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Category: language

Tracking Voices: Attack, Sustain, Decay

Radar read out

In trying to understand something like “Track,” I find that as a new angle is uncovered I need to make note of it before it slips back into the aether. Part of understanding is explaining something to yourself, and then trying to explain it to someone else. It’s turning a shard of a mental image into a story. Understanding the signal-to-noise ratio in that transmission is one measure of success. Sometimes a transmission can carry the payload of a dense and ambiguous metaphor— something that is neither signal nor noise.

Noise is something we can’t or don’t want to understand. Signal is communication for which we already have a framework for understanding. Ambiguity is a different kind of payload in a signal. Sometimes it’s important to drive toward clarity, other times it’s important to let something remain in an ambiguous state and allow for the meaning of play and play of meaning to unfold. The usefulness of track is something largely undiscovered. The tools we use to track the idea of Track are both primitive and highly sophisticated. We talk to each other; we listen; and then we talk to each other some more.

Measuring the decay of sound

The small piece of the picture that came into focus for me today was the distinction between “who” and “what.” Distinguishing “track” and “search” seems to have some conceptual value. Search is more associated with what; track is more associated with who. Either can be used for the purposes of the other, but there’s some value in making this distinction.

There’s a sense in which track can be used to understand the current presence status of a person on the Network. We use a status indicator on IM to indicate to our personal network of reciprocal connections our level of availability. Tracking a person or a topic keyword tells you who is currently speaking on the Network. Who, not what. Speaking, through microblogging (tweeting), is a form of indicating your presence and availability.

An essential component of track is its basis in the real-time stream. One way we make conversation is through making sounds– and sounds have a physics. Finding the presence of speakers must occur within the context of the sound envelopetrack must do its work in the period starting at the end of the sustain and finishing at the end of the decay.

The decrease in amplitude when a vibrating force has been removed is called decay. The actual time it takes for a sound to diminish to silence is the decay time. How gradual this sound decays is its rate of decay.

Once the sound envelope has completed its decay, the presence of the speaker can no longer be assured.

A directed social graph, or affinity group, can be followed to understand current presence status. Track can also be used for that purpose, and additionally to discover new speakers on the subject of one’s affinity. Condensing value out of that stream returns us to the beginning. A story emerges, a melody emerges– from the attack, sustain and decay– of the voices in the stream. A thousand flowers bloom in an eternal golden braid.

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Alex Ross and the Economics of the Inky Conversation

Ink blot

Black ink impressed on paper in specific patterns is decodable by a very large segment of the population. Part of the infrastructure we depend upon for our daily conversation is the machinery to put ink on paper, produce large numbers of copies and deliver an individual copy to an endpoint for consumption and decoding. Information, thought and opinion is defused into the language of our society to be discussed, ignored, judged and routed or relayed to others. The speed and regularity of this system are a key part of its economics and value proposition.

The discussion around the merits and demerits of classical music is one of the threads delivered through the news/ink/paper system. The other night I went to see Alex Ross, the classical music critic for the New Yorker, in conversation with Joshua Kosman, the SF Chronicle music critic. Ross is touring the country in support of his book on classical music in the 20th century called “The Rest is Noise.”

One of the threads of the discussion addressed the fact that classical music criticism is disappering from America’s daily newspapers. Music critics are being dropped and they aren’t being replaced. The conversation is dying out as expressed through the medium of daily ink. People are still talking, but the economics of daily ink no longer can support it as a venue. Certainly it continues in both weekly and monthly ink. Our daily conversation about classical music becomes a gypsy looking for more hospitable environs.

Rather than the typical ‘the Internet killed the newspaper’ meme, Alex Ross was very positive about how the conversation had moved into a new home and in many respects is now more lively. Ross’s own blog is perhaps a model for capturing the swarming interest around a particular performance, topic or conversation. He can go very deep into an obscure composer, make a stunningly poetic link between Wallace Stevens and Lorraine Hunt-Lieberson, or compare Queen and Aaron Copland.

Jackson Pollock from Life Magazine

There was a moment in the stream of our public conversation when a publication like Life Magazine could focus our attention on the work of someone like Jackson Pollack. An editor could set the topic and the nation weighed in. We hated Pollock. We loved Pollock. Our kid could do that. We never understood it or knew about it until now. Discovery was delivered to us in our mailboxes. Alex Ross is no Life Magazine, but he now has the tools to put both the major cultural event and the little experimental downtown concert in front of us.


Night Fantasies from The Chamber Music Society on Vimeo.

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Acts of Faith: A Network of Things

Mark Lombardi Network Drawing

It was an article in the New York Times about online backup of files from a local hard drive that provided a glimpse of the larger migration in progress all around us. The great migration of data from the earth to the sky; from the hard drive to the cloud. When all your local files have duplicate copies in the cloud, their backups– could you really say which was the original and which was the copy?

The Network and the digital fundamentally changes the way we think about a thing. Things are singular, they occupy a specific set of spacial coordinates along the arc of time. In a given moment, in a slice of time, the thing occupies a single point in space. Often we prefer to stop the flow of time when we consider the qualities of the thing.

The digital thing, living on the Network, cannot assume its existence. It is not extension of matter in space, but rather bits in a particular pattern in a volatile memory system. The digital thing has a biological impulse, it must exist in multiple exact copies because each copy is so fragile. Continued existence necessitates this strategy.

Charles Darwin a la Warhol

The digital thing is not singular, it is a multiplicity by nature. When a unique digital thing is created on a local system, it wants to be duplicated to increase its chance of survival. All duplication is not created equal, duplication to the cloud actually increases a thing’s chance of survival. Interestingly, the pre-produced purchased digital thing, an MP3 of a song for instance, always already exists in the cloud. It doesn’t need to be duplicated and transferred, it only needs to be matched.

Once a digital thing has assured its multiplicity and persistence through time through a migration to the cloud, its next imperative is presence via a connected device. The digital thing wants to seep back out of the cloud into any and every device that can portray it. Sync-ing, versioning, caching, duplicating– these are some of the biological actions of the digital thing.

There are a few companies building pieces of this ecosystem for the digital thing. Ray Ozzie, with Mesh, probably has the most complete vision. One can imagine business models revolving around encryption. When the identity of a digital thing is masked through encryption, its persistence is financed through subscription. When the data is in the open, an attention/gesture economy guarantees persistence. Other models will certainly surface.

For those digital things that are publicly visible through the Network, the next biological imperative is to attract pointers, hyperlinks. The more pointers a digital thing can attract the greater its chance of survival. Like a physical thing, an unseen, unspoken digital thing has a very shadowy existence.

Paul Klee

The digital thing seeks to live as a multiplicity within a networked mesh with the ability to manifest its presence through as many attached devices as possible. To attract pointers, a highly efficient system for producing hyperlinks must co-exist with the network of things. Network meshed objects need search, track, microblogging (Tw*tter) and RSS to produce links– and links are always to some thing.

Pointers are digital things as well, they’re just moving through a faster stream. Their velocity gives them a fundamentally different character. Think of Einstein’s ideas around the relationship between matter, energy, light and velocity.

world trade center tight rope

The primitives for this ecosystem exist today. Its outlines can be seen dimly through the pointers flowing through the stream. How does such an ecosystem manifest in the full presence of its being? Like a memory or a learned skill, it is created through neural pathways— it is only through human attention and focused energy. It’s not what we wish or hope, but rather what we do. Acting on partial information within a barely visible system is an act of faith. But like the man said, “there’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.”

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Exoskeleton of the Microformat: Within You, Without you

Hand Exoskeleton

I often think of human-computer interaction (HCI) as the intersection of a language filled with ambiguity with a language purged of ambiguity. When we talk about the advance of the semantic web and microformats, I get this image of our language growing an exoskeleton. The code marking up our language attempts to disambiguate it, drain it of its natural state of overdetermination.

Dali

In his book, Muse in the Machine, Computerizing the Poetry of Human Thought, David Gelernter talks about how we think at various levels of focus. At high levels of focus we think most like a machine, we are goal directed and push ambiguity to the margins. We are solving problems and making connections within a highly reduced set of possibilities. At low levels of focus we think poetically, with dream imagery, making impossible connections. Any truly creative process involves both modes of thinking. As our language grows an exoskeleton, will we push our humanity and our poetry to the margins? Will we lose our sense of touch?

Meaning is perhaps both the illusion of a perfectly clear language combined with the deep ambiguity of life and truth. Language is both within you and without you.

We were talking – about the space between us all
And the people – who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth – then it’s far too late – when they pass away
And the time will come when you see we’re all one,and life flows on within you and without you
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