Really, It's Absolutely Asinine

In another one of its spurious litigations against file-sharers, the RIAA has shown just how extraordinary backwards it really is. Not that doubts existed before, but this shit is just too much.

From the Washington Post :

In legal documents in its federal case against Jeffrey Howell, a Scottsdale, Ariz., man who kept a collection of about 2,000 music recordings on his personal computer, the industry maintains that it is illegal for someone who has legally purchased a CD to transfer that music into his computer.

The industry's lawyer in the case, Ira Schwartz, argues in a brief filed earlier this month that the MP3 files Howell made on his computer from legally bought CDs are "unauthorized copies" of copyrighted recordings.

Baffling. This strategy was out of date when I was in middle school ten years ago -- hell, individuals making copies of copyrighted material like this has existed since effing cassette tapes.

I pay for all my music nowadays, but I'm definitely not above burning mix CDs for friends -- and I'm more scrupulous than most of the listeners I know. As if going after individual downloaders as a deterrent wasn't already an exercise in futility -- there's no way in hell this can possibly work. An attempt to restrict uploading onto personal computers without fine sharing -- something anyone with an mp3 player has to do -- has zero chance of effectively reducing file sharing. If people are in danger of being prosecuted for uploading music they've paid for, why not Soulseek that stuff for free?

The Washington Post article pretty much sums it up:

The RIAA's legal crusade against its customers is a classic example of an old media company clinging to a business model that has collapsed. Four years of a failed strategy has only "created a whole market of people who specifically look to buy independent goods so as not to deal with the big record companies," Beckerman says. "Every problem they're trying to solve is worse now than when they started."

Party in the TARDIS, sweetie dahling

Jennifer Saunders -- that's right, motherfucking Edina from AbFab -- could be playing the Doctor in a one-off Doctor Who special sometime in the future.

I was kinda bummed when I heard that the adorable David Tennant would be moving on after Season 4, but this almost makes up for it.



So. Freaking. Cute. And Scottish.

The Daily Mail article mentions two actors supposedly being considered to play the next Doctor full time. They are:

Irish actor James Nesbitt.



I could totally live with that. As it were.

And Rhys Ifans, who...well, not so much. Although he used to be in Super Furry Animals, so.


UPDATE: David Tennant denies rumors that he'll leave after the next series. To celebrate, here's one more pic.

Fun fact

What Bill Murray says to Scarlett Johansson at the end of Lost in Translation.

birthday card for my sister's 18th

Thought-Purge: Caetano Veloso, 11/7

So I saw Caetano Veloso in Chapel Hill last night. His performance was part of the Carolina Performing Arts series, the UNC version of UMS (for y'all Michiganders) except with (presumably) no sleeping outdoors. I've enjoyed the stuff they've brought to Memorial Auditorium so far, despite the deplorable lack of legroom in their seats.

I have to admit that while I cover any sequence of world-music-ish events for CVNC, by no means do I possess encyclopedic knowledge of the sounds of foreign lands. I have a cursory knowledge of West African and Indian music thanks to some exposure in school, and I can only hope my enthusiasm and curiosity will carry me through to some kind of non-hack insight into whatever I'm listening to. This results a lot of illegible-in-the-harsh-light-of-day scribbling about each piece, embarrassing phonetic interpretations of lyrics, hastily transcribed basslines that all end up looking like large-type braille.

And although I knew more about him than the likes of the griots, cimbalists, oud players I wrote up this year, I was totally unprepared for the sexy, weird, magnetic sexagenarian who's been called the Brazilian Bob Dylan. I guess that, from the fact that I had seen him headlining at the likes of Hill Auditorium (I think I bought tickets for his show one year at UM and couldn't go for some reason), looking all serious-like in the posters -- eyes downcast, face shown in profile, forehead against guitar neck -- he'd be, I dunno, boring.*



I could not have been more egregiously wrong.

To my credit, I didn't have a whole ton of notice before I signed up to review the gig (unlike my unsuccessful lobby to review a NC Symphony pops concert featuring Elvis Costello), and I even bought his most recent disc, Cê, which was released earlier this year. I only listened to it once before the show, and my impression was that it was a little toothless -- catchy enough for me to be able to pick out four or five songs from the disc he (and his band of hot young Brazilian rockers) played during the UNC set, but waaaay too easy on the ears. It deserves further analysis, but before the show, Cê sounded like an overprocessed reworking of the Cars' clean, catchy pop formula.

I was transfixed by the following during the show:

-Caetano looking unbearably hot, even from the back row, in contrasting denim and a beat-up polo that came off as more slacker/dorm room floor than lame old dude. The voice, which delivers a rippling stream of delectable Portuguese most of the time, doesn't hurt. Add to this bright-orange shoelaces and he was seriously adorable.

-His, um, quirkiness? Which manifested itself in a variety of ways, like his goofy-as-hell, coltish jogging/dancing across the stage during particularly rockin' instrumental interludes; baring his midriff during one of these treks to the edge of the stage (to which the small but vocal home crowd reacted quite positively); the RIDICULOUS overuse of strobe effects/blinding lights of the caliber usually confined to gigantic sports stadiums.

-The guitar he used during full-band numbers, which was some kind of curious wireless git-outline with no strings and a truncated neck (since it needed no pegs). It was brought out and taken back (so his arms were free to gesticulate spastically, of course) after every other tune.

I might sound put off, but I really think I just lack context; this thought-purge is an attempt to get my colloquial thoughts and first impressions out of my system before I write my review tomorrow. I'll follow up with thoughts on his larger body of work, but for now, I leave you with the translated lyrics to "Homem" ("Man") from Cê.

I'm not jealous of maternity
or of lactation
I'm not jealous of adiposity
or of menstruation

I only envy longevity
and multiple orgasms
and multiple orgasms


Damn, I wish I knew Portuguese.

*This atrocious sentence originally had no ending. I was kinda drunk.

Classical Review Roundup: Computers and Cambodia

A ferrealz update coming soon -- I've been busy shilling coffee for interminable hours each day and traversing the mid-Atlantic coast to see rock shows (thoughts on Spoon, Philly's Electric Factory, and the nature of the concertgoing experience coming soon).

My 60x60 review (the project is so worth checking out, whether you're into listening, composing, or coding)

and my review of the Chapel Hill performance of Pamina Devi: A Cambodian Magic Flute.

Jugalbandi Fever; In Way Over My Head Re: Jazz

Two more CVNC reviews up after last weekend's triple crown of concerts.

My attempt to evaluate and describe a really cool performance of ragas by santoor master Tarun Bhattacharya and Hindustani vocalist Anurag Harsh (and there was a harmonium! Squee!).

And making my jazz-related ignorance work for me at a genre-nebulous performance by Charlie Haden and Hank Jones at Duke University's Following Monk festival.

Look for reviews of the 60x60 2007 International Mix's NC State debut and totally freaking sweet Pamina Devi: A Cambodian Magic Flute at UNC-Chapel Hill.