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FT: Starbucks curtails its musical ambitions

Starbucks curtails its musical ambitions

By Jonathan Birchall in New York

Published: April 26 2008 03:00 | Last updated: April 26 2008 03:00

Starbucks, the global coffee shop chain, this week abandoned its ambitions of playing a direct role in the music production business, ending an experiment that became emblematic of the dramatic changes in the music industry over the past decade.

The move comes less than a year after Sir Paul McCartney became the first artist to launch an album of new songs on Starbucks' Hear Music label.

The retailer is handing over management of Hear Music, which it acquired in 1999, to Concord Music Group, its partner on projects including Sir Paul's Memory Almost Full album.

The move is part of a drive to cut costs and to focus on its core coffee business led by Howard Schultz, who resumed the position of chief executive officer of the company in January.

Hear Music reflected a search by both music companies and retailers to find new ways of reaching potential customers.

The label's first original recording, a 2004 tribute to Ray Charles called Genius Loves Company , won eight Grammy music industry awards when it was released in the two months after his death.

Starbucks will continue its efforts to exploit its stores' potential as a retail outlet for music, with Concord selecting and producing recordings that will be exclusive to the chain.

However, the relationship will now be closer to that emerging between the music industry and Wal-Mart and Target, the two largest mass discount chains, which are the largest channels for sales of traditional CDs.

Last Christmas, Wal-Mart launched Long Road out of Eden, the first album in 28 years by the Eagles, which was produced by the band's own recording company. The retailer also produces exclusive online recording sessions with artists ranging from Sheryl Crow to Lenny Kravitz on its website.

In January this year Target released an exclusive live album by John Legend, produced by his recording company, Sony BMG.

But while Wal-Mart's and Target's music strategy is aimed at attracting customers who will spend on other purchases, Starbucks says it will focus on selecting music and other offerings that reinforce the experience of visiting its coffee houses.

It is also continuing a relationship with Apple's iTunes that includes giving a free music track away weekly, and selling downloads of music through in-store wireless networks. It had earlier experimented with Hear Music stores equipped with kiosks where customers could download music.

The chain will also continue to work with the William Morris agency to promote books.

Starbucks also indicated that it will drop attempts to co-promote films, after aggressively backing the 2006 film Akeelah and the Bee with Lions Gate Films and Arctic Tale in 2007 with Paramount. Both films were released on DVD through the coffee chain, but were box office failures.

As a result of the changes, Ken Lombard, the former head of the entertainment division, is leaving the company, and responsibility for future projects will go to Chris Bruzzo, chief technology officer - reflecting the focus on wireless services.

FT: Woman in the news - Madonna

Woman in the News: Madonna

By Ludovic Hunter-Tilney

Published: April 25 2008 19:47 | Last updated: April 25 2008 19:47

Madonna

This week Madonna became the first 49-year-old mother of three to top the British singles charts. Among female stars only Cher, at 52, has achieved the feat at an older age.

Her new single is also her 13th UK number one hit, the most by a woman. (It reached the top 10 in Billboard’s Hot 100 in the US.) In a neat twist, it occurs in the year marking the 25th anniversary of her first UK single, “Holiday”, which came out in the aftermath of Margaret Thatcher’s second electoral victory.

It does not require a numerologist versed in the mysteries of Madonna’s beloved Kabbalah to decipher the significance of these numbers. They illustrate the singer’s extraordinary longevity in an industry that worships youth and churns through talent mercilessly. To survive in pop music as long as she has is remarkable enough; to cling on to her crown as queen of pop is unparalleled.

An instructive comparison can be drawn with her two fellow titans of the 1980s, Michael Jackson and Prince, both of whom join her in turning 50 this summer. Jackson’s career lies in ruins. Prince was reduced to handing away his last album as a freebie with a British newspaper. In contrast, the eyes of the world are on Madonna as she prepares to release her new album, Hard Candy, next week.

Her drive has not diminished since her appearance in 1983 on the television chart show, American Bandstand, when she warned, only half-jokingly, that she wanted “to rule the world”. In spite of parenthood, middle age and an estimated personal fortune running into hundreds of millions of dollars, the same desire to succeed burns on.

“In an ideal world, I’d like to exercise for three hours a day,” she recently said: those forbidding cheekbones and that ultra-honed physique are workaholism made flesh. Last year she signalled her intention to keep going into her late 50s by signing an innovative 10-year deal with Live Nation, the concert promoter, for a rumoured $120m (€77m). It commits her to making three more albums and guarantees her a large proportion of any touring revenues. “The paradigm in the music business has shifted and as an artist and as a businesswoman, I have to move with that shift,” she grandly announced.

To her critics, Madonna Louise Ciccone is right to describe herself as a businesswoman but wrong to call herself an artist. They deride her thin voice and modest musical talent and damn her as a triumph of self-marketing. There is a degree of truth in the criticism – in 1990 Forbes magazine anointed her “America’s smartest businesswoman” – but it misses the point. Pop singers do not require the vocal technique of Maria Callas. Image-making and an instinct to connect with the public’s fantasies are more important. It is precisely because of Madonna’s commercial acumen that the “Material Girl” is one of the greatest pop stars, in fact, up there with Elvis Presley and The Beatles.

Constant reinvention is the secret of her success. The wannabe dancer who moved to New York from Michigan in 1978 with – so legend has it – $37 in her pocket has adopted numerous guises from the good-time girl of “Like a Virgin”; the conical bra-clad dominatrix of the “Blond Ambition” tour; the hippy spiritualist of “Ray of Light”; and so on up to her current, rather eccentric, incarnation as a horseriding English countrywoman with a taste for US hip-hop and leotards. Her image changes have launched countless fads and fuelled a boom in jargon-filled academic studies about her as a post-feminist chameleon. Not all these shifts worked – the Che Guevara beret and camouflage fatigues of her 2003 album were dispatched amid accusations of unpatriotism in wartime US – but her understanding of the possibilities and limits of the pop market invariably wins out.

She has made her name in a male-dominated industry. Her first US single was marketed as black dance music, to her annoyance, with a New York street scene replacing her face on the cover. She has fought to take control of her image, which explains the powerful brew of rebelliousness and commercial energy she brings to her music.

Her love of breaking taboos has left a trail of enraged social conservatives, railing against displays of blasphemy, lesbianism and bad language (Madonna, until her English gentry make­over, was infamously foul-mouthed). The singer’s assertion of her femininity has had a profound influence on generations of young women; yet she has been quick to profit from the ensuing controversies, as when she published Sex, a coffee-table book of erotica, in 1992, which sold more than 1m copies within days.

Madonna’s changing looks, fascination with the body and competitiveness mark her out as a Darwinian entrepreneur. She has a Thatcherite impatience with restrictions – she recently complained bitterly about the congestion charge for traffic in her adopted home of London – combined with a strangely old-fashioned attachment to family and marriage. “Ritchie” reads the doormat in her Los Angeles bolthole, in reference to her alter ego as Mrs Ritchie, wife of Guy Ritchie, the English film-maker.

She has been pragmatic in business. Endorsement deals and tours keep her among pop’s top earners. Quick to grasp the language of music videos in the 1980s, she also understood the worth of playing live, which has become one of the music industry’s chief sources of income. Madonna’s last tour netted $195m in 2006. In 1992, she set up her own record label, Maverick, which released one of the decade’s biggest-selling albums, Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill. The only career blot is her woeful attempt to break into films, as the audience who lustily booed her directorial debut, Filth and Wisdom, at this year’s Berlin film festival made clear.

She is said to be a cautious investor, valuing art and property over riskier ventures. A former manager recalled: “We had to fax her every cheque we wrote on a daily basis and she would call us to say if it was OK before we could send it out.” She ascribes her shrewdness to a working-class upbringing in a single-parent family, her mother having died when she was five.

Hard Candy ends with the sound of a tolling bell. It announces the end of her record contract with Warner Music, her label since 1982. It is not her best album – its thudding beats are as remorseless as her exercise regime – but it would be folly to bet against Madonna extending her tally of hits as she marches into her 50s. Cher has three more years to enjoy her record.

FT: After the storm / I Used to Be Color Blind

After the storm, a rainbow for Obama

Published: March 27 2008 02:00 | Last updated: March 27 2008 02:00

From Mr Jonathan P. Kahn.

Sir, A generation ago, Irving Berlin penned the words and music to "I Used To Be Color Blind", an inverse title to an otherwise optimistic love song that could well have characterised the transparent and inclusive Obama campaign pre-Reverend Wright:

"That semi-circle that was always hanging about

Is not a storm cloud, it's a rainbow And you brought the colors out"

Barack Obama has fumbled, but fumbles can be recovered.

Jonathan P. Kahn,

Great Neck, NY 11021, US

lyrics below
fred astaire, ginger rogers version at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zh5ZrDxS99U

IRVING BERLIN

I Used to Be Color Blind

Strange
How a dreary world can suddenly change
To a world as bright as the evening star
Queer
What a difference when your vision is clear
And you see things as they really are

I used to be color-blind
But I met you and now I find
There's green in the grass
There's gold in the moon
There's blue in the skies

That semi-circle that was always hanging about
Is not a storm cloud, it's a rainbow
And you brought the colors out

Believe me it's really true
Till I met you I never knew
A setting sun could paint such beautiful skies

I never knew there were such lovely colors
And the big surprise
Is the red in your cheeks
The gold in your hair
The blue in your eyes

FT: Ovation in Pyongyang is music to US ears

Excerpt

Download new_york_philharmonic_pyongyang_arirang.wmv

...New York Philharmonic's emotionally charged debut performance in Pyongyang....The real magic came last.

" 'Arirang', 'Arirang'," the North Koreans whispered to each other as the violins played the opening notes. The people in the second and third circles leant forward to watch over the ledge. The piccolo peeped the tune, the violins sang languidly....Even as the musicians left the stage, the applause continued for several minutes. As Mr Maazel and the concert master returned to the empty stage, some North Koreans applauded over their heads.

"It seemed they were being so friendly with us through the music," said one North Korean woman in a peach-coloured traditional dress, white handkerchief in her hand. "My favourite was 'Arirang'. I felt very moved."

[clip attached]

===

Ovation in Pyongyang is music to US ears

By Anna Fifield in Pyongyang

Published: February 27 2008 02:00 | Last updated: February 27 2008 02:00

The final strains of "Arirang", the heart-rending Korean folk song about separation, had not even ended when the thumping applause started filling the East Pyongyang Grand Theatre last night.

Middle-aged men with purple-tinted glasses and women in traditional dress, visiting South Korean sponsors and Manhattan matrons in fur, they all leapt to their feet to celebrate the New York Philharmonic's emotionally charged debut performance in Pyongyang.

It felt like history.

Expectations were high for this trip, where the US's most prestigious orchestra went to a country founded on hatred of America. Just as cultural exchanges helped transform the US's relationship with China and the Soviet Union, some hoped this would be the beginning of warmer relations, and perhaps even détente, with North Korea. But few could have dared to hope the performance would have been so well received.

From the start, the concert was exceptional. On a stage flanked by North Korean and US flags, the orchestra played "Aegukga", the North Korean national anthem, and the "Star Spangled Banner". This would have been unthinkable 18 months ago.

The New York Phil moved on to Dvorak's New World Symphony . The applause was the kind of applause the audience might usually give at a revolutionary opera about agricultural production. The mood changed when Lorin Maazel, music director, turned to introduce the next piece. "It is written by America's most well-known composer and it's called An American in Paris ," he explained. "Some day a composer might write a work entitled Americans in Pyongyang."

The audience broke out into rapturous applause. The ice was broken. If this concert precipitates a thaw, it started here.

Unlike with the Dvorak symphony, the members of the audience seemed to respond to the Gershwin piece. Indeed, Dvorak and the like are de rigeur in North Korea, but Gershwin is something else. The audience as a whole suddenly seemed much more engaged.

Many North Koreans were quick to join the standing ovation. And then the fireworks began. For the encore, the orchestra played Leonard Bernstein's Candide , after which Mr Maazel explained the orchestra's special attachment to its former conductor.

"Imagine Maestro Bernstein coming back and conducting once more," Mr Maazel almost whispered. "Maestro, do me a favour," he said in Korean, backing off the stage to leave the orchestra to play Bizet's Farandole without him.

The sight of the empty green dais was spinetingling, especially given the historical connotations: Bernstein led the Phil to the Soviet Union in 1959.

The real magic came last.

" 'Arirang', 'Arirang'," the North Koreans whispered to each other as the violins played the opening notes. The people in the second and third circles leant forward to watch over the ledge. The piccolo peeped the tune, the violins sang languidly.

As the piece closed, the applause was electric. And it was put on full display something rarely seen in North Korea: spontaneity.

The entire audience was on its feet, but this time it was not just the women in traditional dress who were smiling, it was the previously implacable bureaucrats too. They clapped, as the orchestra bowed.

Even as the musicians left the stage, the applause continued for several minutes. As Mr Maazel and the concert master returned to the empty stage, some North Koreans applauded over their heads.

"It seemed they were being so friendly with us through the music," said one North Korean woman in a peach-coloured traditional dress, white handkerchief in her hand. "My favourite was 'Arirang'. I felt very moved."

Mr Maazel was also clearly moved. "It was a stunning, stunning reaction. We haven't seen that kind of enthusiastic reaction in a long time, and we have had some very successful concerts," he said after the concert. "When we saw that very enthusiastic reaction, we thought that maybe it was mission accomplished."

Philharmonic Agrees to Play in North Korea

Jennifer Taylor for The New York Times

Lorin Maazel, the music director of the New York Philharmonic, conducted the orchestra in September.

          
      
       
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Published: December 10, 2007
 

Adding a cultural wrinkle to the diplomatic engagement between the United States and North Korea, the New York Philharmonic plans  to visit Pyongyang, the North Korean capital, in February, taking the legacy of Beethoven, Bach and Bernstein to one of the world’s most isolated nations.

      

The trip, at the invitation of North Korea, will be the first significant cultural visit by Americans to that country, and it comes as the United States is offering the possibility of warmer ties with a country that President Bush once consigned to the “axis of evil.”

“We haven’t even had Ping-Pong diplomacy with these people,” said Ambassador Christopher R. Hill, the Bush administration’s main diplomat for negotiations with North Korea and the assistant secretary of state for East Asian and Pacific affairs.

Just last week Mr. Bush sent a letter to Kim Jong-il, North Korea’s leader, suggesting that ties would improve if North Korea fully disclosed all nuclear programs and got rid of its nuclear weapons. Conservatives have criticized the Bush administration for engaging with North Korea when it has violated nuclear promises, and in the face of recent intelligence indicating its possible assistance to Syria in beginning work on a reactor.

State Department officials said the orchestra’s invitation from North Korea and its acceptance represented a potential opening in that Communist nation’s relationship with the outside world, and a softening of its unrelenting anti-United States propaganda.

“It would signal that North Korea is beginning to come out of its shell, which everyone understands is a long-term process,” Mr. Hill said. “It does represent a shift in how they view us, and it’s the sort of shift that can be helpful as we go forward in nuclear weapons negotiations.”

The Philharmonic’s trip, which has generated some controversy among orchestra musicians and commentators, will follow a venerable line of groundbreaking orchestra tours that have played a role in diplomacy, the most famous one, perhaps, taking place in 1973, when the Philadelphia Orchestra traveled to China soon after President Nixon’s historic visit and amid what came to be known as Ping-Pong diplomacy. In 1956 the Boston Symphony was the first major American orchestra to travel to the Soviet Union. The New York Philharmonic, under Leonard Bernstein, went three years later.

Of the Philharmonic’s excursion, Mr. Hill said, “I hope it will be looked back upon as an event that helped bring that country back into the world.”

The Philharmonic, led by its music director, Lorin Maazel, has been considering the visit since an invitation arrived by fax in August. It was a typed letter from the North Korean culture ministry, in English, accompanied by a cover letter from a private individual in California who said he was acting as an intermediary. The orchestra had the invitation authenticated by the State Department, which has provided advice and help in negotiating the terms of the visit. Mr. Hill said that he did not know how the invitation had come about. But its timing was significant, after a series of breakthroughs in a decade-long effort to have North Korea halt its nuclear program.

In February North Korea agreed to shut down its main reactor in exchange for economic aid and other inducements. The reactor was switched off in July, a month before the invitation. And in September the Bush administration said that North Korea had agreed to disable its main nuclear fuel plant and give an accounting of its nuclear facilities, fuel and weapons by the end of the year. Progress toward the Philharmonic’s visit accelerated when orchestra executives and a State Department official visited Pyongyang in October.

The final major logistical pieces of the concert fell into place late last week, after a visit to Seoul, the capital of South Korea, by Zarin Mehta, the orchestra’s president. The Philharmonic’s spokesman, Eric Latzky, confirmed that the trip was on, but he declined to discuss details publicly until a news conference at Avery Fisher Hall tomorrow, when it is to be formally announced.

Mr. Hill, who was in Pyongyang last week delivering Mr. Bush’s letter and inspecting nuclear facilities, said he planned to attend the news conference. He has spoken privately to the orchestra members. Even more surprising, the Philharmonic said that Pak Kil-yon, North Korea’s representative to the United Nations, would also attend, a rare public appearance by a North Korean diplomat. Mr. Hill said he believed that the conditions sought by the Philharmonic had been met. They included the presence of foreign journalists; a nationwide broadcast to ensure that not just a small elite would hear the concert; acoustical adjustments to the East Pyongyang Grand Theater; an assurance that the eight Philharmonic members of Korean origin would not encounter difficulties; and that the orchestra could play “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Once the orchestra members had given their approval, the major stumbling block became transportation. The orchestra, staff members and journalists are expected to number about 250. A plane that can also carry the many large instruments had to be found. Asiana Airlines, a South Korean carrier, offered such a plane, provided that financing could be secured, said Evans Revere, a former senior United States diplomat who is president of the Korea Society, which helped plan the visit.

MBC, one of three main broadcasters in South Korea, offered to pay for the charter in exchange for the rights to broadcast an extra concert by the Philharmonic in Seoul on its return from Pyongyang, Mr. Revere said.

“The balance that’s being achieved here is pretty nifty,” he said. “It’s a nice message being sent to the peninsula that the premier American orchestra is performing in both capitals within hours of each other.”

One of the remaining loose ends is the procurement of climate-controlled trucks to transport instruments to and from the airport. One possibility is arranging for South Korean trucks to be driven across the border. The North Korean government can be unpredictable, and there is always the possibility that the visit could be derailed.

The concert is planned for Feb. 26 at the end of a previously planned tour in China. The orchestra is expected to stay in Pyongyang for two nights, with some teaching and a ceremonial dinner thrown in.

Some questions have been raised about the appropriateness of visiting a country run by one of the world’s most repressive governments. North Korea’s policies have been blamed in part for the famine-related starvation of perhaps two million people and it confines hundreds of thousands of people in labor camps.

If the orchestra goes to Pyongyang, “it will be doing little more than participating in a puppet show whose purpose is to lend legitimacy to a despicable regime,” Terry Teachout, an arts critic and blogger, wrote on the online opinion pages of The Wall Street Journal in late October.

Richard V. Allen, a national security adviser to President Ronald Reagan, and Chuck Downs — both board members of the United States Committee for Human Rights in North Korea — made a similar point on Oct. 28 on the Op-Ed page of The New York Times. “It would be a mistake to hand Kim Jong-il a propaganda coup,” they wrote.

Mr. Hill acknowledged that “in a very theoretical way” any kind of opening lends legitimacy to the North Korean government. “But not opening up has not had any positive effect in bringing North Korea out of its shell,” he said.

Mr. Latzky declined to discuss the concert program, but orchestra officials have said from the beginning that it would probably include American music.

NY Times: In the Fight Over Piracy, a Rare Stand for Privacy

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/31/us/31bar.html?th&emc=th

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In the Fight Over Piracy, a Rare Stand for Privacy

          
      
       
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Published: December 31, 2007
 

The record industry got a surprise when it subpoenaed the University of Oregon in September, asking it to identify 17 students who had made available songs from Journey, the Cars, Dire Straits, Sting and Madonna on a file-sharing network.

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Harry Campbell

 

 

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Adam Liptak’s column about the legal world appears on Mondays.

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The surprise was not that 20-year-olds listen to Sting. It was that the university fought back.

Represented by the state’s attorney general, Hardy Myers, the university filed a blistering motion to quash the subpoena, accusing the industry of misleading the judge, violating student privacy laws and engaging in questionable investigative practices. Cary Sherman, the president of the Recording Industry Association of America, said the industry had seen “a lot of crazy stuff” filed in response to its lawsuits and subpoenas. “But coming from the office of an attorney general of a state?” Mr. Sherman asked, incredulous. “We found it really surprising and disappointing.”

No one should shed tears for people who steal music and have to face the consequences. But it is nonetheless heartening to see a university decline to become the industry’s police officer and instead to defend the privacy of its students.

The recording industry may not be selling as much music these days, but it has built a pretty impressive and innovative litigation subsidiary.

In the past four years, record companies have sued tens of thousands of people for violating the copyright laws by sharing music on the Internet. The people it sues tend to settle, paying the industry a few thousand dollars rather than risking a potentially ruinous judgment by fighting in court.

“People get pushed into settlements,” said Fred von Lohmann, a lawyer with the Electronic Frontier Foundation, a civil liberties group. “The Oregon attorney general is showing what a real fight among equals would look like.”

In his filings, Mr. Myers claimed to be looking for a middle ground.

“Certainly it is appropriate for victims of copyright infringement to lawfully pursue statutory remedies,” Mr. Myers wrote last month. “However, that pursuit must be tempered by basic notions of privacy and due process.”

“The larger issue,” Mr. Myers said, “is whether plaintiffs’ investigative and litigation strategies are appropriate.”

Mr. Myers questioned the tactics of MediaSentry, an investigative company hired by the recording industry. He said the company seemed to use data mining techniques to obtain “private, confidential information unrelated to copyright infringement.” He added that it may have violated an Oregon criminal law requiring investigators to be licensed.

A spokeswoman for MediaSentry said it collected only information that users of peer-to-peer networks make available to anyone who cared to look. She had no comment on the licensing law.

The record companies, in an apoplectic response in court, accused the university of having “a political agenda.” They said that it was protecting people who had broken the law and that it was not entitled to raise privacy and due process arguments on behalf of its students.

“Hundreds of universities and dozens of commercial Internet service providers have responded to the exact same subpoenas,” the record companies’ lawyers wrote.

James Gibson, a law professor at the University of Richmond, said Mr. Myers’s arguments had been raised in other cases and had met with little success. Still, Professor Gibson said, “it’s significant that a public university and its state apparatus is standing up to the R.I.A.A.”

Mr. Sherman, of the recording industry association, predicted that Mr. Myers’s motion would fail and said the industry’s litigation strategy had worked well.

“The litigation program, as controversial as it is often written up to be, has been very successful in transforming public awareness,” Mr. Sherman said. “Everybody used to think this was legal. Now everybody knows it’s illegal.”

Indeed, the program seems to be expanding, and universities are being asked to play an even bigger role. In February, the association started asking universities to identify students suspected of file sharing and to pass along “prelitigation letters” to them. The association says it has provided some 4,000 such letters to more than 150 colleges and universities. The letters offer the students what they call bargain settlements of about $3,000 if they act fast, by punching in a credit card number at www.p2plawsuits.com.

“The ‘reduced’ settlement amount, in other words, represents the record companies’ savings from cutting out the middleman — our justice system,” the Electronic Frontier Foundation said in a recent report.

The universities are under no legal obligation to pass the letters along, but most do. Those that don’t typically receive subpoenas like the one issued to the University of Oregon.

At least one other public university in Oregon has cooperated with the industry. In 2004, Portland State responded to a record industry subpoena by blandly and efficiently providing the names, addresses, phone numbers and goofy e-mail addresses of two roommates. The university said it could not say which student’s computer was involved, so it fingered both of them.

“We definitely felt betrayed,” said Karen Conway, the mother of one of the roommates. “They readily turned over private information without notifying us. They placed responding to a legal subpoena far above a student’s right to privacy.”

Though her daughter Delaney was blameless, the record companies’ lawyers demanded $4,500. It was, Ms. Conway said, “basically extortion,” and the family was forced to hire a lawyer. The case against Delaney Conway was eventually dropped. Her roommate settled.

Mr. Sherman said the University of Oregon should disclose what it knew and let the legal system sort out the rest. “It’s no different than us subpoenaing Verizon,” he said.

But an institution of higher education has different aspirations and obligations than an Internet service provider, which is why Portland State’s actions are so unsettling. The University of Oregon’s efforts may be doomed, but there is something bracing about them nonetheless.

All the university is saying, after all, is that the record industry must make its case in court before the university will point a finger at one of its own.

Online: Documents and an archive of Adam Liptak’s articles: nytimes.com/adamliptak.

Springwise - Amiestreet, Music

August  6, 2007
 



Amiestreet, where every song starts off free, just closed a Series A financing round led by Amazon.com. The amount of Amazon's investment hasn't been disclosed, but it's an interesting development in the online music arena.

Prices at Amiestreet are determined by demand, increasing to a maximum of USD 0.98 per song depending on how many people download it. The more popular a song, the faster its price will increase to 98 cents. Besides giving early buyers a better deal, the market price system gives consumers the added pleasure of seeing they've discovered a song or artist before everyone else has.(See our earlier article on Amiestreet for more.)

As explained by AmieStreet.com's co-founder and CEO Elliott Breece: "AmieStreet.com grew from the idea that we needed to make buying music social and fun. The Amie Street community took over from there, driving a shift toward a music marketplace where consumers decide what is popular and what music is worth. We're thrilled to have Amazon.com's support in empowering music consumers."

Website: www.amiestreet.com
Contact: hollerback@amiestreet.com

FT: The other side of the equation

He found hints of those universal truths in his violin playing, especially Beethoven. But most of all he found hints, a great satisfying assurance, in his personal sort of religion. He did not believe in God per se, but felt there had to be some kind of harmonising principle behind the patterns of the cosmos. “The fanatical atheists,” he wrote, “are creatures who cannot hear the music of the spheres.”

==

The other side of the equation

Review By David Bodanis

Published: August 4 2007 01:13 | Last updated: August 4 2007 01:13

Einstein: His Life and Universe
By Walter Isaacson
Simon and Schuster £25, 675 pages
FT bookshop price: £20

The popular Einstein story is impossible to resist. A young man fails his mathematics exams yet becomes the world’s greatest scientist. He works in obscurity. When he publishes his great papers, he’s ignored. Despite all this – and his autism – he triumphs. But he does so only with the help of his wife, a key source of his ideas.

It turns out that none of that is true. The reality, however, is even better. American biographer Walter Isaacson is a bit too respectful of his material. He writes in a polite, almost awe-struck tone and goes on for so many hundreds of pages that the reader begs for a bit more selection. But his new book is still fun to read.

Einstein was actually an excellent maths student, mastering calculus by 15. His father and uncle nurtured his curiosity. Once, when Einstein was ill as a child, his father bought him a compass. How, possibly, did its needle move? Something hidden was behind things, but neither of them could work out what.

Coming from a family of such inquiring minds meant that Prussian-style schooling was impossible to take. Einstein hated most of his teachers in Germany for their discipline and teaching by rote. His resistance to authority was a problem at university. His main physics professor taught dully and Einstein didn’t hide his dissatisfaction. Although he graduated well, the professor refused to write recommendations for academic jobs.

Einstein ended up in a patent office in Bern. But even that wasn’t as isolated as has often been portrayed. He assessed electrical machinery – as hi-tech then as the evaluation of Silicon Valley start-ups today. As for his supposed autism, he excelled at making friends. He put people at ease with jokes and stories. He’d even nabbed his university’s one female physics student as a wife.

There was severance from all his friends and colleagues in 1905, however, when he put his ideas together in a flurry of papers. One culminated with his equation E=mc2. It asserted that two realms that everyone had thought of as separate – mass and energy – were actually one and the same. Mass, he proposed, could be turned into energy. He even suggested that radioactive metals might one day have their inner power unleashed this way.

His wife was a good physics student, but didn’t come up with the idea. The suggestion that she did seems to have come from Serb nationalists in the 1960s (she was originally Serbian).

Within months, his papers were recognised by leading physicists. A few years later he had left the patent office far behind. In time his own creativity faded and he ended up repeating the same approaches. But in his years of success he got closer than anyone to discovering the universe’s deep truths.

He found hints of those universal truths in his violin playing, especially Beethoven. But most of all he found hints, a great satisfying assurance, in his personal sort of religion. He did not believe in God per se, but felt there had to be some kind of harmonising principle behind the patterns of the cosmos. “The fanatical atheists,” he wrote, “are creatures who cannot hear the music of the spheres.”

David Bodanis is the author of ‘E=mc2: A Biography of the World’s Most Famous Equation’ (Macmillan)

Mstislav Rostropovich

MUSIC, under totalitarianism, was one of the great escapes. The most vicious secret policeman could not wholly curb the human spirit once it moved into the world of sounds. “Slava” Rostropovich (the diminutive of his Christian name means “glory” in Russian) used to the utmost the freedom that music gave him inside the Soviet Union. When forced to move abroad, he became the ambassador of free Russian culture to the world, doing in music what Alexander Solzhenitsyn did, more gloomily, in words.

He was present at the two defining moments of the collapse of communism, the fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989 (when he played Bach suites all night by a breach between the concrete blocks), and the attempted hardline putsch in Moscow in August 1991. On that occasion he talked his way into the Soviet Union without a visa to stand, rifle gingerly in hand, with Boris Yeltsin in the besieged Russian parliament. Its defenders claimed his presence stopped the putschists storming the building. He would have been happy to die there, he said, on the “most important, dangerous and emotional day of my life”.

In the 17 years before that, apart from one visit with the National Symphony Orchestra of Washington, DC, he had not set foot in his own country. His defiance began when his two greatest teachers, Sergei Prokofiev and, chiefly, Dmitri Shostakovich, fell out of official favour. A cannier Soviet citizen might have dumped or denounced them, but Mr Rostropovich refused to do so. For a time, his glittering musical talents protected him. Other artists and intellectuals, however, were silent in his defence, and his friendship with Mr Solzhenitsyn was the last straw. In 1969 the writer, persecuted by the authorities, had nowhere to live; Mr Rostropovich invited him to stay. Then he, his wife Galina and some other brave souls wrote an open letter to the Soviet leader, Leonid Brezhnev, protesting at the regime's abuse of cultural freedom.

Perhaps his most memorable performance was of Dvorak's cello concerto, in London in September 1968, just after the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia that crushed the Prague Spring. Protesters outside the Royal Albert Hall were cross that a “Soviet” concert was going ahead. But Mr Rostropovich wept for his country's crimes and its captives' suffering, and so did those who heard him.

==

         
                

Economist.com


   

     
Mstislav Rostropovich

May 10th 2007
From The Economist print edition

“Slava” Rostropovich, the world's greatest cellist, died on April 27th, aged 80

Lebrecht
Lebrecht

MUSIC, under totalitarianism, was one of the great escapes. The most vicious secret policeman could not wholly curb the human spirit once it moved into the world of sounds. “Slava” Rostropovich (the diminutive of his Christian name means “glory” in Russian) used to the utmost the freedom that music gave him inside the Soviet Union. When forced to move abroad, he became the ambassador of free Russian culture to the world, doing in music what Alexander Solzhenitsyn did, more gloomily, in words.

He was present at the two defining moments of the collapse of communism, the fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989 (when he played Bach suites all night by a breach between the concrete blocks), and the attempted hardline putsch in Moscow in August 1991. On that occasion he talked his way into the Soviet Union without a visa to stand, rifle gingerly in hand, with Boris Yeltsin in the besieged Russian parliament. Its defenders claimed his presence stopped the putschists storming the building. He would have been happy to die there, he said, on the “most important, dangerous and emotional day of my life”.

In the 17 years before that, apart from one visit with the National Symphony Orchestra of Washington, DC, he had not set foot in his own country. His defiance began when his two greatest teachers, Sergei Prokofiev and, chiefly, Dmitri Shostakovich, fell out of official favour. A cannier Soviet citizen might have dumped or denounced them, but Mr Rostropovich refused to do so. For a time, his glittering musical talents protected him. Other artists and intellectuals, however, were silent in his defence, and his friendship with Mr Solzhenitsyn was the last straw. In 1969 the writer, persecuted by the authorities, had nowhere to live; Mr Rostropovich invited him to stay. Then he, his wife Galina and some other brave souls wrote an open letter to the Soviet leader, Leonid Brezhnev, protesting at the regime's abuse of cultural freedom.

After that, Mr Rostropovich was on the blacklist. He became a prisoner in his own country, ignored by the state-controlled media, unable to play in public or make recordings. He was stripped of his musical awards, and his name was even removed from the many scores that had been dedicated to him. Though Russia was “in my heart—in my mind”, and ever would be, in 1974 he asked to be allowed to leave. His citizenship was revoked four years later.

He had been adored in the West since his first visit in 1956, frequently performing at the Aldeburgh festival and becoming close friends with its towering talent, Benjamin Britten. The two communicated in broken German, which they called “Aldeburgh Deutsch”; Britten wrote cello suites, a sonata and a symphony for him. In exile Mr Rostropovich learnt English, or at least developed an idiosyncratic version of it. But he lost none of his Russianness, greeting friends with a massive bear hug. After Britten died, Mr Rostropovich would hug his tomb when visiting Aldeburgh.


Off-duty, he was an assiduous socialite. In London, Washington or Paris he was glad to mix with the appreciative, anything in stockings and (especially, jealous critics said) the famous. But his main energies went to music. He would rise at five, study scores for three hours, relax after a concert with a four-hour practice session. Such discipline had been inculcated from childhood, when he had studied the cello with his father at their home in Baku, in Soviet Azerbaijan. At 13, he would hang flatbread from the ceiling-lamp so that he could snatch swaying mouthfuls as he played. And when, as a young man, he thought he might be allowed to premiere Shostakovich's first cello concerto, he practised for ten hours a day.

He played the piano too—his first instrument, on which he had been coached by his mother from the age of four—and was accomplished enough to accompany his wife, a soprano, in her recitals. He conducted, though his sessions had a mixed press: sometimes clumsy and lacking in fireworks, sometimes inspirational, with an unmatched ability to communicate his profound understanding of the music to the orchestra. When contemporary composers played through their pieces for him, he said, he would watch their faces, and try to pass their feelings on.

As a performer, he combined extraordinary technical virtuosity with a sublimely confident and passionate interpretation of the music's melodic line. His sound was as huge as his humanity. When his interpretations departed a bit from the printed score, few complained: the music was enriched, not merely transmitted, through his playing. He had fallen in love with the cello in the first place, he explained, because it seemed to be his own voice. But the music he heard in his head as he played was “symphonic”, far surpassing even the sound of the instrument he embraced.

Perhaps his most memorable performance was of Dvorak's cello concerto, in London in September 1968, just after the Soviet-led invasion of Czechoslovakia that crushed the Prague Spring. Protesters outside the Royal Albert Hall were cross that a “Soviet” concert was going ahead. But Mr Rostropovich wept for his country's crimes and its captives' suffering, and so did those who heard him.

                                                

Copyright © 2007 The Economist Newspaper and The Economist Group. All rights reserved.

FT: Bows and arrows

same for all creative pursuits?

==

As such, Class 19 was far more than a musical hothouse. Rostropovich was often absent or late. He could be cruel. But as many of the alumni aver, he provided food for thought that lasted a lifetime. What he wanted was, first, to instil the idea that the impossible did not exist, and second, that it was more important to convey a sense of the music’s emotional impulse, through mood, atmosphere and a wide range of tone colour, than to have a flawless technique and beautiful sound.

His concept of an open class stemmed from a desire to encourage students to learn from each other, from discussion and constructive criticism. With Rostropovich himself often voicing the orchestral part on a piano while the student played solo, the whole process sounds electrifying and exhausting.



==

Bows and arrows

By Andrew Clark

Published: May 11 2007 18:35 | Last updated: May 11 2007 18:35

Mstislav Rostropovich: The Legend of Class 19
by Elizabeth Wilson
Faber ₤25, 320 pages
FT bookshop price: ₤20

Many tears were shed in Class 19, the room at the Moscow Conservatoire where Mstislav Rostropovich nurtured generations of cellists. Everyone had to go through an ”initiation rite”: you would be given a new work to learn and play from memory within two or three days. If the challenge was not met, you would be made fun of in front of the others and dismissed with a sardonic remark. If you passed, you had earned your place in the class family.

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Rostropovich, who died last month in Moscow aged 80, was one of the outstanding musicians of the past half century, but recognition in the west came through his achievements as a performer, his personal charisma and moral courage in standing up to totalitarianism. In Russia his reputation was based just as much on his role as an educator.

What went on in Class 19 has long been the stuff of legend, thanks to the informal testimony of alumni - many of them now distinguished soloists. The publication of Elizabeth Wilson’s book is timely, not just for its detailed account of Rostropovich’s teaching methods, but as a reminder of what made him special. Much of it is cast in the form of a memoir - Wilson studied in Class 19 in the 1960s - but it should be required reading for every performer and music teacher, for it adds up to a manual of musical truth. Rostropovich’s most enduring legacy, it suggests, will be the philosophy of life and music he passed on, rather than the more immediate impact of his exuberant personality and performances.

His idea of education, we learn in an ”interlude” penned by Karine Georgian, ”involved seeing and influencing the whole personality [of the student]. He was preparing us for a concert career, and our whole attitude to life and our profession was important to him. When he said I hadn’t shed enough tears to play Brahms, he was also teaching me a deeper truth - that one must know how to absorb everything into oneself, and then filter [the music] through one’s own experience.”

As such, Class 19 was far more than a musical hothouse. Rostropovich was often absent or late. He could be cruel. But as many of the alumni aver, he provided food for thought that lasted a lifetime. What he wanted was, first, to instil the idea that the impossible did not exist, and second, that it was more important to convey a sense of the music’s emotional impulse, through mood, atmosphere and a wide range of tone colour, than to have a flawless technique and beautiful sound.

His concept of an open class stemmed from a desire to encourage students to learn from each other, from discussion and constructive criticism. With Rostropovich himself often voicing the orchestral part on a piano while the student played solo, the whole process sounds electrifying and exhausting.

Much of Wilson’s book reads like a laudatio, but she does capture the essence of the man - his energy, appetite for life and enormous stamina. Even when he had humiliated a student in public, he would invariably ”make up” in private - by which time his point had been made.

Andrew Clark is the FT’s chief music critic.

IN PERSON: Dick Lee

IN PERSON

   

Dick Lee? Who he?
   

    Dick LeeMost foreigners in Japan could be forgiven for not     knowing of Dick Lee. But throughout Asia, from Thailand to Taipei and, yes, Tokyo, Lee is     as much a star as Madonna or Michael Jackson. At the beginning of the 1990s he was     releasing critically acclaimed albums such as The Mad Chinaman, winning awards and     performing to capacity crowds in every major city across Asia. Lee was making music with a     message and was obsessed with his search to find a sound that was uniquely Asian, that     wasn't simply mimicking Western artists.
   
    Lee remains very philosophical about Asian music, culture and the interaction between the     two. Having lived in Tokyo as an Asian gaijin for six years in the early nineties, Lee     talks perceptively about Japanese pop culture, fashion and music, and its export across     the continent.
   
    "At Sony I'm in charge of ten countries - I travel every week. It's interesting to     see what young people are doing in all these places, and a lot of it is inspired by     Japanese street culture. It's not really Comme des Garcons or Issey Miyake. It's more     secondhand things thrown together - a street and club fashion-inspired subculture.     Japanese culture has evolved to the point where it's very sure of itself.
   
    "Of course a lot of Japanese culture is American, but in Asia we don't see it that     way. It's clean, it's sort of been in the laundry. It's all acceptable to Asian standards     or values. I guess it all started around 1993 with the Harajuku/Shibuya thing. And that     same thing is now happening all over Asia - every city is getting its own Shibuya."
   
    Having dabbled in fashion in his native Singapore, with his own design and retail     businesses, the link between culture and fashion is one Lee follows keenly, an interest     that has also been linked into his music. In many respects Lee feels that Japanese     fashion-conscious street culture is unnecessarily Western.
   
    Dick Lee"It's all superficial. Underneath all the fashion     and the Western look they are all very traditional Japanese, who all can't speak English,     yet they have this very Western attitude. But it is just attitude."
   
    Ironically, says Lee, it is this attitude that has given Japan its appeal across Asia.     "That's one thing that sets Japanese people apart from other Asian countries, that     they all look so cool. This sort of thing goes back a thousand years in Japan: be cool in     appearance but never say anything revealing. And the rest of Asia respects that coolness.     Combine that with the layering of outside cultures, and they've created a look and made it     their own. It's taken a while but they've done it."
   
    Growing up in postwar Singapore, Lee is aware of the stigma Japan has faced, and often     still faces, across the rest of Asia. "I remember my father - whenever we mentioned     anything about Japan or the Japanese we got in trouble. But things aren't like that any     more. The younger generation is more acceptant of Japan. The welcome invasion of Japanese     technology has changed everybody's lives for the better. The current generation is not     fearful of Japan; rather, we're in awe at what Japan has done economically, and that has     also softened our parent's vision of Japan."
   
    Lee is also very respectful of the richness of Japanese culture, its uniqueness and     heritage. "A lot of Asian countries don't really have that deep culture. The Chinese     in China lost it over the last fifty years. In Singapore we are all immigrants. Hong Kong     people really don't feel so Chinese, nor do the Taiwanese. No one really has a strong     sense of identity apart from the Thais and the Japanese. Which is why both cultures are so     dignified."
   
    It is a strength of identity which Lee feels he has himself found after many years and     albums struggling with the concept. "I was really a prisoner of this concept for many     years." These days the new Vice President of A&R for Sony Asia seems a far fly     from being the Mad Chinaman that he was universally known as ten years ago. He is as     chilled as the music on his latest album Transit Lounge, released under the DL Project     moniker. He feels more confident of who and what he is. "That is why you can sense a     difference in the new album." The product is a "candy-coated" easy     listening album, a product of Lee's upbringing in 1960s Singapore listening to the likes     of Mantevani and James Kasse. "I think it's because I'm more confident of myself as     an artist, of who I am, and what I do and being sure that it's Asian. In form it's very     different, but the essence of it is still Asian."
   
    Dick Lee spoke to Charles Spreckley.
   
    DL Project'sTransit Lounge is out now on Sony Music

http://metropolis.co.jp/tokyointerviewarchive299/276/tokyointerviewinc.htm