Here is a link to my FINAL ESSAY.
This essay came as a result of both a love for the novel Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close and its remarkable handling of sound and trauma. Interestingly, in a critical essay from Philippe Codde (referenced for other reasons within the essay), Foer has discussed a deep interest in visual representations of 9/11, saying, "'To speak about what happened on September 11 requres a visual language'" (247). I found it intriguing that he would cite this as an explanation for all of the photopgraphy in the text, while it seemed to me to be a novel deeply rooted in audio.
In addition, the novel received very mixed reviews--but I am confident that Foer will play a significant role in the literary world in the near future (between this deeply moving text and the more widely lauded Everything is Illuminated, Foer could become quite a force). Literary criticism on the text is hard to come by, and contributing to a mostly-untrodden field is important to me.
This text would likely work in any publication that focuses on contemporary literary criticism. Although our focus is on sound, this essay's handing would not likely be as technical or as centered as works that fit in, for example, Sound Unbound.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Abstract (Help! need guidance, suggestions--a tenous thesis making me nervous)
In Jonathan Safran Foer’s second novel, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, sound recording intensifies Oscar Schell’s trauma of the loss of his father in the World Trade Center on 9/11 as he is able to relive his father’s voicemails from the day of the attack over and over. Oskar feels forced into silence through a sense of complicity because the recordings provides a reminder of his inability not only to save his father but to even answer the phone to talk to him that morning. These recordings haunt him as he searches for visual evidence of his father’s death, such as those of the “Falling Man,” as if the sound recording itself cannot provide enough closure for his father’s death.
In The Audible Past, Jonathan Sterne describes sound recording as a “resonant tomb,” which offers “the exteriority of the voice with none of its interior self-awareness” (290). Foer’s novel acknowledges this, but shifts the role of the recording to the interior.
I will argue that although sound recordings haunt Oscar throughout the novel, and he is searching for a visual representation, sound is also the best medium for healing for his loss. One of the first things that Oscar tells his reader is that he wishes he could invent a type of microphone that could be swallowed so everyone could hear what each other’s hearts’ sounded like (eventually syncing up “like how women who live together have their menstrual periods at the same time”). This might at first seem contrary to the effects of the other sound recordings of the novel—the answering machine tapes from Oscar’s father—but instead they both ultimately reveal an opening for interior healing. Oscar’s own healing can serve as a model for a larger cultural healing: the external absence representation of the trauma (the unavoidable visual absence Twin Towers) can be filled instead through sound with the Sonic Memorial Project.
In The Audible Past, Jonathan Sterne describes sound recording as a “resonant tomb,” which offers “the exteriority of the voice with none of its interior self-awareness” (290). Foer’s novel acknowledges this, but shifts the role of the recording to the interior.
I will argue that although sound recordings haunt Oscar throughout the novel, and he is searching for a visual representation, sound is also the best medium for healing for his loss. One of the first things that Oscar tells his reader is that he wishes he could invent a type of microphone that could be swallowed so everyone could hear what each other’s hearts’ sounded like (eventually syncing up “like how women who live together have their menstrual periods at the same time”). This might at first seem contrary to the effects of the other sound recordings of the novel—the answering machine tapes from Oscar’s father—but instead they both ultimately reveal an opening for interior healing. Oscar’s own healing can serve as a model for a larger cultural healing: the external absence representation of the trauma (the unavoidable visual absence Twin Towers) can be filled instead through sound with the Sonic Memorial Project.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Soundscape: "What's Cookin Now" response
Tony Clavelli and Jason Freeman's "What's Cookin Now"
Our goal with “What’s Cookin’ Now” was to take a traditional, older audio file, and remix it in a variety of (potentially) contradicting ways to incorporate fragments of multiple sound artists we read about this semester. Beginning with John Cage, some of the original layers of the tracks contain our version of the “Water Walk.” Both Jason and I would wander around the kitchen and perform tasks at specific moments in the song that felt good. This is slightly different from Cage, because our work was improvised instead of written as a score. To further complicate this scenario, our motions were occasionally very deliberate. For example, I actually made a cup of coffee during the recording—grinding beans, heating up water for the press—because within the artificial context, the act of recording became part of the listening process as well. Instead of simply acting, there was now a rhythm and a set of parameters in which to act—I could only grind the beans on beat with the song, but I still had the goal of making coffee in mind.
Thematically, this deliberate action in an otherwise random setting is how “What’s Cooking Now” functions throughout. The track itself that provides a backdrop for the song, Hank Williams’ “Hey Good Lookin’,” was set to modulates in pitch and balance with a fixed period, however no other noises are so in sync. More importantly, the modulation period is in no way related to the tempo of the original track. This can be seen as a variation of the sort of cutting and organizing that Burroughs did in his “routines,” yet here there there was no distinct cut, but a blurring of the organization of sound, which similarly disorganizes the feel of the track.
In his chapter in Sound Unbound, Manuel DeLanda writes that a sound can be classified by its pitch, timbre, loudness, and duration, and he compares this to the DNA of the sound. By warping all of those simultaneously, we changed the DNA of the track so that is no longer what it was originally, but is instead something entirely different—which is what the whole remix culture thrives on.
We added, in a rather distant mix, a bit of a hip hop beat. Again, this layer mixes a combination of the new and digital world with something that is less precise and organic. Since the track’s tempo was fixed before we imported it to Garage Band, we weren’t able to automatically match a beat behind it. Instead, that beat was recorded manually, clicking the beat live on the keyboard as if it was an analog instrument. This further added to the anachronistic feeling of hearing Hank Williams in a digital world, while still hearing the kitchen sounds that fit well with the themes of his song.
Listening to the track, it’s not exactly as interesting as I had originally hoped. The whole thing clunks and is generally more disorienting than it is fun to listen to. But both Cage and Burroughs would not have said this was a fault, but instead a virtue. We were able to turn an old favorite into something uglier and stranger, and still enjoy ourselves clunking around the kitchen and banging on things. Perhaps it was not subversive, but it was a fun way to reimagine a text.
(Note: The track itself can be found on the CLC website, uploaded to the folder as directed in the chat room.)
Our goal with “What’s Cookin’ Now” was to take a traditional, older audio file, and remix it in a variety of (potentially) contradicting ways to incorporate fragments of multiple sound artists we read about this semester. Beginning with John Cage, some of the original layers of the tracks contain our version of the “Water Walk.” Both Jason and I would wander around the kitchen and perform tasks at specific moments in the song that felt good. This is slightly different from Cage, because our work was improvised instead of written as a score. To further complicate this scenario, our motions were occasionally very deliberate. For example, I actually made a cup of coffee during the recording—grinding beans, heating up water for the press—because within the artificial context, the act of recording became part of the listening process as well. Instead of simply acting, there was now a rhythm and a set of parameters in which to act—I could only grind the beans on beat with the song, but I still had the goal of making coffee in mind.
Thematically, this deliberate action in an otherwise random setting is how “What’s Cooking Now” functions throughout. The track itself that provides a backdrop for the song, Hank Williams’ “Hey Good Lookin’,” was set to modulates in pitch and balance with a fixed period, however no other noises are so in sync. More importantly, the modulation period is in no way related to the tempo of the original track. This can be seen as a variation of the sort of cutting and organizing that Burroughs did in his “routines,” yet here there there was no distinct cut, but a blurring of the organization of sound, which similarly disorganizes the feel of the track.
In his chapter in Sound Unbound, Manuel DeLanda writes that a sound can be classified by its pitch, timbre, loudness, and duration, and he compares this to the DNA of the sound. By warping all of those simultaneously, we changed the DNA of the track so that is no longer what it was originally, but is instead something entirely different—which is what the whole remix culture thrives on.
We added, in a rather distant mix, a bit of a hip hop beat. Again, this layer mixes a combination of the new and digital world with something that is less precise and organic. Since the track’s tempo was fixed before we imported it to Garage Band, we weren’t able to automatically match a beat behind it. Instead, that beat was recorded manually, clicking the beat live on the keyboard as if it was an analog instrument. This further added to the anachronistic feeling of hearing Hank Williams in a digital world, while still hearing the kitchen sounds that fit well with the themes of his song.
Listening to the track, it’s not exactly as interesting as I had originally hoped. The whole thing clunks and is generally more disorienting than it is fun to listen to. But both Cage and Burroughs would not have said this was a fault, but instead a virtue. We were able to turn an old favorite into something uglier and stranger, and still enjoy ourselves clunking around the kitchen and banging on things. Perhaps it was not subversive, but it was a fun way to reimagine a text.
(Note: The track itself can be found on the CLC website, uploaded to the folder as directed in the chat room.)
Monday, April 6, 2009
Us Kids Know
One of the key problems with Sound Unbound, and really it's not a problem at all, is that each essay is so distinct and interesting, that to blog about 2 or 3 of the 30+ essays feels like I'm limited myself just a single note when there's a whole keyboard full of ideas here (not sure about that analogy...).
But I want to start with what caught my attention, and something that I have a sort of answer for. Lanier's essay that closes this book begs the question: "why is there no new pop music?" (He emphasizes repeatedly that it's not an issue of thinking the new pop music of today is bad, but that it doesn't exist.) So my first question will be a repeat of what perplexed Lanier to the point where he just ran out of things to say, ending his essay with a few potential explanations and then stumbling through a last paragraph about his word count.
I think Lanier's perfectly right to ask this question. He spends plenty of time explaining what he means, and even as a deep lover of music, and, more importantly, someone who REALLY hates when people complain about new generations being inferior to the previous ones (there isn't a better way to instantly become old), he certainly has a point. Pop music, the kinds of things that really become huge, is largely the same as it has been for quite some time. I agree this far in his argument, but I think there might be other issues involved that he fails to address.
First, when was the last time what was truly popular was actually, genuinely good and refreshing and new? Even Michael Jackson, whom I'd argue was pretty awesome during his time, was not particularly innovative with his sound. Under Lanier's definition of "new," there really hasn't been music both "new" AND "pop" (meaning not just the genre, but the popularity level) in longer than just a decade. Second, while this may be a bit perplexing, and is undoubtedly the result of some loose combination of the six suggestions he brings up, is this necessarily a bad thing?
What appears to be happening is that with the almost explosively expanding music world (I'd be willing to wager that the shear volume of albums produced in the past 10 years, likely technology related in its expansion, exceeds the total production of history before that, though i have no proof), "pop" music has been diluted, and innovation, as it always has, has been pushed to the outside. What's interesting, is that this innovation is actually pretty big. Small sects of loyal followings cluster into new genres (not just derivitives and amalgamations of other genres) and nearly push forth into "pop" culture. Around the world, artists like Bjork (she comes up a lot here), Sigur Ros, and Cornelius are all doing things much larger than living in the "corners" of the world, just not quite as powerful in this country. What could be seen as enormously popular in one sub-culture, even LARGE subcultures like the "hipster" crowd (typing it in an academic setting makes me slightly nauseous), isn't quite enough to get everyone's teenage little sister singing along.
So what I'm trying to say, is that we've gone on a long time as it is without having the masses following along with the fringe (the really large fringe) innovations. I know I don't answer why people are content with the same old thing, it's baffling to me too. When I hear my neighbors playing music at a party that's the exact same garbage (literally the same songs) that were around in middle school and high school, I can't understand. How come people find something stale and boring and say "No more! If it's new, i don't want it!"? The masses have become old grandmothers, and unlike Lanier's suggestion that we can't just remain aloof, I say we let her rot in a nursing home and keep supporting new sounds.
And my second question relates to Keller's essay about how listening becomes performance. How would this relate to recent trends of things like Rockband, Guitar Hero, and increasing worldwide karaoke interest relate to this? This is interactive of course, blurring listener and performance, but it's also stirring up speculation about how this could be affecting interest in real musical instruments (both positively and negatively). The change here in techonology might indeed change how we make culture. I'm not sure.
Finally, I just wanted to post this video of the Raymond Scott Quartet--because I'm a huge fan of Looney Tunes, and this music, and had no idea who was really behind it until Sound Unbound.
(plus it's shot really well. I'd write about music videos in relation to Ken Jordan, but maybe another time!)
But I want to start with what caught my attention, and something that I have a sort of answer for. Lanier's essay that closes this book begs the question: "why is there no new pop music?" (He emphasizes repeatedly that it's not an issue of thinking the new pop music of today is bad, but that it doesn't exist.) So my first question will be a repeat of what perplexed Lanier to the point where he just ran out of things to say, ending his essay with a few potential explanations and then stumbling through a last paragraph about his word count.
I think Lanier's perfectly right to ask this question. He spends plenty of time explaining what he means, and even as a deep lover of music, and, more importantly, someone who REALLY hates when people complain about new generations being inferior to the previous ones (there isn't a better way to instantly become old), he certainly has a point. Pop music, the kinds of things that really become huge, is largely the same as it has been for quite some time. I agree this far in his argument, but I think there might be other issues involved that he fails to address.
First, when was the last time what was truly popular was actually, genuinely good and refreshing and new? Even Michael Jackson, whom I'd argue was pretty awesome during his time, was not particularly innovative with his sound. Under Lanier's definition of "new," there really hasn't been music both "new" AND "pop" (meaning not just the genre, but the popularity level) in longer than just a decade. Second, while this may be a bit perplexing, and is undoubtedly the result of some loose combination of the six suggestions he brings up, is this necessarily a bad thing?
What appears to be happening is that with the almost explosively expanding music world (I'd be willing to wager that the shear volume of albums produced in the past 10 years, likely technology related in its expansion, exceeds the total production of history before that, though i have no proof), "pop" music has been diluted, and innovation, as it always has, has been pushed to the outside. What's interesting, is that this innovation is actually pretty big. Small sects of loyal followings cluster into new genres (not just derivitives and amalgamations of other genres) and nearly push forth into "pop" culture. Around the world, artists like Bjork (she comes up a lot here), Sigur Ros, and Cornelius are all doing things much larger than living in the "corners" of the world, just not quite as powerful in this country. What could be seen as enormously popular in one sub-culture, even LARGE subcultures like the "hipster" crowd (typing it in an academic setting makes me slightly nauseous), isn't quite enough to get everyone's teenage little sister singing along.
So what I'm trying to say, is that we've gone on a long time as it is without having the masses following along with the fringe (the really large fringe) innovations. I know I don't answer why people are content with the same old thing, it's baffling to me too. When I hear my neighbors playing music at a party that's the exact same garbage (literally the same songs) that were around in middle school and high school, I can't understand. How come people find something stale and boring and say "No more! If it's new, i don't want it!"? The masses have become old grandmothers, and unlike Lanier's suggestion that we can't just remain aloof, I say we let her rot in a nursing home and keep supporting new sounds.
And my second question relates to Keller's essay about how listening becomes performance. How would this relate to recent trends of things like Rockband, Guitar Hero, and increasing worldwide karaoke interest relate to this? This is interactive of course, blurring listener and performance, but it's also stirring up speculation about how this could be affecting interest in real musical instruments (both positively and negatively). The change here in techonology might indeed change how we make culture. I'm not sure.
Finally, I just wanted to post this video of the Raymond Scott Quartet--because I'm a huge fan of Looney Tunes, and this music, and had no idea who was really behind it until Sound Unbound.
(plus it's shot really well. I'd write about music videos in relation to Ken Jordan, but maybe another time!)
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sell everything: Chat from 3/30/09
This week's chat... hit the jump (if I set up a jump right)
[15:57] Sabrina Loudwater: next week my avatar definitely won't have a protruding belly!
[15:58] Kathereene Kahanamoku: bhodi, I forgot how to sit again
[15:58] Howl Yifu: yes, got to keep the avatar up to the real - you should have a baby to accompany your avatar next week
[15:57] Sabrina Loudwater: next week my avatar definitely won't have a protruding belly!
[15:58] Kathereene Kahanamoku: bhodi, I forgot how to sit again
[15:58] Howl Yifu: yes, got to keep the avatar up to the real - you should have a baby to accompany your avatar next week
Sunday, March 29, 2009
We So SyFy
With the completely huge and wide-ranging topics covered in Sound Unbound there can easily be a lack of organization to a discussion about the text--which is likely the way that the writers would have expected it (or, instead, as a string of separate conversations, which is likely what this will be, that will combine to make this other thing, which is both our class and some other text/file/thing/?//).
Before I get into questions, I want to draw your attention to an assertion from the book's editor that will set up my next two questions: Miller writers, "We live in an era where quotation and sampling operate on such a deep level that the archaelogy of what can be called 'knowledge' floats in a murky realm between the real and the unreal" (11).
So thinking of that quote, what do we think of Doctorow's argument in favor of keeping technology going--the anti-Metallica approach--that "crippling" this technological change "to save someone's outmoded busienss model is a crime against humanity"? Other references to this issue from other writers (even Lethem's kind plea not to pirate his texts for awhile, but to remix away) all seem to feel similarly.
So yeah, what do we think? The question has come up in class before, about intellectual property, and copyright, but with this book's bold assertion that copyright laws are misused and damaging to future art.
If we continue on a similar thread, to move to Lethem's essay on plagiarism (which he pretends to plagiarize, but then attributes sources--kinda cute, but really takes the plagiarism out of the picture. Why not have said, "Ya know what? I stole half of this essay. Eat it."?), is there a necessity to quote and borrow, and a "delight" as he suggests (43)?
I definitely think there is, and yet often when I'm writing, I'll think of an idea, and then suddenly panic when I realize it's terribly similar to something I'd see before--or worse, something I see after that turns out to have been done before. If this is just crytomnesia, and something natural, and something I support fully, why do I dread my influences still? Do the other artists here do the same thing--painstakingly try not to repeat, even if the greatest artists in history borrow and steal themselves?
Jumping forward a bit, Ken Jordan and Paul Miller cover some issues about audio composition software. We have an assignment in this class that could easily involve some of this. They liken parts of the process to building out of Legos with sound. In my experience recording with Garage Band, this is a pretty accurate assessment. Similar to the arguments made about Cage (and Cage's responses), this makes music production awfully easy. I think of one of my favorite electronic musicians, Four Tet, and it sounds really "GarageBandish"--which seems like a bad thing.
So I have two videos to sort of get us thinking about this issue:
First is a video of a song from a guy who claims to not be able to play either the piano or the drums, but was edited to appear that he can. The video, in this case, just adds a bit of intrigue, the sound is recorded simulatenously, so in effect, this editing would work just as well without it. This is clearly awesome (sorry to be leading), but something's still unsettling about it.
And this next video is of a Tenori-On. This is an instrument that really emphasizes the maker as the listener too, as Jordan and Miller suggest that music is moving towards. As you watch this, you can probably see that playing this could easily lead to letting yourself be the listener and producer at the same time. Aside from the fact that I want to buy one of these immediately (and am pretty sure I'm going to), does this take away from skill in programming? In a demo video of the instrument, Four Tet notes that you can sound pretty good on it without any practice.
What do we make of Goldsmith's "uncreativity"?
This essay is, as far as I can see, a lie. It's clearly creative. You mention that idea to just about any artist and I imagine most would say "Hm... weird" and BAM, it's creative and interesting. The act might be painful, and the result might not be something I'd be particularly interested in reading--but it's creative. It's fresh, it's the opposite of what he claims he wanted. Sorry Goldsmith.
Finally, and this isn't a question (though I do want to talk about Oliveros's improvisatory school), but reading about Kurzweil's cybernetic ideas was really exciting. I've got a 76 weighted key giant purple Kurzweil keyboard in my room, and it's been a treasure for years, and I never knew the company's founder had such bizarre and cool things to say.
But if we're out of time, and want to talk more about computers making sounds, this video can spark some conversation related to Oliveros as well.
Bicycle Built for Two Thousand from Aaron on Vimeo.
Okay, that's all, let's get talking and sound making.
Before I get into questions, I want to draw your attention to an assertion from the book's editor that will set up my next two questions: Miller writers, "We live in an era where quotation and sampling operate on such a deep level that the archaelogy of what can be called 'knowledge' floats in a murky realm between the real and the unreal" (11).
So thinking of that quote, what do we think of Doctorow's argument in favor of keeping technology going--the anti-Metallica approach--that "crippling" this technological change "to save someone's outmoded busienss model is a crime against humanity"? Other references to this issue from other writers (even Lethem's kind plea not to pirate his texts for awhile, but to remix away) all seem to feel similarly.
So yeah, what do we think? The question has come up in class before, about intellectual property, and copyright, but with this book's bold assertion that copyright laws are misused and damaging to future art.
If we continue on a similar thread, to move to Lethem's essay on plagiarism (which he pretends to plagiarize, but then attributes sources--kinda cute, but really takes the plagiarism out of the picture. Why not have said, "Ya know what? I stole half of this essay. Eat it."?), is there a necessity to quote and borrow, and a "delight" as he suggests (43)?
I definitely think there is, and yet often when I'm writing, I'll think of an idea, and then suddenly panic when I realize it's terribly similar to something I'd see before--or worse, something I see after that turns out to have been done before. If this is just crytomnesia, and something natural, and something I support fully, why do I dread my influences still? Do the other artists here do the same thing--painstakingly try not to repeat, even if the greatest artists in history borrow and steal themselves?
Jumping forward a bit, Ken Jordan and Paul Miller cover some issues about audio composition software. We have an assignment in this class that could easily involve some of this. They liken parts of the process to building out of Legos with sound. In my experience recording with Garage Band, this is a pretty accurate assessment. Similar to the arguments made about Cage (and Cage's responses), this makes music production awfully easy. I think of one of my favorite electronic musicians, Four Tet, and it sounds really "GarageBandish"--which seems like a bad thing.
So I have two videos to sort of get us thinking about this issue:
First is a video of a song from a guy who claims to not be able to play either the piano or the drums, but was edited to appear that he can. The video, in this case, just adds a bit of intrigue, the sound is recorded simulatenously, so in effect, this editing would work just as well without it. This is clearly awesome (sorry to be leading), but something's still unsettling about it.
Amateur - Lasse Gjertsen - watch more funny videos
And this next video is of a Tenori-On. This is an instrument that really emphasizes the maker as the listener too, as Jordan and Miller suggest that music is moving towards. As you watch this, you can probably see that playing this could easily lead to letting yourself be the listener and producer at the same time. Aside from the fact that I want to buy one of these immediately (and am pretty sure I'm going to), does this take away from skill in programming? In a demo video of the instrument, Four Tet notes that you can sound pretty good on it without any practice.
What do we make of Goldsmith's "uncreativity"?
This essay is, as far as I can see, a lie. It's clearly creative. You mention that idea to just about any artist and I imagine most would say "Hm... weird" and BAM, it's creative and interesting. The act might be painful, and the result might not be something I'd be particularly interested in reading--but it's creative. It's fresh, it's the opposite of what he claims he wanted. Sorry Goldsmith.
Finally, and this isn't a question (though I do want to talk about Oliveros's improvisatory school), but reading about Kurzweil's cybernetic ideas was really exciting. I've got a 76 weighted key giant purple Kurzweil keyboard in my room, and it's been a treasure for years, and I never knew the company's founder had such bizarre and cool things to say.
But if we're out of time, and want to talk more about computers making sounds, this video can spark some conversation related to Oliveros as well.
Bicycle Built for Two Thousand from Aaron on Vimeo.
Okay, that's all, let's get talking and sound making.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Reflection in Asphalt
Before I even begin with questions, I want to discuss this idea that Silverman discusses in her Acoustic Mirror, bringing together a connection between film and reflection in a metaphoric sense. She cites Kracauer as suggestion that a movie goer goes to the cinema because he or she yearns for his or her own life (8). I interpreted this as a desire not to compensate for something, but instead to recognize and understand. When we look in a mirror, we attempt to see ourselves, and what we see may not always be entirely accurate, but it's close. Film can do the same thing--as does any art--and represent who we are as people in a way perhaps the viewer has not considered.
I love film. I spend much of time watching movies, thinking about movies, and attempting to make movies. That said, this book's use of psychoanalysis and theory assumed an enormous base of knowledge (explanations from the first chapter about fetishism, castration, lack, gaze, etc. were all explained far too quickly and with a sort of attitude that said "of course, duh, you know this is fact, why am I boring you?")--and as a result I really struggled to understand.
Our goal for these blogs is to take two questions and answer one of them, but I know that my answering of one will be very basic and probably wrong. So in its place, I'll answer a sort of easy one and ask two additional questions.
First, the one I think I can answer--what is the point of studying the female voice in film (as The Acoustic Mirror sets out to do)?
Previous work in film theory has focused on the way that the medium accentuates male gaze. Silverman argues that a similar "gaze" (is there a word for audio-gazing? do i even understand the concept of gaze enough for this metaphor to work for me?) is at work in Hollywood's use of the female voice--film holds the female to the female body. For example, there are few female voiceovers since allowing the female voice to be seen and not heard would put her beyond the reach of male gaze (164).
This leads me to another question--really, why aren't there female voiceovers? Silverman's suggestion mentioned above fits her thesis, but it doesn't seem to really answer the question at all (which is part of my problem with this kind of theory, but that's just my problem). Is it because more men get screenplays produced and few men write about women, or is there something else going on? I thought of my love of Discovery and BBC's Planet Earth, narrated in the US by Sigourney Weaver, but was narrated by David Attenborough for the British broadcast and the DVDs. Although I never heard Attenborough's, friends of mine said it was much better than Weaver's--and I remember constantly feeling strange that she was narrating. Was it a bad narration or is something else at work? I don't know why I have to struggle so hard to think of a film with a constant female voiceover, but I can think of dozens of films with male voiceovers.
Finally, Silverman suggests that viewers accept sound of a film as something "real," and that this stems from the "metaphysical tradition" that sound is immediate (43). She cites Lacan when she says that speech actually leads to absense, and that what you end up with is an "impression of reality" (44). Why is there a need to associate sound in film as something real? Is it only obvious because of the time we've had with the media in the present that clearly sound is NOT real, that the actors are mic'd, that sound effects are added in post (or sometimes even diagetic dialogue is voice-overed, re-recorded)? Do we actually trust sounds the way Silverman suggests (think about being scared at night, you hear creaks and rumbles, and trust sound even less, forcing yourself to turn on the light to know that everything is fine).
I'm including only a picture of asphalt here, to represent how clearly I could see this text:
I love film. I spend much of time watching movies, thinking about movies, and attempting to make movies. That said, this book's use of psychoanalysis and theory assumed an enormous base of knowledge (explanations from the first chapter about fetishism, castration, lack, gaze, etc. were all explained far too quickly and with a sort of attitude that said "of course, duh, you know this is fact, why am I boring you?")--and as a result I really struggled to understand.
Our goal for these blogs is to take two questions and answer one of them, but I know that my answering of one will be very basic and probably wrong. So in its place, I'll answer a sort of easy one and ask two additional questions.
First, the one I think I can answer--what is the point of studying the female voice in film (as The Acoustic Mirror sets out to do)?
Previous work in film theory has focused on the way that the medium accentuates male gaze. Silverman argues that a similar "gaze" (is there a word for audio-gazing? do i even understand the concept of gaze enough for this metaphor to work for me?) is at work in Hollywood's use of the female voice--film holds the female to the female body. For example, there are few female voiceovers since allowing the female voice to be seen and not heard would put her beyond the reach of male gaze (164).
This leads me to another question--really, why aren't there female voiceovers? Silverman's suggestion mentioned above fits her thesis, but it doesn't seem to really answer the question at all (which is part of my problem with this kind of theory, but that's just my problem). Is it because more men get screenplays produced and few men write about women, or is there something else going on? I thought of my love of Discovery and BBC's Planet Earth, narrated in the US by Sigourney Weaver, but was narrated by David Attenborough for the British broadcast and the DVDs. Although I never heard Attenborough's, friends of mine said it was much better than Weaver's--and I remember constantly feeling strange that she was narrating. Was it a bad narration or is something else at work? I don't know why I have to struggle so hard to think of a film with a constant female voiceover, but I can think of dozens of films with male voiceovers.
Finally, Silverman suggests that viewers accept sound of a film as something "real," and that this stems from the "metaphysical tradition" that sound is immediate (43). She cites Lacan when she says that speech actually leads to absense, and that what you end up with is an "impression of reality" (44). Why is there a need to associate sound in film as something real? Is it only obvious because of the time we've had with the media in the present that clearly sound is NOT real, that the actors are mic'd, that sound effects are added in post (or sometimes even diagetic dialogue is voice-overed, re-recorded)? Do we actually trust sounds the way Silverman suggests (think about being scared at night, you hear creaks and rumbles, and trust sound even less, forcing yourself to turn on the light to know that everything is fine).
I'm including only a picture of asphalt here, to represent how clearly I could see this text:
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