Digital art(ifice?), superfandom, streaming simoleons, and Project Gucciberg
March 5, 2021 Edition (#45)
A very happy March to all. We are approaching the one-year anniversary of my last in-restaurant meal (a rather operatic Burmese undertaking). Today, our humble pages are graced by the presence of Guest Writer BNH, writing on digital reproducibility and what it means for how we value art. Very Big Ideas!
“It says, ‘Save yourselves, the plants have won.’”
🚨 Writer BNH: Art in the Age of Digital Reproduction 🚨
When my company was just starting, we shared an open floor office with a few other organizations. We all sat at a long, dark wooden table, and maybe four feet behind us were the offices of a cryptocurrency investing firm. Two people worked there, as best I could tell: BitMan and BitWoman. They shared a small desk. He was often yelling about price changes in Bitcoin, she had a British accent, and I suspect that he was in love with her.
I wish I could have been in that office when Non-Fungible Tokens mania began (in the mainstream media) over the past few weeks. For those of you behind on your Trillium reading, NFTs are crypto containers for unique objects; check out this good primer in The Verge. There are many applications, but a popular one is digital collectibles (NBA Top Shot, CryptoKitties) and another is digital art collecting (think GIFs, JPGS, mp3s, videos, etc). By recording all transactions on the blockchain, the authenticity & provenance of goods is easily verifiable; and, novel incentives can be created, as when artists continue to participate in secondary sales of their work.
People like to collect things and they like to speculate. They also like the internet. [Ed.: this is a good combination!] NBA’s Top Shot has now generated over $70 million in sales, and multiple artists have grossed in the seven-figures through recent auctions (Grimes, 3Lau, Mad Dog Jones, and more). A GIF of the Nyan Cat sold for nearly $600,000. Trillium publisher NNH bought an American Psycho-themed work of art for $300. It’s now selling for $10,000+. [Ed.: but, for you, a special deal…]
All of this raises an interesting question: is this stuff actually worth anything? I, too, would like to be rich. But some part of me still resists the idea that a picture on my computer is intrinsically worth anything. So, as a bit of market research, I dusted off Walter Benjamin’s 1936 essay “The Work of Art in the Age of its Technological Reproducibility (Second Version).”
This is a standard text in undergrad humanities courses, but it’s fun (and a little dark) to re-read the famously depressive German Marxist critic while trying to get rich off digital kitty art. Benjamin wrote the essay two years after Hitler came to power, and was trying to make sense of a new technology (film) and a new social movement (fascism) by elaborating a theory of art. He tried to answer a big question: what happens to art’s value when it’s infinitely reproducible, and what effect does that have on society?
The whole essay is interesting, but most relevant to NFTs are two key and closely related terms: authenticity and aura. “In even the most perfect reproduction, one thing is lacking,” Benjamin writes. “The here and now of the work of art—its unique existence in a particular place.” This here-and-nowness is its authenticity, “the mark of the history to which the work has been subject...includ[ing] changes to the physical structure of the work over time, together with any changes in ownership.” This, he writes, “eludes technological...reproduction.”
That’s not the case anymore. An NFT is a technologically reproduced file, but its ownership is etched in a distributed ledger and its quality preserved perfectly in a way physical art isn’t. Authenticity, though, is only part of what makes an original work unique.
“One might focus these aspects of the artwork in the concept of the aura and go on to say: what withers in the age of the technological reproducibility of the work of art is the latter’s aura,” he writes. “What, then, is the aura? A strange tissue of space and time: the unique apparition of a distance, however near it may be.”
The idea of the aura is hard to nail down, but, I think, important. It’s why standing in the Met and looking at a Winslow Homer feels different than looking at a picture of it, and why the picture of it on my computer isn’t worth anything. I know what he means. For Benjamin, technological reproduction killed the aura — a bad thing in some senses, but a potentially revolutionary thing in others. But what is it exactly? “It is all mysticism,” Bertolt Brecht wrote of Benjamin’s argument. And certainly his “strange tissue” is a bit of handwaving. The NFT innovation, though, might help us clarify what “aura” really means.
One thing that seems clear is that the value we ascribe to art is separate from its ideas or meaning. I can understand a painting’s themes and aesthetic attributes just as easily — or maybe even better — from a high-quality, enhanceable photograph than by studying the original. We value originals, then, both because they tend to be unique (something that can be true of NFTs), but also because the artist spent time with them. That the artist spent time with the ideas in the artwork doesn’t matter — the 2 millionth copy of a book costs the same as the first; it doesn’t cost more for me to rent Boyhood (which took twelve years to make) than it does to rent Daddy’s Home 2 (which I assume took two weeks). What matters is, to some degree, historical uniqueness.
So the value of an original work seems to have less to do with the ideas behind it than it does with the fact that an artist spent time with the physical work. Benjamin says art can have political value and “cult” value, a distant relative of magic. We tend to think of an artist as someone who sees a deeper meaning in the world, and sets it down in an artwork. By touching the thing the artist has touched, we get nearer to the meaning they saw. It’s the same reason people value autographs.
Or the reason it’s worth it to see a DJ in-person, when, ultimately, they’re just pressing play on the same file you have access to in your home. No wonder DJs like 3LAU were so quick to see where the NFT market was headed.
This notion of spending time-by-proxy with an artist is something an NFT can’t quite reproduce. Before the NFT, an “original” was something with which an artist would engage physically. It would age if not properly maintained, or break entirely. But digital artworks are different. The work is a file, and the file is a set of instructions for how your computer can recreate the work. If all your devices broke, you might have no way of accessing the artwork. But, it would, theoretically, still be intact and in your “possession.”
The question, then, isn’t really whether an NFT can preserve an artwork’s aura, but more whether the kind of art that NFTs transmit ever had an aura in the first place. I think not. But that’s fine. It still has a social value, as an authenticated, exclusive part of a series, and a monetary value as a function of the primary and secondary markets. It’s maybe more like a share of stock than an original painting; but that’s still exciting, still worth...something.
All this to say, I’ve been thinking about BitMan lately, because I feel a bit like him — watching the price of JPGs and GIFs, and hoping to get in there before the bubble bursts. I’ve also wondered what his office romance is like now that it’s gone entirely digital. Is it just as thrilling when she messages on Slack? Surely not so thrilling as sharing a desk, and hearing a voice from a body a foot away. But still, it must be worth something — after all, she sent it.
[Back to boring old me] Superfandom
Joey Debruin is writing an interesting series of posts on the interplay between creators and communities. He touches on topics ranging from how creators “grow their audiences” (or rather how audiences grow creators), how social/community crypto tokens could enable versions of “owning stock” in a creator, and some of the products that are powering this next wave of internet content commerce.
I’ve been interested in how some creators are experimenting with their communities, both in terms of paid exclusive content (or other sorts of access) and nascent attempts at tokenization to enable a community to invest in a creative project. I’ve also been somewhat stunned by the proliferation of private creator Discord servers, forming a constellation of micro social networks populated with one’s most fervent fans. [Ed.: I’m also constantly amazed at how many of these servers have a channel dedicated to stock and/or crypto speculation. Not to worry, though!]
There’s a risk of atomization, and a loss of shared cultural context. But, it can also be inspiring to watch these self-sustaining communities in action. As I’ve written before, I’m skeptical of financial instruments that enable investing in individuals—the “creator income-sharing agreement model—but interested to follow the evolution in how creative projects are funded and whether these “Web3” models will increasingly enable early fans to share in the economic upside created by their favorite artists. For a related read on “the fan data goldmine” and emerging tech products like Community, Audigent, and Unitea that connect artists to superfans (particularly in the music business), I recommend Tatiana Cirisano’s recent Billboard article.
Sweet Streams Are Made of This
We’ve talked in the past about user-centric payout models for streaming versus the status quo of pro-rata payouts. It’s unclear if user-centric payout models would make a positive difference in the income of your average musician, but it is extremely clear that the existing model isn’t working for most.
Now, SoundCloud, fresh off news that it will introduce direct fan-to-creator tipping in-app, has announced that it is the first streaming service to switch its payout model to the user-centric framework. The new system, called “fan-powered royalties,” is effective as of April 1. Under this model, artists are payed royalties based on “what portion of a fan’s time they listen to each artist”; the revenue pool comes from “advertisements the fan has consumed” and “whether the fan has a paying subscription to SoundCloud Go+.” One small detail: none of the major labels agreed to the change, so it only applies to indie artists.
SoundCloud has two examples on their website that show creators increasing their earnings based on this shift. Granted, in one case, that means going from $120/month (old model) to $600/month (new model). Significant, certainly in percentage terms, but still a far cry from a sustainable wage. It’s also notable that, in this example, SoundCloud chose a creator with 124,000 followers. In the other example, where the creator had 12,700 followers, no absolute revenue numbers are shared (just a percentage: 217%).
This is the rub: it’s better than pro-rata payouts, but it doesn’t really change the absolute reality of being a professional creator. Nonetheless, it’s encouraging to see innovation not just around content creation but also around monetization. Direct fan-to-creator tipping isn’t a solution on its own, and neither is fan-powered royalties. But, as these and other “direct-to-consumer” monetization mechanisms become ubiquitous, I do believe that creators will see their earning potential increase. As it should.
The (Club)House of Saud
Mehr Nadeem wrote a great piece for Rest of World in which she talked about how Saudi users are speaking freely on Trillium’s favorite app: Clubhouse. This story is reminiscent of a story we cited a few weeks ago about Chinese users in mainland China and abroad debating otherwise-taboo topics, until the Chinese government issued an inevitable ban. Nadeem writes that Clubhouse is now the most popular social media app in Saudi communities, with many hopeful users offering up to $50 for invites. (Arab News) [Ed.: our monetization model for Trillium is essentially to sell Clubhouse invites, so this is heartening news as far as we’re concerned.]
Nadeem’s piece is well worth a read in its entirety, as she talks about “monumental” changes in recent years—women driving and working new types of jobs; desegregation of physical spaces—and how these changes are mirrored in the Saudi user conversations had on Clubhouse. As Nadeem argues, the relative lack of “traditional outlets for open public discourse” creates a fertile ground for Clubhouse to take root, and for citizens across a spectrum of identities to voice their perspectives.
Of course, this being the internet, it’s not all rosy. Nadeem cites instances of sexism, racism, homophobia, you name it; one interviewee notes that the content would have resulted in bans and content takedowns on any other platform: a common criticism of Clubhouse’s as-yet relatively unmoderated space. Concerns around surveillance and government monitoring abound, particularly when it comes to conversations being recorded without consent. Many users, nationality aside, seem willing to face these realities simply because Clubhouse fills a conversational or informational need that, in pandemic times, is real and pressing. How the app handles censorship and content moderation, and how it weathers a one-day “post-pandemic” social climate, remains to be seen.
Jack and J(ay) Ran Up The Bill
I enjoy both money and music, so news of Square’s odd acquisition of Jay-Z’s Tidal warmed my heart. (NYT) The deal, for a quirky $297M, also sees Jay-Z joining Square’s board. Charmingly, a few weeks back, Jack and Jay also announced a bitcoin trust (?) “to support development in India and Africa.” Great mission, but unclear why bitcoin needs to be involved. Keep in mind that Square holds something like $220M of bitcoin on its balance sheet. (Motley Fool)
I want to like this move. [But I do not.] Dorsey is already the CEO of two companies, one of which seems to be actively experimenting with its very stagnant core product and the other of which recently debuted a bank. More Things! Business!
One interpretation is that there is a recognition that tools need to be created so that artists can make a living wage and manage their careers as if they were small businesses (and entrepreneurs). Square’s Cash App has gained popularity with many artists, and already serves as a mechanism for direct fan-to-artist payments. Imagining Square providing a suite of services to creators, as they do to other small businesses, isn’t terribly difficult. Or, maybe they’re going to do something wild and try to compete with blockchain-based streaming services like Audius. I have no idea. But I hope someone does!
The Gucciberg Bible
I know that you, the erudite Trilliuminati, only come to this newsletter for the most highbrow of highbrow content. All of my market research tells me this. I want to give the people what they want, but I can’t help myself. And so it is that I am compelled to share one of the more remarkable internet projects—nay, civilizational achievements—in recent memory: Project Gucciberg. Why yes, it is indeed a project in which an AI version of rapper Gucci Mane’s voice reads “classic literature.” Titles include Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, War and Peace, Kafka’s Metamorphosis, and oh so much more.
Per The Verge, the project was produced by “viral factory MSCHF,” required six-plus hours of training data, and employs machine learning to generate Gucci-like vocals. The team also put together a “Gucci pronunciation key/dictionary.” There are absolutely a whole host of complicated representational and ownership issues at play here, not to mention the fundamental and terrifying realization that text-to-speech technology is rapidly improving and that generative media (and deepfakes) are much more sophisticated than before. Sure, it’s not “harming” Gucci Mane to have his robo-voice performing multiple classic works of literature. But, whether you’re a public entertainer or a private individual, you should certainly expect to be asked for your permission to use your likeness: aural, visual, or otherwise.
All that said, the project is wondrous on numerous fronts. As an aside, earlier this week, I was complaining over text to Dear Reader RB, and tried to type, “they’re the f***ing worst,” only to have my all-knowing iPhone autocorrect my statement to “Gucci NFTs.” Not a great look.
For your ears only
In the early 2010s, I went through a phase where much of what I listened to was some form of remix. The energy from Danger Mouse’s 2004 Grey Album—famously combining the Beatles’ White Album and Jay-Z’s Black Album—had turned into Girl Talk and the Hood Internet, along with countless other mashups and creative mixtapes (including an amazing Outkast/Kendrick remix album that is sitting on a dusty hard-drive somewhere with my trillions in bitcoin). I still have DJ Earworm’s Radiohead/Kanye “Reckoner Lockdown” on a playlist, along with WoodysProduce’s brilliant Outkast & Biggie projects and the Wu Tang-Beatles Epic.
In this same vein, I was delighted to discover the spectacularly named DJ Toasty Digital. His most recent project is Good Kid Twisted Fantasy, a full-length mashup album bringing Kanye & Kendrick together, with a rather questionable narrative throughline involving the year 2050 and cryogenic sleep chambers. I don’t know about all that, but the music is great, particularly if you’re as fond of the original albums (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and GOOD KID, MA.A.D CITY) as I am. “MAAD WORLD” (5:35 timestamp) and “SING ABOUT YE” (12:27 timestamp) are my favorites.
See you all next week.
N