I Don’t Think We Can Handle It

If you’re a semi-regular reader of my blog, by now you’re aware of my fondness of the hip-hop. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise I was intrigued with what I thought was a version of Gnarls Barkley‘s Crazy featuring the Raconteurs (whose site, BTW, will give pre-web internet users a blast from the past).

I was wrong. What I got was entirely unexpected and utterly exciting: a music mashup.

Up until then I was dutifully cognizant of mashups of the Web 2.0 kind, such as using Google Maps to locate which alcohol residential treatment program Mel Gibson is holed up in at any given moment. But how would one “mashup” music?

Easy–strip the vocals from one song and lay it over the tracks of another. Or get several vocals and several tracks and splice it all together. Take Beyonce’s vocals from Bootylicious and Stevie Wonder’s music from Superstition, add a touch of Peter Gabriel’s Sledgehammer and presto–the world can now download Bootystition to its aural content.

So as I was blissfully listening to dINbOT’s Beastie Bop (Beastie Boys + Ramones) and PartyBen’s Boulevard of Broken Songs (Green Day + Oasis + Aerosmith + Travis + Eminem), one insistent thought kept pushing through the bass lines:

If copyright isn’t dead, it’s definitely on life-support. And it ain’t going to get any better.

Why? That’s for next time….

What I’m Reading: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. Because I thought I’d be kooky by actually reading fiction written within the past twenty years.