Just as musicians found a
way aroudn the expensive
establishment methods
of music distribution,
students are exploring
different channels of
acquiring textbooks. I
know this sounds like a
leap, but stay with me.
ALEC COHEN /. DAILY
In 1942, a radio station
director
named
George
Goodwin published a set of
three inch by five inch cards.
The front of each card was
printed with the most basic
musical
information
about
a song — lyrics, notes — and
the back had text about the
song’s authors, publishers and
copyright holders. Goodwin
called
this
collection
the
Tune-Dex,
and
it
would
change music forever.
Goodwin’s Tune-Dex was
based off the card catalogue
system, an apparatus that
was
for
many
years
the
basis
of
every
library’s organizational
structure.
In
1942,
Goodwin placed a full-
page advertisement in
“Variety,”
calling
his
creation the “First and
Only Permanent Living
Index of Popular Music.”
Tune-Dex was one of
the
first
subscription
services,
delivering
new
cards
to
those
who had applied for
“charter subscription.”
In the days before the
internet, musicians had
to contact publishers for
sheet music. The whole
process
was
labor-
intensive and expensive,
and it didn’t really serve
the needs of people who
wanted to learn new,
popular music. Tune-
Dex was intended for
professional
musicians
who
needed
to
pick
up songs very quickly
and didn’t have time to
contact the copyright
holders. Radio stations
and
lounge
owners
were
also
interested
in
keeping
up
with
the latest hits, but it
wouldn’t
have
made
sense for them to order
sheet
music
either.
Somehow,
Goodwin
convinced
publishers
to let him copy and sell
abbreviated
versions
of their music. When
Goodwin died in 1965,
the Tune-Dex monopoly —
which was largely a one-man
operation — came to an end.
But Goodwin’s idea had
caught on, and musicians
(and other interested parties)
were no longer willing to buy
hundreds of pages of loose-leaf
sheet music from publishing
companies. Beginning in the
1940s, cocktail lounges were
springing up everywhere, a
mix between a bar, a dance
hall and a restaurant where
you could drink and hang out
while listening to live music.
The musicians who played at
these places were often asked
by patrons to play current
hits, a feat which was much
easier if they had Tune-Dex
cards for the songs. Musicians
wanted something convenient
and
cheap
to
help
them
navigate the flexibility they
were now expected to have.
Tune-Dex cards were easier
to carry around than sheet
music and helped musicians
keep up with the latest songs,
but the cards could easily be
lost, so when Goodwin died,
the Tune-Dex concept was
altered slightly. Abbreviated
songs were formatted as “fake
books,” a way for musicians to
keep track of tunes they had
heard once or twice, but didn’t
know well enough to play
without some foundational
direction.
Music
publishing
companies didn’t create these
fake books, so musicians were
forced to go underground.
This is how the bootleg fake
book industry was born; out of
necessity, not maliciousness,
and in response to the changes
in
audience
demand
and
performance styles that were
recognized by musicians, but
not copyright holders.
This
is
a
moderately
interesting
(if
technical)
anecdote in the recent history
of the music industry. It’s
also a useful example of how
publishing
and
copyright
companies
have
difficulty
keeping up with cultural and
technological changes. The
story of fake books is about
both publishing and music,
about the ways that words are
protected by the law and how
artists find ways to say the
things they want to anyway.
Copyright and art has a
very
complicated
history.
Copyright
law
protects
artists and creators, but it
also limits the consumers
of their work, meaning that
the same channels through
which an artist can make
a living are also the ones
that can prevent them from
gaining experience and an
audience. Fake books are an
example of a phenomenon
that can be found anywhere
copyrighted content gets too
expensive
or
burdensome.
Just as musicians found a
way around the expensive
establishment
methods
of
music distribution, students
are
exploring
different
channels
of
acquiring
textbooks. I know this seems
like a leap, but stay with me.
In recent years, textbooks
have become so expensive
that many students simply
cannot
afford
them;
Vox
reported an 88 percent
increase in prices from
2006 to 2016. There are
a few reasons behind
this.
Textbooks
now
often come with single-
use access codes for
online
materials,
and
the lack of competition
(five companies own 80
percent of the market)
means publishers don’t
need to worry about
students
buying
a
cheaper version of their
product.
The strategies that
textbook
publishers
are
using
to
make
their
products
more
affordable
are
not
cutting
it.
Cengage,
for
example,
offers
subscription
services,
so that students can
have online access to
a number of textbooks
for one price — but that
option can be nearly
$180 per semester, with
a firm access expiration
date and no possibility
for reselling.
In response, students
have found a solution
that
takes
a
similar
approach as fake books:
open access textbooks.
Free the Textbook is
a
non-profit
working
to help students and
professors
create
a
new
culture
around
textbooks.
They
ask
professors to consider
the cost of textbooks
when
assigning
material,
stop requiring students to
buy access to quizzes and
homework
and
collaborate
with librarians and scholars
to create high-quality, open
source textbooks.
Like fake books, the open
access movement is about
fixing an issue that publishing
companies have so far been
unable to address adequately.
While
it’s
important
to
compensate
authors,
the
current
textbook
system
prioritizes corporate profit
over
students’
education.
Luckily, students and their
professors are finding new,
innovative
ways
to
make
knowledge more accessible.
Open access textbooks are the
fake books of higher education,
a way to democratize an
industry
by
providing
students with knowledge in
a way that is both accessible
and affordable.
Real books, fake books
and the space in between
MIRIAM FRANCISCO
Daily Arts Wrtier
B-SIDE: BOOK REVIEW
‘I Wanna Marry Harry ’
in this series, three daily arts writers in
varying states of mind visit the same
place and write about their experiences.
baked.buzzed.bored.
this week’s destination:
Some call me a stoner with too much free time to watch television. I call myself
a cultural anthropologist who, with the assistance of THC, has the abil-
ity to consistently (sniff out?) the top tier of pop culture. The next
throwback on my queue was a little ditty called “I Wanna
Marry ‘Harry,’” originally broadcasted on none other
than FOX, the Rupert Murdoch owned-network
responsible for such greats as “My Big Fat
Obnoxious Boss” and “Mr. Personality.”
Entering into this show in a
post-Meghan Markle world, I
was a bit critical. How would this
make my Lord and Savior/part-time
Queen of the Blacks™, the Duchess of Sussex
look? Is this their meeting story? Then, I realized
that this show was not only American-produced, but
also was made years ago, and I looked in the mirror and
felt like a reallll dipshit. So, here we are at the beginning of the
show. The show started off on a strong foot by hiring a man who isn’t
even British, but from Papua New Guinea. His accent was great. Appar-
ently, the FAKE Prince Harry they hired has a “93% face match” to the actual
Windsor. Nope, you read that correctly. The FOX Network used fake science as a
justification for a mediocre doppelganger. His name is Matt Hicks, and if you’re won-
dering if he seemed stable enough to participate in this pseudo-social experiment and not
experience an immense power trip, he most certainly is not.
This particular quality in Matt — the gradual formation of the belief that he truly
is Prince Harry — comprises the bulk of the reason why the meat of the show became
unwatchable for me. Or, at least unwatchable without wincing because I was locked into
that baby for a good three ‘sodes. The biggest question I ran into was whether or not the
women (read: Charlotte Russe managers turned “actresses”) actually knew that this guy
was a nobody, or if some of them actually lived in the delusion that the royal family would
actually participate in a reality show wherein the women wear jean cutoffs as formal wear.
Legally, they dodged the whole “identity fraud” thing by only referring to Matt as “sir.” So,
if you think about it, there was a lot of leeway for the women to actually believe that this
really was Prince Harry, so much so that the entire B-arc of the show was centered around
the few daring women inside the house that began to question — weeks in — if this all
seemed a bit too good to be true.
Man, this show is really boring. It’s not even bad in the fun
way, it’s just a huge drag.
The premise is as ridiculous as it sounds — a “Bachelor”
type show with the man in question being a “lookalike” of
Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex. Twelve vapid stereotypically-
American women vie for his affection over the course of sev-
eral weeks. At first they are not told that the man is Prince
Harry, it is merely suggested that it may be. Later, they are
told that he is, in fact, royalty. Aside from being stupid, the
concept is pretty creepy as well, the deception being a stone’s
throw away from wearing a mask of human skin a la Ed Gein.
Most reality television requires some suspension of dis-
belief, but this is insane. There is a less-than-zero percent
chance that these women did not figure out that that this
bland rock-kicker was not in the line of succession to the
British throne. It’s not like they didn’t have clues — aside
from the important fact that he doesn’t resemble Prince
Harry in the slightest, his accent isn’t correct, he suffered
from an acute case of flop sweat and his “security detail” was
wearing sunglasses that look like they came from the clear-
ance rack at Bass Pro Shops.
I had hoped that getting drunk would make it more enjoy-
able, but alcohol was no match for the fucking awfulness of
this show. It did, however, help me identify what the intend-
ed purpose of this trainwreck was — performative cruelty,
designed to make you laugh at the vapidness and greed of
the contestants. I can see how this could be a funny concept,
even if it is mean-spirited, but it just wasn’t. The contestants
weren’t interesting enough, the “prince” was bland and the
drama wasn’t that dramatic.
I dabble in dating shows. Bachelor in Paradise is fantastic. How-
ever, I dabble less in the Royal Family, and this is apparently true
for the average American, hence the mere existence of “I Wanna
Marry ‘Harry.’”
This obscene show works as follows: A bunch of women who
share the acute, American awareness of the celebrity of the Royal
Family, their knowledge fueled by tabloids depicting Prince Har-
ry’s Las Vegas buttox scandal and the Queen’s hats, are taken to an
English estate to be the victims of a seriously creepy ruse
in which an “Environmental Consultant” pretends
to be Prince Harry in the hopes that one woman
(or many — this guy was horny as shit) will fall
in love with him and remain in love with him
when he finally reveals his true identity as an
“Environmental Consultant.”
That was a mouthful, and it’s almost
impossible to believe that such a ludacris
show actually aired on FOX before it was
pulled after four episodes. Now, I could
easily deride the show, but I’m not going to
do that. The show is supposed to be derid-
ed. Instead, I’d like to interpret it charita-
bly.
I’ve really never seen anything like “I
Wanna Marry ‘Harry.’” It poses quite an inter-
esting interplay between fantasy and reality,
something akin to a reality TV-regular TV hybrid.
Kingsley, fake Harry’s butler, is literally acting, grant-
ed very poorly, like a royal butler for the entire show, even
when interacting with fake Harry. The same goes for all of the other
service members that are meant to create the illusion of royalty —
it’s like the Walmart version of the Walmart version of Downton
Abbey. On the other hand, the show is riddled with typical reality
TV tropes: mean girls, random shouting, the sense that the entire
episode is one big trailer and surgically repaired audio clips that
sound like Siri explaining why the girl who gets to stay in the master
bedroom with fake Harry is actually a bitch. So in one foul swoop,
you get people playing a part alongside people that are supposedly
4B —Thursday, March 28, 2019
b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com