Was this mere musical plagiarism, then? Should we think less of Ray Charles's genius because we find just how closely two of the canonical songs in the creation of soul were based on the work of his contemporaries? Hardly. "I Got a Woman" and "This Little Girl of Mine" are simply brilliant. Charles does in fact span the worlds of the nightclub at 3 a.m. on Sunday morning and the church later that day, of ecstatic testimony and good old- fashioned sexual infatuation. But the way he does so is a lot more like welding, or bricolage, than it is like designing out of nothing or creating anew while distantly tugged by mysterious musical forces called "themes" or "genres." Charles takes bits that have been proven to work and combines them to make something new. When I tell engineers or software engineers this story, they nod. Of course that is how creation works. One does not reinvent the wheel, or the method of debugging, so why should one reinvent the hook, the riff, or the melody? And yet Charles's creation does not have the degraded artistic quality that is associated with "mere" cut-and-paste or collage techniques. The combination is greater than the sum of its parts. If Charles's songs do not fit our model of innovative artistic creativity, perhaps we need to revise the model—at least for music—rather than devaluing his work. 54
When I began this study, it seemed to me that the greatest challenge to copyright law in dealing with music was preventing rights from "creeping," expanding from coverage of a single song or melody to cover essential elements of genre, style, and theme. In effect, we needed to apply the Jefferson Warning to music, to defeat the constant tendency to confuse intellectual property with real property, and to reject the attempts to make the right holder's control total. My assumption was that all we needed to do was to keep open the "common space" of genre and style, and let new artists create their new compositions out of the material in that commons and gain protection over them. In many ways, Charles's work lies at the very core of the stuff copyright wishes to promote. It is not merely innovative and expressive itself, it also helped form a whole new genre in which other artists could express themselves. But to create this work, Charles needed to make use of a lot more than just genres and styles created by others. He needed their actual songs. If the reactions of Clara Ward and Big Bill Broonzy are anything to go by, they would not have given him permission. To them, soul was a stylistic violation, a mingling of the sacred with the profane. If given a copyright veto over his work, and a culture that accepts its use, Ward might well have exercised it. Like the disapproving heirs that Macaulay talked about, she could have denied us a vital part of the cultural record. Control has a price. 55
Did Ray Charles commit copyright infringement? Perhaps. We would have to find if the songs are substantially similar, once we had excluded standard forms, public domain elements, and so on. I would say that they are substantially similar, but was the material used copyright-protected expression? 56
The Copyright Office database shows no entry for "I've Got a Savior." This is not conclusive, but it seems to indicate that no copyright was ever registered in the work. In fact, it is quite possible that the song was first written without a copyright notice. Nowadays that omission would be irrelevant. Works are copyrighted as soon as they are fixed in material form, regardless of whether any copyright notice is attached. In 1951, however, a notice was required when the work was published, and if one was not put on the work, it passed immediately into the public domain. However, later legislation decreed that the relevant publication was not of the record, but of the notation. If the record were pressed and sold without a copyright notice, the error could be corrected. If a lead sheet or a sheet music version of "I've Got a Savior" had been published without notice or registration, it would enter the public domain. It is possible that this happened. Intellectual property rights simply played a lesser role in the 1950s music business than they do today, both for better and for worse. Large areas of creativity operated as copyright-free zones. Even where copyrights were properly registered, permission fees were not demanded for tiny samples. While bootlegged recordings or direct note-for-note copies might well draw legal action, borrowing and transformation were apparently viewed as a normal part of the creative process. In some cases, artists simply did not use copyright. They made money from performances. Their records might receive some kind of protection from state law. These protections sufficed. 57
But the lack of protection also had a less attractive and more racially skewed side. African-American artists were less likely to have the resources and knowledge necessary to navigate the system of copyright. For both black and white artists, whatever rights there were moved quickly away from the actual creators toward the agents, record companies, and distributors. They still do. But African-American musicians got an even worse deal than their white counterparts. True, the copyright system was only an infinitesimal part of that process. A much larger part was the economic consequences of segregation and racial apartheid. But copyright was one of the many levers of power that were more easily pulled by white hands. This is an important point because the need to end that palpable racial injustice is sometimes used to justify every aspect of our current highly legalized musical culture. About that conclusion, I am less convinced. 58
In any event, it is possible that the musical composition for "I've Got a Savior" went immediately into the public domain. If that were the case, Ray Charles could draw on it, could change it, could refine it without permission or fee. Certainly there is no mention of seeking permission or paying fees in any of the histories of "I Got a Woman." Indeed, the only question of rectitude Charles was focused on was the stylistic one. Was it appropriate to mix gospel and R&B, devotional music and secular desire? Charles and Richard seemed to see the process of rewording and adapting as just a standard part of the musician's creative process. The only question was whether these two styles were aesthetically or morally suited, not whether the borrowing itself was illegal or unethical. So, whether they drew on a hymn that had fallen into the public domain after the expiration of its copyright term, or a gospel song for which copyright had never been sought, or whether they simply took a copyrighted song and did to it something that no one at the time thought was legally inappropriate, Renald Richard and Ray Charles were able to create "I Got a Woman" and play a significant role in founding a new musical genre—soul. 59
One thing is clear. Much of what Charles and Richard did in creating their song would be illegal today. Copyright terms are longer. Copyright protection itself is automatic. Copyright policing is much more aggressive. The musical culture has changed into one in which every fragment must be licensed and paid for. The combination is fatal to the particular pattern of borrowing that created these seminal songs of soul. 60
That should give us pause. I return to the ideas of the Jefferson Warning from Chapter 2 and the Sony Axiom from Chapter 4. Copyright is not an end in itself. It has a goal: to promote the progress of cultural and scientific creativity. That goal requires rights that are less than absolute. As Jessica Litman points out, building in the intellectual space is different from building in the physical space. We do not normally dismantle old houses to make new ones. This point is not confined to music. Earlier I quoted Northrop Frye: "Poetry can only be made out of other poems; novels out of other novels. All of this was much clearer before the assimilation of literature to private enterprise."17 The question is, how big are the holes we need to leave in the private rights? How large a commons do we need to offer to future creators? 61
Ray Charles's creation of "I Got a Woman" is only one case. By itself, it proves nothing. Yet, if we find that the seminal, genre-creating artworks of yesteryear would be illegal under the law and culture of today, we have to ask ourselves "is this really what we want?" What will the music of the future look like if the Clara Wards and Will Lamartine Thompsons of today can simply refuse to license on aesthetic grounds or demand payment for every tiny fragment? Tracing the line further back, it is fascinating to wonder whether gospel, blues, and jazz would have developed if musical motifs had been jealously guarded as private property rather than developed as a kind of melodic and rhythmic commons. Like most counterfactuals, that one has no clear answer, but there is substantial cause for skepticism. If copyright is supposed to be promoting innovation and development in culture, is it doing its job? 62
AN INDUSTRY OF GOLD DIGGERS? 63
Fifty years after "I Got a Woman" was written, Kanye West released "Gold Digger" on the album Late Registration. Mr. West is an interesting figure in rap. At first he was shunned because his clean-cut looks and preppy clothing ran against the gangster image that often dominates the music. It is just hard imagining Mr. West delivering a line like Rakim's "I used to be a stick-up kid, so I think of all the devious things I did" with a straight face. (Still less "Stop smiling, ain't nothin' funny, nothing moves but the money.") Perhaps partly as a result, his lyrics are oddly bipolar in their views about exaggerated masculinity and the misogyny that sometimes accompanies it. 64
For the song, Mr. West recruited Jamie Foxx, who had played Ray Charles in the movie Ray. Showing an impressive expanse of oiled chest, Mr. Foxx imitates Charles's style and the melody of "I Got a Woman" to provide the lyrical chorus to "Gold Digger." "I Got a Woman" anchors West's song. It provides its melodic hook. It breaks up the rap with a burst of musical nostalgia. But Mr. West's gold digger is very different from Ray Charles's woman friend. This woman does not give money when the singer is in need. She takes his money when he is in need and is a "triflin' friend indeed." Mr. Charles had a friend who gave him tender morning loving. Jamie Foxx sings of a mercenary gold digger who digs on him. When Mr. West adds the rap verses to the song, we get a perfect caricature of such a person, uninterested in any man who is broke, dragging around four kids and an entourage, insisting all of them be entertained at her boyfriend's expense, and wielding unfounded paternity suits like a proprietary business method. Mr. West's repeated disclaimer "I ain't sayin' she's a gold digger" is unconvincing, because both the words of the introduction and the implicit message of the rap tell us she is. We even get the absurd image of a man who is playing on the winning side in the Super Bowl but driving a Hyundai, so financially demanding is his girlfriend. At several points the song descends into ludicrous—and perhaps conscious—self-mockery, as it explores the concerns of the rich African-American celebrity male. My favorite line is "If you ain't no punk, holler 'We want prenup!!' " The audience obliges. It sounds like assertiveness training for show business millionaires. 65
It would be hard to get a feminist role model out of either "I Got a Woman" or "Gold Digger." One offers the feminine virtues of modesty and fidelity, but magically combines them with wantonness where the singer is concerned and an open checkbook. The other is a parody of the self-assertive economic actor, as rapacious as any multinational, who uses her sexuality for profit. Put them together and you have bookends—male fantasy and male nightmare. Was that Mr. West's point? Perhaps. The song itself takes several sly turns. The gold digger dogging Mr. West is used as part of a homily to black women on how to treat their (noncelebrity) black men. They should stick with their man because his ambition is going to take him from mopping floors to the fryers, from a Datsun to a Benz. It seems that Mr. West is getting a little preachy, while slamming the actual social mobility available to black men. Moving from floor cleaning to frying chicken is not actually going to provide a Mercedes. But he immediately undercuts that tone twice, once by acknowledging the boyfriend's likely infidelity and again by saying that even if the black woman follows his homily, "once you get on, he leave yo' ass for a white girl." 66
Mr. West has a tendency to make sudden turns like this in his lyrics—ironically upsetting the theme he has just set up. So it is not hard to imagine that he deliberately used a fragment of Charles's song, not just because it sounded good but to contrast the image of the fantasy woman from Charles's 1950s soul, who is faithful, sensual, and always willing to offer a loan, with an image from today's rap—sexually predatory and emasculating women who are uninterested in men except as a source of money. Even the retro cover of the single, with its 1950s-style pinup drawing of a white model, seems to draw the connection. Did he use Charles's song precisely because of these clashing cultural snapshots? Perhaps, or perhaps he just liked the tune. In any event, the contrast is striking. When it was released, Charles's song was seen as a sacrilegious depiction of sensuality and the woman was decried as a harlot. Compared to the woman in Mr. West's song, she sounds like a Girl Scout. It is also a little depressing. Ray Charles was neither an egalitarian metrosexual nor a Prince Charming where women were concerned—anything but. But as I said before, you do get a sense that he liked women—however unrealistic or two-dimensional their portrayal. It is hard to get that sense from "Gold Digger." 67
Was Mr. West legally required to ask permission—and pay, if necessary—to use a fragment of "I Got a Woman" for his chorus? The longest single piece of borrowing occurs in the introduction: twenty-six words and their accompanying music. "She takes my money, when I'm in need, oh she's a triflin' friend indeed. Oh she's a gold digger, way over town, who digs on me." As I pointed out, the lyrics from Charles's song present a very different story. "She gimme money / when I'm in need / Yeah she's a kind of / friend indeed / I've got a woman / way over town / who's good to me." But even if the message is the opposite, the musical borrowing is direct. It is also extensive. During Mr. West's rap, the entire background melody is a loop of Jamie Foxx singing the Ray Charles-inspired melody in the background. During the song, Mr. Foxx returns to words that are closer to Charles's original: "She gimme money, when I'm in need," a refrain that is conspicuously at odds with the woman being described by Mr. West. That eight-bar loop of a Ray Charles melody runs throughout Kanye West's song. 68
Mr. West is very successful, so the fragment of the song was "cleared"—payment was made to Charles's estate. It is fascinating to think of what might have happened if Charles's heirs had refused. After all, one could see West's song as a crude desecration of Charles's earlier work, rather than a good- humored homage. Since this is not a "cover version" of the song—one which does not change its nature and thus operates under the statutory licensing scheme—Charles's heirs would have the right to refuse a licensing request. Unlike Clara Ward, it is clear that Charles's heirs have the legal power to say no, to prevent reuse of which they disapprove. 69
Was West legally required to license? Would all this amount to a copyright violation? It is worth running through the analysis because it gives a beautiful snapshot of the rules with which current law surrounds musical creation. 70
Today, a song is generally covered by at least two copyrights. One covers the musical composition—the sheet music and the lyrics—and the other the particular sound recording of that composition. Just as there are two kinds of copyrights, so there are at least two kinds of borrowings that copyright might be concerned with. First, one musical composition might infringe another. Thus, for example, a court found that George Harrison "subconsciously" based his song "My Sweet Lord" on the melody of "He's So Fine" by the Chiffons. 71
How much does it take to infringe? That is a difficult question. The law's standard is "substantial similarity," but not every kind of similarity counts. Minimal or de minimis copying of tiny fragments is ignored. Certain styles or forms have become standards; for example, the basic chord structure of the twelve- bar blues or the habit of introducing instruments one at a time, from quietest to loudest. There are only so many notes—and so many ways to rearrange them; inevitably any song will be similar to some other. Yet that cannot mean that all songs infringe copyright. Finally, even where there is substantial similarity of a kind that copyright is concerned with, the second artist may claim "fair use"—for parody or criticism, say. Copyright law, in other words, has tried to solve the problem with which I began the chapter. Because much of musical creativity is organic and collective and additive, because it does use prior musical expression, some copyright decisions have tried to carve out a realm of freedom for that creativity, using doctrines with names such as scènes à faire, merger, and fair use. This is yet another example of judges trying to achieve the balance that this book is all about—between the realm of the protected and the public domain—recognizing that it is the balance, not the property side alone, that allows for new creativity. 72
The second type of potential infringement comes when someone uses a fragment of the earlier recording as part of the later one, actually copying a portion of the recording itself and using it in a new song. One might imagine the same rules would be applied—de minimis copying irrelevant, certain standard forms unprotected, and so on. And one would be wrong. In a case called Bridgeport Music, which I will discuss in a moment, the Court of Appeals ruled that taking even two notes of a musical recording counts as potentially actionable copying. Where recordings are concerned, in other words, there is almost no class of copying so minimal that the law would ignore it. This is a terrible decision, at least in my opinion, likely to be rejected by other Circuits and perhaps even eventually by the Supreme Court. But for the moment, it is a case that samplers have to deal with. 73
How does Kanye West fare under these rules? He may sample from the actual recording of Mr. Charles's song. It is hard to tell. He certainly copies portions of the melody. That means we have to look at the copyright in the musical composition—the words and the music of "I Got a Woman." For a copyright infringement, one needs a valid copyright and evidence of copying, the amount copied needs to be more than an insignificant fragment, substantial similarity is required, and the similarity has to be between the new work and the elements of the original that are actually protected by copyright. Elements taken from the public domain, standard introductions, musical clichés, and so forth, do not get included in the calculation of similarity. Finally, the copier can claim "fair use"—that his borrowing is legally privileged because it is commentary, criticism, parody, and so on. 74
Does Charles, or his record company, have a valid copyright in the musical composition? One huge problem in copyright law is that it is remarkably hard to find this out. Even with the best will in the world, it is hard for an artist, musician, or teacher to know what is covered by copyright and what is not. Nowadays, all works are copyrighted as soon as they are fixed, but at the time "I Got a Woman" was written one had to include a copyright notice or the song went immediately into the public domain. The Copyright Office database shows no copyright over the words and music of "I Got a Woman." There are copyrights over a variety of recordings of the song. If Mr. West is using a fragment of the recording, these would affect him. But the melody? It is possible that the underlying musical composition is in the public domain. Finding out whether it is or is not would probably cost one a lot of money. 75
Suppose that Mr. Charles has complied with all the formalities. The words and music were published with a copyright notice. A copyright registration was filed and renewed. Does Mr. West infringe this copyright? That is where the discovery of the Bailey Gospel Singers recording is potentially so important. Charles only gets a copyright in his original creation. Those elements taken from the public domain (if "I've Got a Savior" was indeed in the public domain) or from other copyrighted songs do not count. The irony here is that the elements that Kanye West borrows from Ray Charles are almost exactly the same ones Ray Charles borrows from the Bailey Gospel Singers. "I've got a savior, Oh what a savior" becomes "I got a woman, way over town" becomes "There's a Gold Digger, way over town." And of course, the music behind those words is even more similar. When The Legendary K.O. reached for Kanye West's song in order to criticize Mr. Bush, they found themselves sampling Jamie Foxx, who was copying Ray Charles, who was copying the Bailey Gospel Singers, who themselves may have borrowed their theme from an older spiritual. 76
GEORGE BUSH DOESN'T CARE . . . 77
Five damn days, five long daysAnd at the end of the fifth he walking in like "Hey!"Chilling on his vacation, sitting patientlyThem black folks gotta hope, gotta wait and seeIf FEMA really comes through in an emergencyBut nobody seem to have a sense of urgencyNow the mayor's been reduced to cryingI guess Bush said, "N———'s been used to dying!"He said, "I know it looks bad, just have to wait"Forgetting folks was too broke to evacuateN———'s starving and they dying of thirstI bet he had to go and check on them refineries firstMaking a killing off the price of gasHe would have been up in Connecticut twice as fast . . .After all that we've been through nothing's changedYou can call Red Cross but the fact remains that . . .George Bush ain't a gold digger,but he ain't f—ing with no broke n———s"George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People," The LegendaryK.O.78
The song "George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People" was an immediate sensation. Hundreds of thousands of people downloaded it. Within days two different video versions had been made, one by Franklin Lopez and another by a filmmaker called "The Black Lantern." Both synchronized the lyrics of the song with news clips of the disaster and unsympathetic footage of President Bush apparently ignoring what was going on. The effect was both hilarious and tragic. The videos were even more popular than the song alone. The blogosphere was fascinated—entries were posted, e-mails circulated to friends with the usual "you have to see this!" taglines. In fact, the song was so popular that it received the ultimate recognition of an Internet fad: the New York Times wrote a story on it, setting the practice in historical context. 79
In the 18th century, songwriters responded to current events by writing new lyrics to existing melodies. "Benjamin Franklin used to write broadside ballads every time a disaster struck," said Elijah Wald, a music historian, and sell the printed lyrics in the street that afternoon. This tradition of responding culturally to terrible events had almost been forgotten, Mr. Wald said, but in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, it may be making a comeback, with the obvious difference that, where Franklin would have sold a few song sheets to his fellow Philadelphians, the Internet allows artists today to reach the whole world.18 80
Mr. Nickerson's and Mr. Randle's song started with Kanye West's words—taken from the fundraiser with Mike Myers. "George Bush doesn't care about black people." From there it launched into the song. The background melody comes almost entirely from a looped, or infinitely repeated, version of the hook that Kanye West and Jamie Foxx had in turn taken from Ray Charles: "She gimme money, when I'm in need. I gotta leave." Against that background, The Legendary K.O. provide their profane and angry commentary, part of which is excerpted above, with a chorus of "George Bush don't like black people," in case anyone had missed the point. 81
The videos differ in the issues they stress. Franklin Lopez's movie is, rather pointedly given its theme, just black and white. He uses ornate captions pages, reminiscent of silent film from the 1920s, to make political points against the background of the song and the news footage. As the captions read "Katrina Rapidly Approaches," we cut to a shot of the hurricane. "The President Ponders on What to Do." We have a shot of Mr. Bush playing golf. "I Think I'll Ride This One Out." Mr. Bush is shown relaxing on a golf cart, juxtaposed against pictures of African-Americans wading through the floods. The captions add, as an afterthought, "And Keep Dealing with the Brown People." (Pictures of soldiers shooting.) When FEMA's Michael Brown is shown—at the moment when Bush said "Brownie, you are doing a hell of a job"—the captions comment mockingly, "The Horse Judge to the Rescue." 82
Mr. Lopez's video obviously tries to use The Legendary K.O.'s song to make larger political arguments about the country. For example, it asserts that "in 2004 Bush diverted most of the funds for the levees to the war in Iraq." Scenes reminiscent of a Michael Moore documentary are shown. There are pictures of the Iraq war, Halliburton signs, and shots of the president with a member of the Saudi royal family. The captions accuse the president of showing insensitivity and disdain to racial minorities. One summarizes the general theme: "Since he was elected president, George Bush's policies have been less than kind toward Africans and Hispanics." Issues ranging from the response to the Darfur massacres, No Child Left Behind, and the attempted privatization of Social Security also make their appearance. The video concludes by giving the donation information for the Red Cross and saying that we are "onto" Bush. A picture of a Klansman removing his hood is shown, with the image manipulated so that the face revealed is Mr. Bush's. 83
The Black Lantern's video is just as angry, and it uses some of the same footage, but the themes it picks up are different. It starts with a logo that parodies the FBI copyright warning shown at the beginning of movies: "WARNING: Artist supports filesharing. Please distribute freely." That dissolves into a picture of Kanye West and Mike Myers. West is speaking, somewhat awkwardly as he goes "off script," and at first Mr. Myers is nodding, though he starts to look increasingly worried. West says, "I hate the way they portray us in the media. You see a black family it says they are looting. You see a white family, it says they are looking for food." Finally, West says "George Bush doesn't care about black people" and the camera catches Myers's mute, appalled reaction. Then the song begins. The film cuts repeatedly between a music video of Mr. Foxx as he sang the lines for "Gold Digger" and the news coverage of the debacle in New Orleans. At one point the music pauses and a news anchor says, "You simply get chills when you look at these people. They are so poor. And so black." The song resumes. Here the message is simpler. The media coverage is biased and governmental attention slowed because of negative racial stereotypes and lack of concern about black people. 84
Some readers will find that this song and these videos capture their own political perspectives perfectly. They will love the bitterly ironic and obscene outrage at the government's failure, the double standards of the press, and the disproportionate and callously disregarded impact on the poor and black. Others will find both song and films to be stupid, insulting, and reductionist—an attempt to find racial prejudice in a situation that, at worst, was an example of good old-fashioned governmental incompetence. Still others will find the language just too off-putting to even think about the message. Whatever your feelings about the content, I urge you to set them aside for a moment. For better or worse, Mr. Bush just happened to be president at the moment when the Internet was coming into its own as a method of distributing digitally remixed political commentary, which itself has recently become something that amateurs can do for pennies rather than an expensive activity reserved to professionals. The point is that whatever rules we apply to deal with "George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People" will also apply to the next video that alleges corruption in a Democratic administration or that attacks the sacred cows of the left rather than the right. How should we think about this kind of activity, this taking the songs and films and photos of others and remixing them to express political, satirical, parodic, or simply funny points of view? 85
SAMPLING 86
Let us begin with the music. Unlike the other songs I have discussed here, with the possible exception of Mr. West's, "George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People" makes use of digital samples of the work of others. In other words, this is not merely about copying the tune or the lyrics. The reason that Mr. Nickerson and Mr. Randle could make and distribute this song so fast (and so cheaply) is that they took fragments from the recording of "Gold Digger" and looped them to form the background to their own rap. That was also part of the reason for the positive public reaction. Kanye West (and Ray Charles and Clara Ward) are very talented musicians. West's song was already all over the airwaves. The Legendary K.O. capitalized on that, just as Benjamin Franklin capitalized on the familiarity of the songs he reworded. But where Franklin could only take the tune, The Legendary K.O. could take the actual ones and zeros of the digital sound file. 87
As I mentioned earlier, there are two types of copyright protection over music. There is the copyright over the musical composition and, a much more recent phenomenon, the copyright over the actual recording. This song potentially infringes both of them. 88
Readers who came of age in the 1980s might remember the music of Public Enemy and N.W.A.—a dense wall of sound on which rap lyrics were overlaid. That wall of sound was in fact made up of samples, sometimes hundreds of tiny samples in a single track. Rap and hip-hop musicians proceeded under the assumption that taking a fragment of someone else's recording was as acceptable legally (and aesthetically) as a jazz musician quoting a fragment of another tune during a solo. In both cases, the use of "quotation" is a defining part of the genre, a harmless or even complimentary homage. Or so they thought. 89
In a 1991 case called Grand Upright, that idea was squashed.19 The rap artist Biz Markie had extensively sampled Gilbert O'Sullivan's song "Alone Again (Naturally)" for his own song "Alone Again." The court could have applied the rules described earlier in this chapter, decided whether or not this was a large enough usage to make the second song substantially similar to the original, discussed whether or not it counted as a fair use, whether Markie's use was transformative or parodic, whether it was going to have a negative impact on the market for the original, weighed the issues, and ruled either way. In doing so, there would have been some nice points to discuss about whether or not the breadth of fair use depends in part on the practice in the relevant artistic community, how to understand parodic reference, or the relevant markets for the work. (Biz Markie's lawyers had asked for permission to use the sample, but the Supreme Court has made clear that seeking permission does not weigh against a defense of fair use.) There were also some tricky issues about the breadth of legal rights over recordings—the right was of relatively recent creation and had some interesting limitations. Underlying it all was a more fundamental question: how do we interpret the rules of copyright so as to encourage musical creativity? After all, as this chapter has shown, borrowing and reference are a fundamental part of musical practice. We ought to think twice before concluding they are illegal. Are we to criminalize jazz? Condemn Charles Ives? And if not, what is the carefully crafted line we draw that allows some of those uses but condemns this one? 90
Judge Duffy, however, was uninterested in any of these subtleties. 91
"Thou shalt not steal" has been an admonition followed since the dawn of civilization. Unfortunately, in the modern world of business this admonition is not always followed. Indeed, the defendants in this action for copyright infringement would have this court believe that stealing is rampant in the music business and, for that reason, their conduct here should be excused. The conduct of the defendants herein, however, violates not only the Seventh Commandment, but also the copyright laws of this country.20 92
If this were a law school exam, it would get a "D." (Maybe a C given grade inflation.) Duffy makes all of the errors Jefferson warned us against. Tangible property is the same as intellectual property. Songs are the same as sheep and the same rules can apply to both. Theft is theft. The prior injunctions of the framers and the courts notwithstanding, we do not need to think carefully about the precise boundaries of intellectual property rights or worry that interpreting them too broadly is as bad as making them too narrow. So far as Judge Duffy is concerned, the tablets on Mount Sinai were inscribed with an absolute injunction against digital sampling. (The font must have been small.) But to say all this is merely to scratch the surface of how regrettable a decision it is. In the narrowest and most formalistic legal terms it is also very poor. 93
Judge Duffy gives not a single citation to the provisions of the Copyright Act. He ignores issues of de minimis copying, substantial similarity, fair use, and the differences between the right over the recording and that over the composition. In fact, he quotes the Bible more, and more accurately, than he does Title 17 of the U.S. Code—the Copyright Act. The one mention he makes of actual copyright law is at the end of the opinion, when he refers the case for criminal prosecution! When I first read this case, I seriously wondered for a moment if it were a crude parody of a legal opinion written by someone who had never been to law school. 94
Is the result in this case wrong? Personally, I do not think so. It is possible, even probable, that a conscientious judge who bothered to read the law could go through a careful analysis and find that Markie's use went beyond de minimis copying, that it was neither creative, parodic, nor short enough to count as a fair use. The judge might have presumed a negative effect on the market for Mr. O'Sullivan's song and thus could have ruled that it was a copyright infringement. In doing so, the judge would have to give some guidance to future courts about digital sampling. The most likely guidance would be "the sample here is so extensive and so unchanged, that this case says little about the wider musical practice of sampling." Judge Duffy's opinion was poor not because of the result he reached, but because he reached it in an overly broad and judicially inappropriate way that became a guideline for future cultural creation. Worse still, the industry listened to him. 95
In excellent books on this issue, Kembrew McLeod and Siva Vaidhyanathan each argue that Grand Upright was a disaster for rap music.21 The industry's practice turned full circle almost overnight. Now every sample, no matter how tiny, had to be "cleared"—licensed from the owners of the recording. As they tell the story, this "legal" change caused an aesthetic change. The number of samples in an average song dropped precipitously. The engaging complexity of the Public Enemy "wall of sound" gave way to the simplistic thumping beat and unimaginative synthesizer lines of modern rap. I must admit to sharing McLeod's and Vaidhyanathan's musical prejudices. The causal claim is harder to substantiate, but industry lawyers and musicians both agree that changes in the industry's understanding of the law had a major role in transforming the practice of sampling. 96
If we disregard the Jefferson Warning and assume the recording artist has absolute property rights over his work, then we could ignore the idea that forcing people to pay for stuff they take might have a negative effect on future art and culture. Theft is theft. I might be able to make art much more easily if I did not have to pay for the paint and canvas, but that is not commonly held to excuse shoplifting from art stores. But if we take the Jefferson Warning seriously, then intellectual property's job is to balance the need to provide incentives for production and distribution with the need to leave future creators free to build upon the past. Reasonable minds will differ on where this line is to be drawn, but the process of drawing it is very different from the process Judge Duffy had in mind. 97
For fifteen years, critics of the decision waited for an appeals court to fix the law in this area. When the case of Bridgeport Music, Inc. v. Dimension Films came up, they thought they had what they wanted. The band NWA had used a tiny fragment (less than two seconds) consisting of three notes of a guitar solo from the George Clinton song "Get Off Your Ass and Jam." The fragment was an arpeggiated chord, which simply means that you strike the notes of the chord individually and in sequence. It was, in fact, a pretty standard "deedly" sound, familiar from many guitar solos. NWA then heavily distorted this fragment and looped it so that it played in the background of one part of the song—so faintly that it is almost impossible to hear and completely impossible to recognize. (With the distortion it sounds like a very faint and distant police siren.) A company called Bridgeport Music owned the sound recording copyright over the Clinton song. They sued. NWA's response was predictable—this was classic de minimis copying, which the law did not touch. One did not even have to get to the issue of fair use (though this surely would be one). 98
The appeals court did not waste any time attempting to dignify Judge Duffy's decision in Grand Upright. 99
Although Grand Upright applied a bright-line test in a sampling case, we have not cited it as precedent for several reasons. First, it is a district court opinion and as such has no binding precedential value. Second, although it appears to have involved claims for both sound recording and musical composition copyright infringement, the trial judge does not distinguish which he is talking about in his ruling, and appears to be addressing primarily the musical composition copyright. Third, and perhaps most important, there is no analysis set forth to indicate how the judge arrived at his ruling, which has resulted in the case being criticized by commentators.22 100
They did like one thing about the decision, however: its bright- line rule, "Thou Shalt Not Steal." (Lawyers use the term "bright-line rule" to refer to a rule that is very easy to apply to the facts. A 55 mph speed limit is a bright-line rule.) The Bridgeport court rejected the idea that sound recording copyrights and music composition copyrights should be analyzed in the same way. They wanted to set a clear rule defining how much of a sound recording one could use without permission. How much? Nothing. To be precise, the court suggests in a footnote that taking a single note might be acceptable since the copyright protection only covers a "series." Anything more, however, is clearly off limits. 101
Though they come to a conclusion that, if anything, is more stringent than Judge Duffy's, they do so very differently. In their words, "Get a license or do not sample." Effectively, the court concludes that the sound recording copyright is different enough from the composition copyright that a court could reasonably conclude that a different analysis is required. The judges are fully aware that copyright must balance encouraging current creators and leaving raw material to future creators—the Jefferson Warning holds no novelty for them. But they conclude that a clear "one-note rule" will do, because if the costs of licenses are too high, samplers can simply recreate the riff themselves, and this will tend to keep prices reasonable. 102
This is an interesting idea. Why does this not happen more often? Why do samplers not simply recreate James Brown's drumbeat from "Funky Drummer," or George Clinton's solo from "Get Off Your Ass and Jam"? Musicians offer lots of different answers. They do not understand the distinction the court is drawing, so the market never develops. The samples themselves cannot be replicated, because the music has all kinds of overtones from the historical equipment used and even the methods of recording. Fundamentally, though, the answer seems to be one of authenticity, ironically enough. The original beats have a totemic significance—like the great standard chord sequences in jazz. One cannot substitute replicas for James Brown's funkiness. It just would not be the same. As Walter Benjamin pointed out long ago in "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction," cheap copying actually increases the demand for authenticity.23 The court's economic analysis—which imagines a world of fungible beats produced for music as a consumer good—deals poorly with such motivations. 103
When the court first released its decision, it was greeted with concern even by recording industry representatives who might have been expected to favor it, because it appeared to do away with not only the de minimis limitation on copyright (some portions are just too small to count as "copying") but the fair use provisions as well. The court took the very unusual step of rehearing the case and amending the opinion, changing it in a number of places and adding a paragraph that stated that when the case went back to the district court, the judge there was free to consider the fair use defense. Of course, if one takes this seriously—and, for the constitutional reasons given in Chapter 5, I agree that the court has no power to write fair use out of the statute—it undermines the supposedly clear rule. If the factors of fair use are seriously applied, how can a three- note excerpt ever fail to be fair use? And if we always have to do a conventional fair use analysis, then the apparent clarity of the one-note rule is an illusion. 104
The Bridgeport decision is a bad one, I believe. Among other things, it fails to take seriously the constitutional limitations on copyright—including the originality requirement and the First Amendment. (A three-note sample is not original enough to be protected under copyright law, in my view. There are also more speech-related issues in sampling than the court seems to realize.) The competitive licensing market the court imagines seems more like economic fantasy than reality. I think the ruling sets unnecessary barriers on musical creation and ends up with a rule that is just as blurry as the one it criticizes. I think the court's reading of the statute and legislative history is wrong—though I have not bored you with the full details of that argument. But I want to be clear that it is a very different kind of bad decision from Judge Duffy's. 105
The court in Bridgeport does see copyright as a balance. It does understand the need for future creators to build on the past, but it also shows that a simple willingness to look upon intellectual property protections in a utilitarian way does not solve all problems. It certainly does not proceed from Jefferson's presumption that intellectual property protections should be interpreted narrowly. Though it claims to have a "literal" reading of the statute, the real driving force in the analysis is an unconsummated desire for bright-line rules and a belief that the market will solve these problems by itself. The court also suggests that "[i]f this is not what Congress intended or is not what they would intend now, it is easy enough for the record industry, as they have done in the past, to go back to Congress for a clarification or change in the law." Note the assumption that "the record industry" is the most reliable guide to Congress's intentions or that it is the only entity affected by such a rule. This is truly the image of copyright law as a contract among affected industries. Of course, digital artists such as The Legendary K.O. hardly fit within such a model. 106
Under the rule in Bridgeport—"Get a license or do not sample"—Mr. Randle and Mr. Nickerson appear to be breaking the law. They did not get a license and they most definitely did sample. What about fair use? 107
Under fair use, copyright allows a very specific (and possibly lengthy) use of another's material when the purpose is parody of that prior work itself. The Supreme Court gave parody a unique status in the Acuff-Rose case. The (extremely profane) rap group 2 Live Crew had asked for permission to produce a version of Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman." But where Orbison sang about the pretty woman walking down the street whom he would like to meet, 2 Live Crew wrote about a "big hairy woman" ("with hair that ain't legit, 'cause you look like Cousin It"). They sang about a "bald headed" woman with a "teeny weeny afro." They sang about group sex with both women. Finally, they told a "two timin' woman," "now I know the baby ain't mine." Justice Souter showed the characteristic sangfroid of a Supreme Court justice faced with raunchy rap music. 108
While we might not assign a high rank to the parodic element here, we think it fair to say that 2 Live Crew's song reasonably could be perceived as commenting on the original or criticizing it, to some degree. 2 Live Crew juxtaposes the romantic musings of a man whose fantasy comes true, with degrading taunts, a bawdy demand for sex, and a sigh of relief from paternal responsibility. The later words can be taken as a comment on the naiveté of the original of an earlier day, as a rejection of its sentiment that ignores the ugliness of street life and the debasement that it signifies. It is this joinder of reference and ridicule that marks off the author's choice of parody from the other types of comment and criticism that traditionally have had a claim to fair use protection as transformative works.24 [emphasis added] 109
Truly, the law can confront and master all cultural forms. The heart of parody as the Supreme Court described it is that one is taking aim at the original. Because 2 Live Crew could be seen as directing their song at Orbison's original, rather than using Orbison's song to make some other political or social point, the court was willing to give it the favorable consideration that parody receives as a fair use. 110
Does "George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People" fit that model? The Legendary K.O. were not "taking aim" at "Gold Digger." True, they quoted West's actual words from the television broadcast (also copyrighted). They even used them as their title. But they were not taking aim at his song. (Ironically, Kanye West has a better claim that he was taking aim at Ray Charles's picture of womanhood, in just the way described in the 2 Live Crew case.) Rather, The Legendary K.O. were using the sample of the song as the backing to an entirely different rap that expressed, in familiar and popular musical form, a more expansive version of his condemnation of both press and president. That does not end the inquiry. Parody is not the only form of protected criticism or commentary. But it makes it much harder for them to succeed, particularly in light of the hostility toward sampling betrayed by both Grand Upright and Bridgeport. 111
The videos made by The Black Lantern and Franklin Lopez present an even more complex set of questions. On top of the music copyright issues, we also have fair use claims for the extensive news footage and footage of Mr. Foxx. The Black Lantern also used some fragments of a popular video by Jib-Jab, which had a cartoon Bush and Kerry singing dueling parodied versions of Woody Guthrie's "This Land." When JibJab's video first came out, the Guthrie estate claimed copyright infringement over the song. Assisted by a number of public interest legal groups, JibJab claimed fair use. (It eventually came out that the copyright over the song was no longer valid.) What did Jib-Jab do when The Black Lantern sampled them in their turn? In a move that both wins the prize for hypocrisy and serves to sum up the intersection of law and culture I have been describing, they sent him a cease and desist letter. The video was taken down for a week and he was eventually forced to remove the segment of their video from his work. Fair use for me, but not for thee. 112
CONCLUSION 113
The Legendary K.O. samples Kanye West, who uses a fragment from Ray Charles, who may have taken material from Will Lamartine Thompson or, more likely, from Clara Ward (who herself borrowed from a gospel standard). The chain of borrowing I describe here has one end in the hymns and spirituals of the early 1900s and the other in the twenty-first century's chaotic stew of digital sampling, remix, and mashup. Along the way, we have the synthesis of old and the invention of new musical genres—often against the wishes of those whose work is serving as the raw material. One way of viewing this story is that each of these musicians (except for some imaginary original artist, the musical source of the Nile) is a plagiarist and a pirate. If they are licensing their material or getting it from the public domain, then they may not be lawbreakers but they are still unoriginal slavish imitators. If one's image of creativity is that of the romantic, iconoclastic creator who invents the world anew with each creation, those conclusions seem entirely appropriate. The borrowing here is rampant. Far from building everything anew, these musicians seem quite deliberately to base their work on fragments taken from others. 114
It is important to remember that copyright does not subscribe completely to the idea of romantic creation where music is concerned. As I pointed out earlier, musical genres develop out of other genres: soul from gospel and rhythm and blues; gospel from spirituals; rhythm and blues from jazz, jump music, and Delta blues; and so on. When it comes to genres, we can play the game of musicological "six degrees of separation" all day long. Copyright is supposed to leave "holes" in its coverage so that the genre is not covered, only the specific form of creativity within the genre. I mentioned before the need to keep the lines of genre and form open, to keep them free from private property rights in order to allow musicians to develop the form by using them as common property, the "highways" of musical progress. So, for example, the twelve-bar blues uses the first, fourth, and fifth chords in a scale. That sequence cannot be owned, unless blues is to become impossible or illegal. Bebop is characterized by copious use of the flattened fifth—a sound which was jarring to audiences when it was first introduced and which marked the break with the more accessible jazz of swing and the big bands. The flattened fifth is not owned. These characteristic genre- creating sequences or sounds are supposed to be left in the public domain, though increasingly some scholars—including me—are coming to believe that we have managed to make the copyright holder's control so complete and so granular as to close those common areas and impede the development of future musical forms. The Bridgeport court might extend its logic and imagine that the entire musical commons could be licensed, of course. The presence of other chord sequences would keep the price down! But up to now, we have not gone that far. In theory at least, copyright is not supposed to stop the next Ray Charles, the person who wants to fuse two older forms of music to create a third. 115
Yet the chain of borrowing that links The Legendary K.O., Kanye West, Ray Charles, and the Bailey Gospel Singers is of a different kind. This borrowing involves taking chunks of prior musicians' melodies, their words, their lyrical patterns. This is not just copying the genre. It is copying the lines of the song within the genre. This is the kind of stuff copyright is supposed to regulate even when it is working well. And yet, listening to the sequence, it is hard to deny that at each stage something artistic and innovative, something remarkable, has been created. In fact, the story of this song is the striking ability of each set of artists to impose their own sound, temperament, spirituality, humor, vision of women, or, in the case of The Legendary K.O., their intense and profane political anger, onto the musical phrases they have in common. 116
The postmodern conclusion here is "there is nothing new under the sun"—that all creation is re-creation, that there is no such thing as originality, merely endless imitation. If this is meant to be a comment about how things get created, at least in music, I think there is some truth to it. But if it is a claim about aesthetic worth, a denial that there are more and less creative individuals in the arts, I find it as facile and unconvincing as its romantic authorial opposite. 117
What is fascinating about the artists I describe here is that, while they do not fit neatly into either the aesthetic ideal of independent creation or the legal model for how creative expression gets made, they each have a remarkable, palpable creativity. Each leaves us with something new, even if formed partly from the fragments of the past. One could describe Ray Charles as the merest plagiarist—making "search and replace" songs by substituting a woman for the deity in already- established hits. But if that is our conclusion, it merely proves that our theories of aesthetics are poorer than the creativity they seek to describe. So much the worse for the theories. 118
As Jefferson pointed out, the lines surrounding intellectual property are hard to draw—something the Bridgeport court got right. When we draw them, whether legally or as a matter of aesthetic morality, we do so partly with standard instances in mind. "Well, that can't be wrong," we think to ourselves, and reason by analogy accordingly. Yet the process of analogy fails us sometimes, because the types of borrowing change over time. 119
Ray Charles was frank about the way he copied the style and licks of Nat King Cole like an apprentice learning from a lawyer. But he and his estate assiduously guarded his copyrights against more modern borrowing they found to be inappropriate. Judge Duffy thunderously denounces Biz Markie. It is harder to imagine him leveling the same condemnation at Dizzy Gillespie, Charles Ives, Oscar Peterson, or, for that matter, Beethoven, though all of them made copious use of the works of others in their own. It is bizarre to imagine a Bridgeport-like rule being extended to composition copyrights and applied to music such as jazz. "Get a license or do not solo"? I think not. Does it make any more sense for sampling? 120
If there is a single reason I told the story of these songs it is this: to most of us, certainly to me, the idea that copyright encourages creativity and discourages the reuse of material created by others seems reasonable. Of course, I would want to apply the correctives implied by the Jefferson Warning—to make sure the rights were as short and as narrow as possible. But at least when it comes to copying chunks of expression still covered by copyright, our intuitions are to encourage people to create "their own work," rather than to rely on remix. What does that mean in the world of music? As the story I have told here seems to illustrate, even musicians of unquestioned "originality," even those who can make a claim to having created a new musical genre, sometimes did so by a process rather more like collage than creation out of nothing, taking chunks of existing work that were proven to work well and setting them in a new context or frame. 121
Imagine Ray Charles trying to create "I Got a Woman" today. Both of his possible sources would be strongly and automatically protected by copyright. The industries in which those works were produced would be much more legalistic and infinitely more litigious. The owners of those copyrights could use them to stop him from "desecrating their work"—which is literally what he is doing. We know Clara Ward objected to Charles's other borrowings from gospel. I cannot imagine Will Lamartine Thompson or his worthy neighbors in East Liverpool looking kindly on the sweet "early morning loving" outside of wedlock described in "I Got a Woman," still less the use of sacred music to glorify it. And copyright gives them the power to say no. Remember Macaulay's description of how Richardson's novels might have been censored by a moralistic heir? Even if the objections were not vetoes, but simple demands for payment, would we get "I Got a Woman" and "This Little Girl of Mine"? Given the extent of the borrowing that jump-started this particular genre-bridging effort, would we be likely to see the birth of soul music? 122
Congress assures us that the many increases in copyright protection have been in the name of encouraging creativity. The music industry says the same thing when its pettifogging clearance procedures and permission culture are criticized. But do we really think we are more likely to get a twenty-first- century Ray Charles, or a fusion of styles to create a new genre, in the world we have made? Do we really think that the formalist ignorance of Judge Duffy or the market optimism of the Bridgeport court, in which thick markets offer fungible sets of samples to be traded like commodities, are good guides for the future of music? Are we in fact killing musical creativity with the rules that are supposed to defend it? 123
An Internet optimist would tell us that is precisely the point. True, because of the errors described in the chapter on the Jefferson Warning, and the mistakes catalogued in the chapters on the Internet Threat and the Farmers' Tale, we have dramatically expanded the scope, length, and power of the rights that are supposed to shape our creative culture. But technology cures all. Look at The Legendary K.O., The Black Lantern, or Franklin Lopez. They are all probably breaking the law as it is currently interpreted by the courts. But their work can be created for pennies and distributed to millions. The technology allows people to circumvent the law. Admittedly, some of the copyright holders will police their rights assiduously—think of JibJab's newfound dislike of fair use and their power to alter The Black Lantern's video. But others either cannot or will not. Kanye West's representatives in particular are unlikely to be stupid enough to sue The Legendary K.O. in the first place. Internet distribution becomes a demimonde in which the rules of the rest of the society either cannot or will not be enforced. Art gets its breathing room, not from legal exceptions, but from technological enforcement difficulties. Finally, as more and more people can create and distribute digital culture, they are less likely to understand, believe in, or accept rules that are strongly at variance with their aesthetic and moral assumptions. 124
There is a lot to these points. The technology does transform the conditions of creativity, and sometimes it runs right over the law in the process. Thousands, even millions, can be reached outside of conventional distribution channels with work that is technically illegal. And attitudes toward creative propriety do not track legal rules. When I wrote to Mr. Randle and Mr. Nickerson, I found that they realized Mr. West probably had a legal right to get their work taken down, but they felt he would not use it, and they had a very commonsensical conception of what they ought to be allowed to do. They were not making any money from this. They were making a political point, drawing attention to a political and human problem. That made it okay. They would have liked more formal permission so that they could actually distribute CDs through conventional for-profit channels, perhaps with some portion of the proceeds going to disaster relief, but they understood they were unlikely to get it. 125
Despite all this, I am uncomfortable with the argument "do not worry, technology will allow us to evade the rules where they are stupid." A system that can only function well through repeated lawbreaking is an unstable and dangerous one. It breeds a lack of respect for the law in those who should be its greatest supporters and beneficiaries. It blurs civil disobedience and plain old lawbreaking. Sitting in on the segregated lunch counter and being willing to face the consequences is very different from parking in the disabled space and hoping you can get away with it. It also blurs our judgment of conduct. Whatever one thinks of them, The Legendary K.O. are doing something very different than a college student who just does not want to pay for music and downloads thousands of tracks for free from file sharing networks. 126
The problem is not simply one of blurring. Technology-based "freedoms" are not reliable (though legal ones, too, may fail). In a pinch, the technology may not save you, as thousands of those same downloaders have found out when sued by the RIAA and forced to pay thousands of dollars for an activity they thought to be private and anonymous. The Internet "solution" also leaves certain types of artistic creation dependent on the vagaries of the current technology, which may well change, eliminating some of the zone of freedom we currently rely on. But more worrisome is the fact that this "solution" actually confines certain types of art to the world of the Internet. 127
The video of "George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People" could be seen by many, but only if they were wired to the right technological and social network. (After all, someone has to tell you to watch.) It was a searing intervention in the national debate on Katrina. But it appeared on no television station. Like most of the mashups created online, the fact that the rights could never be cleared keeps it off mass media. Copyright acts as the barbed wire around mass media outlets. That is a shame, I think. Not because that video is so good—you may love it or hate it. But because this kind of artwork has something important to contribute to our national culture. Imagine a world in which Ray Charles could create "I Got a Woman," but could only circulate it to a narrow group of the file-trading digerati because of a flagrant violation of Clara Ward's copyright. Do we still get soul? The blues? Jazz? Or do we just get a precious and insular digital subculture, whose cultural experiments never reach the mainstream? 128
Throughout his life, Charles described an intimate relationship with his audience, with the public. He described their tastes as a check, as a corrective; he thought they would actually be "ahead" of the artists. He wanted to make songs that would be listened to by tens of millions of people. And he wanted to make art and lots of money. I am all for the person who wants to create as an "amateur-professional" and distribute outside the chains of commerce. I have worked with organizations that make it easier to do this. But I also believe in the power and creativity of commercial culture and political speech carried on mass media. Ironically, our current copyright system serves it poorly. 129
What is the solution to all of this? The music business runs on compulsory licenses, a legally granted ability to use music in certain ways without permission, though with a fee. The system seems to function pretty well. One solution is to extend that system to the world of mashups and derivative works. If you merely copy the whole of my work and circulate it on file sharing networks or on CDs, we apply the current rules and penalties. If, on the other hand, you make a "derivative" work, mixing your work with mine, then there are two alternatives. If you stay in the world of nonprofit exchange, you get a heightened presumption in favor of fair use (perhaps administered through a quicker and cheaper system of arbitration). If you move into the for-profit world, then you must pay a flat licensing fee or percentage of profits to the copyright holder. 130
A second solution would be to curtail the hypertrophy of protectionism that made all this happen in the first place. The copyright term could be shortened or we could require renewal every twenty-eight years. (There are international treaties that currently forbid the latter alternative.) We could cut back on excesses like the Bridgeport decision, create incentives to make the music industry less legalistically insistent on policing the most atomic level of creation. We could exempt samples shorter than five seconds from copyright liability, clarify the boundaries of fair use, and extend it beyond parody to other genre-smashing forms such as satire and collage. 131
There are enormous obstacles to all these proposals. In particular, while artists fare very poorly under the current clearance culture—paying but not receiving the benefits of payments—the middlemen who profit from transaction costs are not keen on abolishing them. Certainly if, as the Bridgeport court assumed, the recording industry is the party responsible for fine-tuning copyright law, we are hardly likely to see any reforms that threaten current modes of doing business. Yet there is a ray of hope. It is getting harder and harder to pretend that the rules ostensibly designed to encourage creativity are actually working. At the same time, more and more people are creating and distributing cultural objects—becoming "subjects" of intellectual property law in the process, often to their dismay and irritation. It is in that conjunction—a far cry from the industry contract envisioned by the Bridgeport court—that hope for the future of copyright law's treatment of culture might lie.
Over the last forty years, much has changed in the way that scientific research and technological development are organized, funded, and institutionally arranged. Much has also changed in the type of scientific and technical material that is covered by intellectual property rights, the ways that material is covered, the parties who hold the rights, and the state of research and development at which rights claims are made. Many academics who study both science's organizational structure and the intellectual property claims that surround it are concerned about the results. To say this is not to conjure up a tragically lost world of pure research science, untainted by property claims or profit motives. That world never existed and it is probably a good thing too. Intellectual property rights, and the profit motive more generally, have a vital and beneficial role in moving innovations from lab bench to bedside, from computer simulation to actual flight. The question is not whether intellectual property rights are useful as part of scientific and technological development. The question is what type of rights they should be, where in the research process those rights are best deployed, how they should coexist with state funded basic scientific and technological research, how broad they should be, how they should deal with new technologies, how long they should last, how they should treat follow-on innovations. 2
I cannot hope here to answer all those questions, though some fascinating research has begun the process. Instead, as with the music chapter, I will offer a case study—actually two case studies—that try to illuminate the process I am describing, to illustrate its pitfalls and its strange and unintended consequences. 3
The two defining technologies of the last thirty years are biotechnology and the networked computer. Each is both product and platform. Innovations themselves, they are also constitutive technologies that enable still more innovations. But at several historical moments in the development of each we came perilously close to breaking technology with law.1 Some would say that it was not just a close shave: we actually have hampered or limited the full potential of technology, slowing down its dynamism with a host of overbroad software patents, gene patents, and materials transfer agreements. Others are more optimistic. They think that a series of rapid improvisations by courts, scientists, programmers, and businesspeople has largely mitigated any problems caused by the process of legal expansion.2 But if mistakes were made, it is important to know what they were lest we continue or repeat them. If there were "fixes," it is important to know if they can be replicated. 4
So were there mistakes? If so, have they been fixed, and how? Drawing on an article I co-wrote with my brilliant colleague Arti Rai,3 this chapter suggests some answers to those questions by sketching out some details of the legal history of those technologies, concluding with a discussion of a single promising new technology that shares aspects of both—synthetic biology. The answers are important. Behind the abstract words "innovation" or "technological development" there are lives saved or lost, communicative freedoms expanded or contracted, communities enabled or stunted, wealth generated or not. The subject would benefit from informed, sophisticated, democratic attention. It is not something you want to leave a host of lawyers and lobbyists to decide among themselves. 5
A MACHINE THAT CONTAINS ALL OTHER MACHINES 6
Imagine a person staring at an infinite roll of paper tape. On the paper are symbols in some alphabet or number system. The reader carries out simple, operable instructions on the basis of that data. "Add together the next two digits you are presented with and write down the answer. If the answer is odd, go to step 2. If the answer is even, go to step 3." Now replace the person with a mechanical head that can "read" the instructions, carry out the desired operations, and write the answer down. The British mathematician Alan Turing imagined something like this—a little more complicated, perhaps, but fairly similar. What is it? We have the reading head, the set of instructions, the data on which the instructions are to be performed, the record of the result, and some kind of "state table" that tells the machine where it is in the process. These are the component parts of Turing machines—or as we know them better, computers. More accurately, Turing machines are a method of simulating the operation of computers, a metaphor that enables us to imitate their logical processes. In the words of Wikipedia, "despite their simplicity—[they] can be adapted to simulate the logic of any computer that could possibly be constructed." And to give lawyers fits. But that is getting ahead of ourselves. 7
In Greek mythology, Procrustes had a bed to which he fitted its prospective occupants, whether they liked it or not. The tall were trimmed down. The short stretched on the rack. Intellectual property lawyers have many similarities to Procrustes. The technologies that are brought before them are made to fit the conceptual boxes the law provides, boxes with names such as "copyright" and "patent." Occasionally, new conceptual boxes are made, but—for very good reasons—most of the time we stick with the boxes we have. As with Procrustes, things do not always fit and the process can be distressing for its subjects. 8
It is important to realize that the process of trimming and stretching can be done well or badly. If it is done really badly, the technology is stunted, deformed, even destroyed. If it is done well, the law aids the development of the technology in exactly the happy way described in Chapter 1. What did our Procrustean legal system do with computers and computer science? 9
I will focus on software—the set of instructions the machine is to perform. How should we think of it? Software is written down by programmers. It is recorded first in a form readable to humans, or at least geeks. Then, through a series of transformations, it is turned into the machine code, the ones and zeros that will operate the computer. But at its root it can be understood through the metaphor of the simple list of instructions to be carried out in order, just as with the Turing machine and its infinite tape. 10
How should we fit software into the categories of intellectual property? We have "writing," fixation in some medium of symbols that can be read by others—both machine and human. Writing is normally the domain of copyright. Are computer programs copyrightable? All kinds of problems present themselves. At least in the United States, copyright covers expression. As I pointed out in a previous book, at its base is the conception of the romantic author impressing her uniqueness of spirit on the work at the moment of writing. It is that expressive choice, not the facts or ideas on which the work is based, that copyright covers. And it is only original expression that copyright covers. It does not cover purely functional objects, systems, processes, or methods of operation. One cannot copyright the coat hanger, the mousetrap, or long division. One cannot even copyright a "sculpture" if the main function of its design is to serve as a bicycle rack. Admittedly, one can copyright some expressive works that serve a practical purpose. A book about how to do double-entry bookkeeping is copyrightable. Yet copyright covers only the expressive choices used in selecting the words to explain the method, and the images to represent it, not the methods it describes or the facts or ideas it contains. Can copyright cover computer programs? Should we see them as copyrightable how-to books or as uncopyrightable machines made of words? 11
Machines and other functional innovations are normally the domain of patent rights. One can patent the mousetrap, and then one gets an exclusive right to the actual mechanically enabled method of catching mice, not just the artistic flourishes on the blueprint. Patents have more demanding criteria than copyrights. The invention needs to be novel and have utility, or usefulness; I cannot get a patent over something that would have been an obvious idea to an insider in the relevant field of technology, a "person having ordinary skill in the art," or PHOSITA, in the jargon of patent lawyers. But once I get my patent, it gives me a very strong power to exclude others from the invention—even if they came up with it independently. The right lasts for twenty years. Follow-on innovators who improve on my idea can get a patent on that improvement. They can block me from using the improvement. I can block them from using the original invention. Thus we have an incentive to negotiate if either of us wants to bring the improved innovation to market. 12
So where did software fit? Was it copyrightable writing or patentable invention? There are two issues here. The first is whether there should be any intellectual property rights over software at all. The basic case for that proposition is simple, a classic example of the public goods problem described in the first chapter. Software costs money to create, but is cheap to copy. When a youthful Bill Gates wrote his 1976 letter to the wonderfully named Dr. Dobb's Journal of Computer Calisthenics & Orthodontia, he put the point clearly. 13