on the credits for "obvious reasons. . . to evoke Cage's provocative 1952 composition."
Provocative? What's so provocative about four minutes and 33 seconds of dead silence? The song would be provocative if it were a cover version of "Inna Gadda Davida" played on a xylophone made of herring tins, but just because it's as silent as a church on Monday morning doesn't make it provocative. It makes it BORING!
But Caprioglio was steadfast. "If Mr. Batt wants to produce a minute of silence under his own name, we would obviously have no right to the royalties."
Cage, obviously having some sort of genius' foresight that his "masterpiece" would possibly be copied by musical ne'er-do-wells, left strict instructions that allowed "4:33" to actually be any length. However, there was no word as to whether the title of the song would change as well, to say, "2:18," "17:00," or "Dear Lord, Will This Thing Never End?!"
Cage's publishers, in an allegedly greedy attempt to get the thousands of pennies earned from Batt's composition, are arguing that Batt actually copied "4:33," but since his song was 3:33 shorter, he only copied part of it.
"As my mother said when I told her, 'which part of the silence are they claiming you nicked?'" Batt told the Independent.
What about those little 4 second gaps between songs on CDs? Who owns the copyrights to those? Does Cage, since he wrote the original recorded silence? But would Batt have a shot at them, since he was the first one to record silence digitally, and CDs are a digital medium? And since they're only 12% as long as Cage's original "masterpiece," will the royalties be prorated?
One could conceivably argue that silence existed long before there was life on this planet, and therefore silence is actually public domain, just like "Jingle Bells."
But that's not all. This silence controversy came just a few months after Jamie Kellner, chairman and CEO of Turner Network, said that when we don't watch TV commercials, we're committing theft.
There's that open-mouthed gape again. Let me explain.
In an April 29 interview in Cable World, Kellner railed against TiVo, fast forward buttons on VCR remotes, and flipping through the stations for three minutes. If you use any of these devices or tricks to avoid television commercials, he says, you're committing theft.
"Your contract with the network when you get the show is you're going to watch the spots. . . (a)nytime you skip a commercial or watch the button, you're actually stealing the programming," Kellner told interviewer Stacy Kramer, without explaining what he meant by "watch the button."
"What if you have to go the bathroom or get up to get a Coke?" Kramer asked.
Kellner responded: "I guess there's a certain amount of tolerance for going to the bathroom."
Gee, thanks Jamie. I'm glad you have "a certain amount of tolerance" for me not peeing on my couch as I watch your network.
And since when do I have a contractual obligation with the network? If I'm contractually obligated to watch commercials, aren't they contractually obligated not to broadcast a load of crap? (Please make your own jokes about network programming and bathroom breaks.)
I'd be interested in watching the commercials if they weren't the only things worse than the actual shows. I mean, who wants to watch Steve Urkel on old "Family Matters" reruns, or every single Atlanta Braves game? And don't give me that nonsense about everyone having different tastes, and trying to meet the programming tastes of different viewers.
Why is it that you can't meet my programming tastes, but I have to sit through "Can you hear me now? Good!" The whole thing is enough to make me go Elvis Presley on my TV and shoot it. But I'm sure Kellner will have some reason why I can't, like it violates his Constitutional rights to make me watch commercials for feminine freshness products.
But this gives me an idea for a song I call "3:57." I'll do an extended cover remix of Mike Batt's "A One Minute Silence" interspersed with the "Can You Hear Me Now?" phrase every nine seconds. I'll call it "Avant-Garde People Are Morons For Buying This CD."
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go violate my contract with network television. But I'll make sure I don't violate John Cage's copyrights when I do.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of July 5th, 2002)
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Dr. Seuss for the 21st Century
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2002
Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting a column from waaaay back in 1997.
I've filed a lawsuit, I've failed a claim
Against that food peddler with the three-worded name
He harassed and cajoled me so I count not rest
And now I suffer from post-traumatic stress
I did not like Green Eggs and Ham
I told him and told him
But it was all just a scam
He followed and bothered me
He just would not go
It didn't matter that I told him 'No'
I did not like Green Eggs and Ham
So now I am suing that jerk Sam I Am
I've come to this court to tell you my tale
His green eggs were spoiled, the ham it was stale
Ten million dollars is what he should pay
I'm suing for everything. It's the American Way!
He's rich and he's wealthy and he's got lots of cash,
And I am entitled to some of his stash
He stalked and he stalked and he stalked me some more
His Green Egg and Hamming was becoming a bore
He harassed me with goats, in trains, and in cars
He followed me everywhere, he went way too far!
His green eggs were spoiled, the ham it was tainted
I was so sick that I nearly fainted.
I was nauseous and bloated and vomited for days
I could not see through my food-poisoned haze
The doctors were puzzled, baffled and bamboozled
And could not think of a rhyme for "bamboozled"
They examined my stomach, my head and my toes
They sent me to bed and stuck tubes in my nose
They pumped out my stomach and made my head spin
I felt even worse than when I went in
I finally went home for a much needed rest
I wanted to sleep, I did not feel my best
I tossed and I turned and lay awake through the night
Things just got worse, I did not feel right
I shouted and screamed, my frustrations I did vent
And my family, they left me. One day they just went
I slipped into depression, I began to decline
I smoked and I cried and I drank myself blind
My life was in ruins, my life was in tatters
My life was all over, now nothing else matters
I've lost all my family, I cannot find work
And so I am suing that food peddling jerk
And now I'll give my tale a rest
and to this fine jury I will address
Convict this man, please put him away
Send him a message, make this man pay
Tell me your verdict, tell me your plan
About how you will punish this wretch Sam I Am
We the jury have decided his fate
It took us two hours. We just could not wait
We sat here for months without any rest
We gave it our all, we gave it our best
The moral of the story, I think you will find
If you are wealthy, then justice is blind.
Despite all the evidence, the photos and knife
We could not agree that he ruined your life
We're letting Sam out, we'll send him away
So speaks the jury that serves in L.A.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of July 12th, 2002)
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At Least I Didn't Pick a Tuba
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2002
Every kid should learn to play a musical instrument.
I realize that will be difficult, what with all the education funding being viciously slashed by nearly every state in an effort to improve their students' abilities to take standardized tests. However, if we're not careful, this next generation of students will become musical illiterates.
Presidential Aide: "Bad news, Mr. President. We've just received the World Culture Report from the United Nations. It seems our country's orchestra is currently ranked below the Tarawa Symphony Orchestra of the island nation of Kiribati.
President: Who'd we beat?
Presidential Aide: It's a tie, sir. We are currently ranked higher than an Australian jug band and some crazy guy with two sticks and a toy xylophone.
President: Wow, that's a shame. Let's go play some tee-ball.
Luckily, my parents believed that a musical education was important, so I was expected to play an instrument. In fact, I played five different instruments over a ten year period. I learned to play the guitar, the cello, the French horn, the mellophone (it's a giant trumpet that French Horn players play during marching band season; don't ask.), and even dabbled with the violin for a week.
Of course, I don't remember how to play any of these instruments today, but I did develop some valuable musical and rhythmic skills. I've learned to appreciate all kinds of music, can sing in tune, and can name every instrument on Ravel's "Bolero."
And if you're wondering why I only played violin for a week, it's because I switched to cello. It had to do partly with the fact that I was the only boy playing violin. That, and the orchestra teacher loved to make cracks like "don't fiddle around with the violins."
The cello ended up being the lesser of two evils, although I'm still not sure I made the right choice. While switching from the violin did reduce my odds of getting beat up, the cello was a gazillion times heavier and more awkward to carry home.
I lived exactly one mile from my grade school, with a slight uphill grade on the way home, and a steep hill on the way to school. But, unlike my own parents childhoods, these hills were actually on different streets, and didn't magically change direction through the day.
Since I had to walk to and from school every day, and had to lug the cello home twice a week, one would think I would have learned a valuable lesson. But like any nine year old, I wouldn't learn my lesson if it were spelled out with baseball cards and candy.
So needless to say, when I entered the fifth grade, I made a similarly stupid choice in selecting my band instrument.
Ever since the third grade, I had developed a keen interest in one particular instrument, and knew that I wanted to play it. I also knew when I was in the fifth grade, I could join the band, and learn to play the instrument that haunted my soul.
Finally, after two agonizing years, the big day came. Potential musical proteges marched down to the band room, were given a card, and told to write down the instrument we wanted to play.
I clutched my pencil in a death grip, and carefully wrote each letter. I had one shot at this, and neatness counted if I wanted to achieve my dreams.
"A-L-P-I-N-E-H-O-R-N"
"Alpine Horn?!" Mr. McDaniel, the band director, nearly shouted. "Do you even know what an Alpine Horn is?"
"Sure I do. It's that 15 foot horn they play in the Alps." I had done my homework, and knew that Swiss and German shepherds used them. I also found out later that Mozart had even written a composition for Alpine Horn. It turns out it was Leopold Mozart, but apparently that didn't matter.
"I don't think there's an Alpine Horn anywhere in Indiana, let alone in Muncie. Just pick another instrument," he suggested. "Something a little more. . . sane."
Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I remembered something one of my parents' friends told me. This was very odd, because at ten years old, I never listened to my parents, let alone well-meaning strangers.
"Learn to play the French Horn," said the friend, "and you will be able to play anything."
"How about the French Horn," I asked Mr. McDaniel.
"We've got one of those," he said, sealing my fate. I went on to become one of only four grade school French Horn players in the entire city that year. That number grew to five horn players in my high school, through a series of trumpeter defections and strong-arm tactics from our high school band director.
As a result, my growth during fifth and sixth grade was severely limited, but my arms grew at an alarming rate. The rest of my body didn't catch up until I was 19. You see, the French Horn is not so much a brass instrument as it is a 120 pound concrete block with a mouthpiece on one end.
Three times a week, I would lug my instrument home, wondering if I could talk my parents into buying me a motorized cart, or even moving closer to the school. As I would stagger home, some mouth-breathing grown-up with delusions of cleverness would call out helpful things like "You should have picked the piccolo," or "Bet you wish that came with wheels."
I would usually fake a smile, wave, and silently wish I had gotten that Alpine Horn I asked for. Shepherds could nail a hungry wolf from 75 feet with one, and suburban dorks weren't much harder to hit.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of July 19th, 2002)
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Because I Said So, That's Why
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2002
"Okay, honey, it's time for bed."
"Because you're six years old, and it's 9:30. It's already past your bedtime."
"I know you don't feel tired. But you should have been in bed 30 minutes ago."
"Yes, I know you want to play with your new Barbie doll. But she looks a little tired. And so do you. So get moving."
"OW! Sorry, I stepped on one of Barbie's shoes. You need to clean this up tomorrow -- honey, why doesn't Barbie have any clothes on?"
"No, it's not funny to take Barbie's clothes off. Where's your Ken doll?"
"You didn't take his clothes off, did you?"
"Good. Why don't you keep him in Barbie's Dream House tonight."
"No, you don't have to put naked Barbie in there with him."
"Uhh, just because."
"Because I said so. . . look, why don't you ask Mommy that question in about 10 years or so."
"Okay, climb into bed. Let me tuck you in. Don't forget to say your prayers."
"Amen. No honey, I don't know what God looks like."
"Yes honey, He lives in Heaven."
"Yes, Heaven is up."
"Well, the sky is blue because when sunlight hits our atmosphere, the blue light bounces off molecules in the air."
"The atmosphere is like a big invisible blanket over the Earth."
"Yes, invisible like your puppy Bloodhounder."
"No, I don't know what Bloodhounder did today."
"I didn't know that Barbie didn't like Bloodhounder."
"Why would your invisible dog try to eat your plastic Barbie?"
"Well, then why don't you feed him more often?"
"No, you cannot feed him the hamburger in the refrigerator. That's for dinner tomorrow."
"No we can't have pizza for dinner. We just had pizza."
"Because I said so. Look, don't you want to know what the atmosphere is?"
"Yeah, I didn't think it was that interesting either."
"I don't know. You need to go to sleep now."
"No, I'm not going to check your closet for monsters."
"Because there's no such thing as monsters."
"Yes, I know Elmo and Cookie Monster are monsters, but they're friendly monsters. Besides they're just on TV."
"Alright, I'll check. See, there's no monsters in your closet."
"No, they're not in the toy box either. And before you ask, they're not in the clothes hamper, your shoe cabinet, or on the shelves."
"Because they wouldn't fit in the shoe cabinet, honey."
"Yes, I know I said there's no such thing as monsters. I was just making a point -- listen, you need to go to sleep!"
"Why would they be under your bed? Is there even any room under your bed for monsters?"
"Fine. If I check, will you go to sleep?"
"I'll show you there's nothing under -- AAGGHHHHHH, WHAT'S THAT?!"
"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry! No, honey, stop crying. No, there's no monster under there. I stuck my hand under the bed, and your Tickle Me Elmo doll went off."
"Yes, I suppose technically there WAS a monster under the bed. But he's not even the real Elmo Monster, he's just a toy."
"Yes, that's funny. It'll be even funnier when my heart stops pounding."
"Because I just scared myself on your Tickle Me Elmo. Please clean that up tomorrow too."
"No, I can't read you a story. It's time for you to go to sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow."
"Let's see. You've got to play with your sister, play with the dogs, watch Sesame Street, and clean your room."
"I know that's what you do every day. But--"
"Yes, I realize that it's not really a big day tomorrow. I was just saying that so you would go to sleep."
"No, that's not a lie."
"Because it isn't. I would explain it if you didn't have to go to sleep right now."
"We've been through this already. Whether or not you're tired has nothing to do with going to bed at a certain time."
"You can stay up later when you're older."
"I don't know! About 12."
"That's in six years."
"No, I will not read you a story."
"Don't start that. You know, if you keep that bottom lip out, a bird will land on it."
"No, not really."
"No, not even an invisible bird."
"Yes, invisible like Bloodhounder."
"You already told me what Bloodhounder did today."
"That's right, with your Barbie."
"No, no more questions. That's enough. It's time for you to go to sleep right now."
"Shh."
"I mean it. No more."
"Your night light is still on."
"Yes, good night. Go to sleep."
"I love you too. See you tomorrow."
"Jeez, you scared me. Don't sneak up on me like that."
"Yes, she just went to bed."
"No, we weren't playing around!"
"I was NOT trying to keep her awake."
"She was -- never mind."
"Listen, you need to talk with her tomorrow. She's taking Barbie's clothes off."
"No, I'm not going to talk to her about it."
"Because daddies don't talk about that kind of stuff with their daughters, mommies do."
"I am NOT blushing!"
"No, I'm not!"
"I'm going to read for a while. You should go check for monsters under her bed."
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of July 26th, 2002)
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