What Mixtapes Can Teach Us About Noise: Reading Shannon and Weaver in 2010
DOI: https://doi.org/10.59350/kjkd5-bjx55
One of the most consistently fascinating aspects of sound culture studies is an exploration of the redemptive characteristics of noise. Instead of assuming a dismissive attitude toward the role of noise in society (See our exposé on John Leicester and vuvuzelas), or an uncritical but positive stance (Marianetti, 1909, “The Futurist Manifesto“), sound culture scholars work to provide a reflexive perspective which contextualizes the various nuances of noise in all aspects of society. In a recent seminar, focusing around communication, media, and information science, I was provided with an excerpt from Claude Shannon and Warren Weaver’s 1949 book, The Mathematical Theory of Communication. This was a dry but exciting read; it was a very influential text. Not only did academics specializing in communication theory explore it because of how well it helped to define transmission model communication, but Bell Labs funded Claude Shannon and used his research to help establish the global information networks on which we rely today. Telephone wires, cellular transmissions, modems and even instructional manuals all owe this work a debt of gratitude. Simply put, Shannon and Weaver explain that less noise results in a better transmission, so several mathematical algorithms are posited to reduce noise in communication technology.
The present day information society has defined itself, and has even been constructed upon technologies which require noise reducing mathematical algorithms. These algorithms are so prevalent that we rely on them every day without necessarily noticing or understanding them. As a researcher, I wonder where people embrace noise, as these sites provide clues to the limits of information’s value. Although I can think of many, in light of our recent Blog-O-Versary Mix!, I choose to examine one of my most treasured – the mixtape. The mixtape exemplifies a site of resistance specifically because it is 1)a measureably inferior sonic format to CD, MP3 and vinyl, and 2) often mixtapes are used to encode messages meant for an ideal listener. The communities, couples and individuals who circulate mixtapes embrace its status as an obsolete technology, – they perceive its affiliations with noise as a strength, a contour, definition. Mixtapes are a form of symbolic currency where the message is often secondary to the communal connotations encouraged by its form. Noise can be read as a tactic, a space of densly coded inferences which resist traditional modes of authority. To understand a mixtape is to understand the community and contexts within which it circulates; no other explanation could ever prove adequate.
Shannon and Weaver constructed noise as a problem for communication in 1949, and this has certainly had a strong impact on the term’s meaning, supporting its negative connotations even today. Noise is a space of social resistance and identification, an organic model of social encoding and decoding where authority is subverted to a subcultural set of rules and rituals. Reading Shannon and Weaver makes me question the sociological: how indebted is today’s society to information, and does noise truly serve as a foil?
Here’s the essay Claude Shannon Submitted to Bell Labs: A Mathematical Theory of Communication.
Cassette From My Ex is a site which explores some sites of identification in information resistance.
AT
A Series of Mistakes: Nullsleep and the Art of 8-bit Composition
DOI: https://doi.org/10.59350/tm226-5bw42
Three weeks ago I got to meet one of my musical heroes. I went to an 8-bit game design workshop at NYU focused around programming games for developing nations. It was organized into a series of tutorials, each focusing on a different element of the game design process. The tutorial on music design was hosted by 8bitpeople’s Nullsleep, Jeremiah Johnson, one of my two favorite chiptune artists! As he instructed the room on the finer points of using the Famitracker software to script authentic 8-bit music, I was struck by some of the nuance in his process. Creativity is a messy and fluid endeavor where mistakes and successes remain ambiguous until they can be contextualized within a final draft.
When Jeremiah programmed the Famitracker, his instrument, I watched as he pushed notes around, made arbitrary decisions and deliberately turned his attention from some tasks which became too arduous. His demo was still awesome, but I was struck by how unstructured his creative process seemed. Famitracker is a music scripting instrument, the notes are organized and prearranged, despite this formal quality there remains a good deal of negotiation between the artist and its interface. I have forever stereotyped music composition as a fairly sterile and surgical art, far away from the authentic feedback between an artist and their instrument. I always had imagined live music as the moment of the authentic, and pigeonholed studio compositions as somehow stale. Watching Jeremiah work helped me to see that all artists hold a unique relationship to their instrument no matter how mechanical, electronic, or mundane that instrument might seem. Even static compositions bring with them history, negotiation and risk. These were liberating ideas, when it came time for me to compose a song on Famitracker, I was able to rip in and rapidly sift ideas from my mind to the canvas.
Eventually, I tried to program in a portamento effect (think: keyboard intro,The Cars, “My Best Friend’s Girl”), and needed some help. Jeremiah came over and started to fiddle with the options, but he was having trouble getting it to work as well. It took about five minutes of trial and error before we figured out how to get the effect just right. These mistakes, bad notes, even misspelled words are all part of the creative process and they inscribe themselves into the larger work, even if they only remain in spirit. Understanding these hiccups and nuances let me view composition from a new perspective where I could recognize all of the skirmishes and textures which have been made invisible in the final product. Live music is often constructed as a space of possibility, where these odd textures and negotiations are given the opportunity to appear. How is this presumption challenged if studio compositions can be read as a series of mistakes leading to an arbitrary but coherent whole?
My big song is called Clever Fishies (Click to hear it!) it will be the soundtrack to a game called Math Shark.
Check out Nullsleep’s Her Lazer Light Eyes to hear why I’m so psyched!
Aaron Trammell






















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