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Doing is knowing: “Sweet Jane” and the Web

August 10, 2014 by Scott Rosenberg 107 Comments


Lou Reed at Web 2.0 2006

I. Turn around and hate it

Lou Reed cast a stony stare over a hotel ballroom packed with entrepreneurs, venture capitalists and geeks. It was November 8, 2006, the peak of the last Web bubble — remember? the littler one? the one between the monster bubble that ended in a big mess in 2000 and the bubble we’re in now that will end in another big mess one of these days?

That one, right: the bubble we called “Web 2.0.” That was also the name of the conference that Lou Reed was very visibly getting pissed off at — because, as he stood there and played his guitar and sang his songs, the geeks and VCs and founders weren’t listening. They were talking.

Reed was not known for suffering fools or turning the other cheek; he was famously prickly. (One live track from 1978 captures a rant he directed from the stage at a critic: “What does Robert Christgau do in bed? I mean, is he a toe fucker?”) So maybe the whole idea of having him serve as the after-dinner entertainment for a Web-industry conference hadn’t been so bright. But here we were!

Reed stopped playing. An AOL logo haloed his leathery face. While one of his two accompanying bassists vamped, he began barking at the crowd.

“You got 20 minutes. You wanna talk through it, you can talk through it. Or I can turn the sound up and hurt you.”

This suggestion from the man who wrote “Vicious” elicited a wan cheer.

“You want it louder? Frank, turn it up!”

Turn it up Frank did, to ear-punishing levels. That pretty much ruled out talking valuations and pitch decks and APIs with the person next to you. The whole event now felt like an encounter between hostile forces: disruptive market capitalism versus disruptive confrontational art.

Web 2.0 was supposed to be all about user participation and network value. It was idealistic about building open platforms to empower individuals and crowds — while remaining a little coy, if not outright cynical, about who was going to reap the profits resulting from what those individuals and crowds actually did on those platforms.

Maybe it was only to be expected that the folks who had championed peer-to-peer interactivity and comments and “user-generated content” would not sit back and just passively consume the performance in front of them. Or maybe they were just being rude. Either way, it did not look like it was going to end happily.

If you were sitting near the front of the ballroom, as I was that night, this was the moment when you became aware of some kind of commotion toward the back. Had fisticuffs broken out? Was there a medical emergency? No, it was Tim O’Reilly — the publisher and tech pundit who’d coined the term “Web 2.0” and cofounded the eponymous conference — doing a herky-jerky dance, all by himself, wobbling down the aisle like an off-balance top.

It was brave and a little nuts, and for quite some time O’Reilly was on his own. But it gave us something to look at besides Angry Lou’s glare, and it defused some of the tension in the room. Finally, someone else stood up and joined O’Reilly; then a handful of people more. When Reed broke out the chords to one of his best-known songs, the room burst to life. People stood up, dancing or clapping. With relief, we eased into our role as “the audience.”

That song was “Sweet Jane.”

II. Other people have to work

I first heard “Sweet Jane” in 1970, age 11, sitting on the floor of my older brother’s room in Jamaica, Queens. I had no idea what the words were or what the song was about, and I didn’t care. All that mattered was that riff. Just three syncopated chords! Well, four, really — as Reed will explain for you, and Elvis Costello, here:

Also: a pushy bassline that elbowed its way on either side. A mid-tempo beat like a gleaming railroad track. And Reed’s baritone, deployed in some crazy mashup of Beat recital, Wagnerian sprechgesang, and rap, stepping in and out of the way, spitting out words as if between cigarette puffs. It all worked, just as “Louie Louie” had, and “Wild Thing,” and “Twist and Shout,” and all the other hook-driven songs that most people had stopped listening to by 1970.

Don’t know it? Take a listen:

So I listened, too, over and over — not yet aware that Reed’s group, the Velvet Underground, had started out as Andy Warhol’s house band and explored shadowy frontiers of sex, drugs, and noise for years with no commercial success and had already broken up when Loaded, the album featuring “Sweet Jane,” came out.

It was decades later before I actually paid attention to the song’s words. They had gone through many changes before Reed settled on the version recorded on Loaded, and they remain cryptic in places. But it’s clear what “Sweet Jane” is all about: A rocker glimpses a couple of friends. Thinks about their mundane lives. Weighs taking the cynical view, and rejects it — concluding that no, beauty is not a scam, goodness is not a lie, and both can be found in the stuff of everyday life.

The song is aggressively untrendy, anti-hip, playing against all the fashions of 1970. It rejects both lazy downtown nihilism and counterculture protest. It offers a little nostalgia for old-time “rules of verse,” classic cars — even classical music. It embraces the working life of banker Jack and clerk Jane, and winks at them with a playful touch of cross-dressing kink. (“Jack’s in his corset, Jane is in her vest” — although, for years, I thought Reed was saying “Jack’s in his car,” and to this day so do many of the lyrics sites.) But the song only nods to the demimonde; it’s more the stay-at-home type.

“Sweet Jane” moves, verse by verse, from standing on a street corner to sitting down by the fire to pondering the meaning of life. Near the end it takes full-throated flight with this emphatic credo:

Some people, they like to go out dancing
Other people, they have to work
And there’s even some evil mothers
They’re gonna tell you that everything is just dirt

That women never really faint
And that villains always blink their eyes
And that children are the only ones who blush
And that life is just to die

But anyone who ever had a heart
They wouldn’t turn around and break it
And anyone who ever played a part
They wouldn’t turn around and hate it

It’s easy to get distracted by the curled lip, the black leather, the shades, and the swagger — all part of the “Lou Reed” act, and all intentionally misdirecting your gaze. But in “Sweet Jane” Reed made very clear that, if you could for just one second stop his guitar hook from looping in your brain and listen to his words, he was always, at heart, an idealist.

III. I’m in a rock and roll band

I learned to play the guitar so I could play “Sweet Jane.” There were only three chords. (Oh, right, four.) It couldn’t be that hard, and indeed it wasn’t.

But for the longest time, playing any chords was, for me, a foreign country. No one I knew as a teenager had a guitar — the kids I ran with played D&D, not Dylan. It wasn’t until my mid-20s, in the ’80s, that I figured out this was something I could actually do. I went with a kind and knowledgeable friend to a little shop on Mass Ave. in Cambridge, bought a cheap acoustic, crossed the street with it to my apartment, and realized just how easy it was to put D, A, and G together. I sounded awful for a long time. But the guitar is a forgiving instrument, and I could coax just enough joy from it to keep me going.

“Sweet Jane” was a starter drug, and since then I’ve learned to play other favorite songs. (“Waterloo Sunset.” “Pinball Wizard.” “Welcome to the Working Week.” Half the Mountain Goats catalog. And so on.) I remain a lousy guitarist, a lefty-playing-righty with a vigorous strum and not much else. But I’ve learned what musicians have always known: Playing a song changes your understanding of it. Playing music changes how you listen to it. Doing changes knowing.

Anyone who wants to learn “Sweet Jane” today can look it up on YouTube and get schooled by gawky kids and middle-aged instructional-video peddlers and all sorts of other people who have chosen to say, “I will show you how I do this.” You can listen to and compare a fat catalog of live performances by Reed and covers by others. (You may visit the “Sweet Jane” Museum I have assembled here, if you like.) The Web has, among many other achievements, allowed us all to produce and share the instruction manuals to our DIY dreams. Pickers and strummers everywhere who have posted your clumsy, loving, earnest videos: I thank you and salute you!

Yet this eruption of knowledge-sharing is usually understood, and often dismissed, as an essentially marginal phenomenon. Let the passionate indulge their pastimes, but we’re basically talking hobbies here, right? Consequential things involve cash. They are metricized and monetized.

The same logic was used for years to belittle the rise of blogging, at a time when it was though to be a pursuit fit only for the pajama-clad. “That’s cute,” said the insiders and the media-savvy. “But it is of no consequence.”

Yet the consequences were real and substantial. Large numbers of people discovered a new opportunity to control a media platform and project a personal voice into the network. Before you knew it, blogs were being metricized and monetized. Then Facebook and Twitter came along and made it far easier for people to post, share, and kibitz without committing to a regular publishing project. These platforms moved quickly toward metrics and monetization, too.

Whether we are teaching guitar or ranting about politics or blogging about our lives, the trend here moves inevitably from small numbers to large, from private pursuit to professional endeavor, and from labor-of-love to cashing in or out. There has been no shortage of analyses and tools to help us understand the numbers and the money at each stage of this evolution. And we have held lengthy, valuable, and — yes — repetitive arguments about the impact of these changes on the collective mediasphere. Do they enrich or impoverish public discourse? Is there more variety or less? More choice or less?

But we haven’t kept as close an eye on how each turn of the digital-era wheel affects us, subjectively, as individuals. That is, we have looked at the numbers and the economics and the technology, but not so much at how the experiences we’re having in our newly-constructed digital environments are shaping us. It’s only recently that we have begun to ask whether Facebook makes us happy (or unhappy), Twitter keeps us connected (or distracted), our devices serve us or the companies that supply them.

One thing we can say with some certainty is that, for the first time in the still-short span of human history, the experience of creating media for a potentially large public is available to a multitude. A good portion of the population has switched roles from “audience” to — speaker, creator, participant, contributor, we don’t even have the proper word yet.

Forget whether this is “good” or “bad”; just dwell with me for a moment on its novelty.

Millions of people today have the chance to feel what it’s like to make media — to create texts or images or recordings or videos to be consumed by other people they may or may not know. Whether they are skilled at doing this is as beside the point as whether or not I can play “Sweet Jane” well. What matters about all this media-making is that they are doing it, and in the doing, they are able to understand so much more about how it works and what it means and how tough it is to do right — to say exactly what you mean, to be fair to people, to be heard and to be understood. If you find this exciting, and I do, it is not because you are getting some fresh tickets to the fame lottery; that’s the same game it’s always been. It’s because we are all getting a chance to tinker with and fathom the entire system that surrounds fame — and that shapes the news and entertainment we consume every day.

The Internet, with all its appendages, is one big stage. There is no script and no director. We cast ourselves. There’s no clear curtain rise or drop. Each of us has the chance to shine for an instant, to create a scene, and to embarrass ourselves. The house is crowded and moody and fickle and full of hecklers; sometimes people are paying attention to you, but mostly they’re not. And, let’s face it, the show itself is a mess. Yet there is so much to learn from the experience.

In the pre-Internet era, already receding into the murk, you couldn’t just step out onto this stage — the roles were rationed. To get one, you had to be lucky or wealthy or connected to the right people or so astonishingly good you had a shot at not being ignored. “Those were different times.” We assumed that those limits were eternal, but they turned out to be merely technical.

To this day, two decades after I first glimpsed a Web browser, this change knocks me flat and makes me happy. It doesn’t solve all our problems and it doesn’t fix everything that’s wrong with the digital world. But it gives us a bright ingot of hope to place in the scales, to help balance out everything about the Net and social media that brings us down — the ephemerality, the self-promotion, the arms race for your eyeballs, the spam, the tracking, the ads, and the profound alienation all of the above can induce when you tally its sum of noise.

This hope can be elusive, I know. It is deeply non-metric, invisible to A/B testing, and irreducible to data. It does not register on our Personal Digital Dashboards or vibrate our phones. It is still unevenly distributed, but it is more widely available than ever before. It lies in the gradual spread, one brain at a time, of a kind of knowledge about ourselves and one another that until very recently was held tight by a very small group that made mostly cynical use of it.

(One reason this idea remains relatively invisible in the conversation about social media is that so many of the journalists leading that conversation are professional cynics prone to missing its importance because of the nature of their work. Just as the things I learned about music by teaching myself “Sweet Jane” would be blindingly obvious to a professional guitarist, so the general public’s education in media basics thanks to the Internet elicits shrugs from most of the professional press. That doesn’t make it any less extraordinary.)

Any experience of authorship gives you a piece of this knowledge — the knowledge of the storyteller, the musician, the crafter of objects, the dreamer of code. In a media-saturated world that will eagerly tell us who we are if we let it, acquiring the confident insight, the authority of media-making, is both a necessity and a gift.

What is it that you learn from being a media actor and not just a media consumer? What do you come to know by playing a song and not just listening to it?

I don’t think the answer is reducible to bullet points. For me, two ideas stand out.

One is: Define yourself if you get the chance — if you don’t, others will be happy to do it for you.

The other is: Empathy.

IV. Anyone who ever played a part

Onstage that night in 2006, Lou Reed sure looked like he hated being there. For years afterwards, I kept that show filed in my memory under both “symbolic moments of despair” and “high-water marks of tech-industry hubris.” Today I’m a lot less certain, and much slower on the condemnation trigger.

Yes, the audience had sat there and essentially said: We’re rich and we’re building the future and we’re so cool that we can turn icons like Lou Reed into our private entertainment — and then not even pay attention to him!

And Reed? He responded with a big raised middle finger: “I’m here to serve,” he rambled, icily, during one song break. “It’s the moment I’ve been living for my whole life. I was on St. Mark’s Place and I thought, someday there’ll be a cyberspace, and an Internet…”

All that happened. And yet to frame the encounter as “philistine businesspeople vs. sellout artist” isn’t just reductive; I don’t think it’s accurate.

Remember: The Velvet Underground were famous for having failed to get the world to pay attention to them. Their live recordings, like the beloved Live 1969 album, have always sounded lonely. There are, maybe, three people clapping. The band’s albums sold miserably, to just a handful of devotees — though, as Brian Eno famously quipped, “every one of them started a band.”

I wouldn’t assume that Reed and his bandmates were indifferent to all this indifference. But it didn’t stop them from writing, or playing, or mattering.

I kept thinking about that strange collision-of-cultures show at Web 2.0 over the years, especially after the news of Reed’s death last year. What was he really thinking that night? Pestering Reed with questions about it is no longer an option. So I tracked down Jonathan Miller, then the CEO of AOL and the person who arranged the whole event, and asked him.

Miller and Reed met when Reed appeared in a 2002 AOL video shoot, and they studied with the same tai chi master. “We were trying for more of a presence on the West Coast,” Miller recalled. “We were the primary sponsor of the conference, and that gave us the right to designate a musical act for the night. I thought, we gotta have a little attitude. Lou embodies doing it your own way.”

So Lou Reed was going to lend AOL a little bit of his edge. Could be tricky! How pissed off was he, really?

“We went out for dinner afterwards,” Miller says. “He was okay with it. He said, ‘That wasn’t the first time I had to do that.'”

Neither Miller nor conference host John Battelle remembers (or will say) what Reed was paid for the show. Clearly, on some level, the performance was a simple transaction: Musicians have bills to pay, too, and today they have a harder time than ever — thanks in good part to the disruptions of the tech industry. If Lou Reed could earn a few bucks by renting out his attitude, who are we to throw stones?

On another level, it made absolutely perfect sense for Reed to be there at Web 2.0, talking to (or glowering at) the people building the media platforms of the future. In his own way, Reed was a geek, too, a connoisseur of guitar sounds, electronic gear, and audio experiments.

At the modest peak of his commercial success in the mid-’70s, he’d released a technologist’s dreamwork: a “difficult” double album titled Metal Machine Music presenting a symphony of pure feedback that is, depending on your opinion, either a groundbreaking work of pristine abstraction foreshadowing ambient and techno or a colossally bad joke that fell deservedly flat. (I think it’s kind of cool to write to.) In the late ’70s, Reed recorded several albums using a “binaural audio” technology intended to one-up traditional stereo. In Laurie Anderson’s moving piece eulogizing Reed, her partner and husband over two decades, she recalls the locus of their first date — a music-tech gear show. Patti Smith, in her tribute to Reed in the New Yorker, wrote, “An obscure guitar pedal was for him another kind of poem.”

So Reed could have been quite at home among the Web 2.0 crowd. But nobody felt at home that night — it was an orgy of awkwardness all around. See for yourself: 2006 was pre-iPhone, but there were some people in the device-forward conference crowd who kept their cameras handy, and crude videos of parts of the show turned up on YouTube. Here’s that Sweet Jane performance.

Pretty uninspired and uninspiring, no? What I see most, watching that clip and playing the event back in my memory, is Lou Reed having a lot of trouble, at that moment, being Lou Reed. So he falls back on tired mannerisms, a belligerence and cynicism that the songs he was performing had already transcended.

It never stops being hard to be yourself, whoever you are. To the extent that our time online gives so many of us space to work and play at doing so better, I’m grateful for it. I’m not going to hate it, even when it ignores me, or tracks my clicks, or lobs tomatoes at my face.

That night in 2006 was the last time I saw Reed perform in person, but it’s not how I want to remember him. I prefer this story, a recollection by film director Allan Arkush (as posted last year by Anne Thompson):

I asked Lou when it first struck him that he was indeed ‘Lou Reed.’ He told me that starting with “Transformer” in 1972, people came up to him on the street all the time and shared drug experiences or stories of being on the fringe of societal standards of behavior and how his music had inspired them to these extremes. Hearing those personal tales of decadence just made him uncomfortable and he did not like being the “Lou Reed” connection for only those types of experiences.

He told me a story of when he was most happy being ‘Lou Reed.’ It was in Manny’s Music Store (a very famous place where guitarist Mike Bloomfield bought the Fender he used on ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ on his way to that session, and countless other amps, guitars and basses that mark the history of rock were purchased). Lou was just hanging out, buying some new guitar strings, when he noticed that a young teen with his dad were shopping for his first Fender guitar. The kid was 13 or so and practically shaking with excitement as he had just put on the Telecaster and was being plugged in–a very serious part of the ritual of buying a guitar at Manny’s.

Lou was wondering what this geeked-out teen would play to test out his momentous purchase. After some tuning and a squall of feedback from being turned up to 11, the boy launched into the opening chords to “Sweet Jane”; the riff turned everyone’s head in the store. In his typical dry and penetrating manner, Lou looked at me: “That’s when I said to myself, ‘Hey. I’m Lou Reed!'”

For your listening pleasure: Visit the Sweet Jane Museum

Post Revisions:

  • July 23, 2019 @ 10:38:57 [Current Revision] by Scott Rosenberg
  • July 23, 2019 @ 10:38:57 by Scott Rosenberg
  • June 10, 2019 @ 02:17:06 by Scott Rosenberg
  • August 10, 2014 @ 09:00:23 by Scott Rosenberg
  • August 10, 2014 @ 08:59:17 by Scott Rosenberg

Filed Under: Features, Project

Comments

  1. Derek Powazek

    August 10, 2014 at 11:03 am

    @scottros Wonderful story, Scott.

  2. Scott Rosenberg

    August 10, 2014 at 11:13 am

    @fraying Thank you so much!

  3. Brian Dear

    August 10, 2014 at 11:50 am

    @scottros I was there. It was cringeworthy. Right out of a Mike Judge Silicon Valley screenplay.

  4. Scott Rosenberg

    August 10, 2014 at 11:52 am

    @brianstorms I definitely cringed then too! But over time everything comes to seem much more complex…

  5. Brian Dear

    August 10, 2014 at 11:55 am

    @scottros Agree. I’ve never forgotten the moment. I walked out 2-3 songs after he turned vol up; didn’t want to be anywhere near that scene.

  6. Sumana Harihareswara

    August 10, 2014 at 11:56 am

    .@scottros This wordyard.com/2014/08/10/doi… is a tour de force, and I can already tell I’ll come back to it to be inspired anew.

  7. Scott Rosenberg

    August 10, 2014 at 11:59 am

    @brainwane aw gee means a lot to me, thx —> i.e. my piece passed @robinsloan‘s Fish Test! robinsloan.com/fish/

  8. Constantin Basturea

    August 10, 2014 at 12:30 pm

    “What is it that you learn from being a media actor and not just a media consumer?” A great story by @scottros twitter.com/scottros/statu…

  9. Douglas Moran

    August 10, 2014 at 1:35 pm

    You were there and I wasn’t so I wouldn’t know, but: Was it a case of rude, entitled techie businesspeople who didn’t want to pay attention to/acknowledge The Great Lou Reed, or was it a gathering of excited, myopic, high-tech nerds (and whatever else he is, O’Reilly is a *huge* nerd) who were so stoked by what they were doing and to be gathered together in one room that Reed was simply a side-issue for them until he berated them?

    I ask because I’ve been at some events like that–not many, but a few–and I’ve seen it both ways. Nerds, famously, can be incredibly rude–through a combination of myopia, self-involvement, OCD-like hyper focus, and borderline autistic monointerest–but they can also simply be oblivious when they’re into something. And in the latter case, the President of the US, Scarlett Johansson, The Beatles, Elon Musk, and lineup of the 2012 SF Giants could come through the room and not get noticed (unless Musk was driving an unreleased Tesla–and then they’d talk about the Tesla). Nathan Fillion accompanied by Gena Torres in full “Firefly” regalia might get noticed, I suppose, or if Johansson was wearing her Avengers outfit. But when they’re involved, nerds are absurdly oblivious. Especially younger nerds. In my experience.

    But on the other hand, maybe the crowd was just being a bunch of jerks. Only you know for sure. :)

  10. Chip Brantley

    August 10, 2014 at 2:30 pm

    @scottros This is incredible, Scott. Articulates so well so many things I’ve been unable to articulate to myself.

  11. Jay Rosen

    August 10, 2014 at 5:45 pm

    @scottros Beautifully done, Scott. (This is part of your next book, I am sensing.)

  12. Andy Weissman (@aweissman)

    August 10, 2014 at 6:09 pm

    Gorgeous, wonderful essay, thanks for writing. Reminds me of some of the magic I saw when first exposed to the ‘net in the mid 90s.

    Also, my favorite Sweet Jane – 1974 Paris: http://blog.aweissman.com/

  13. Andy Weissman (@aweissman)

    August 10, 2014 at 6:10 pm

    Um that favorite Sweet Jane would be here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uc26EFI1_nw

  14. Philip Fleisher

    August 10, 2014 at 7:57 pm

    In 1978 I was eighteen. I also was compelled to learn how to play “Sweet Jane” on the guitar. I was reminded of feeling my life depended on that rhythm and those words becoming a part of me. Thanks for the inspiration.

  15. Kevin Cantù

    August 10, 2014 at 8:03 pm

    @scottros @robtruman I don’t understand: with those lyrics and that music, why wouldn’t Lou Reed and a bunch of middle aged dudes get along?

  16. matt carmichael

    August 12, 2014 at 10:15 am

    @scottros One of the oldest and longest running Web sites was my Lou Reed/VU pages now at rockrnoll.net/loureed. It turned 20 this year.

  17. matt carmichael

    August 12, 2014 at 10:15 am

    @scottros And one of my fave sweet jane covers is this one, by Hurrah: pandora.com/hurrah/unpieci…

  18. Scott Rosenberg

    August 12, 2014 at 10:18 am

    @mcarmichael very cool, thanks! 20-year-old sites are the best. I will be sure to listen to Hurrah (and add it to my Sweet Jane Museum!).

  19. Carl Malamud

    August 12, 2014 at 10:20 am

    @scottros What a beautiful piece! Nicely done.

  20. John Robinson

    August 12, 2014 at 10:20 am

    It’s awesome MT @scottros Grateful for all the kind words for my musings on “Sweet Jane,” Lou Reed, the Web.Thanks. wordyard.com/2014/08/10/doi… …

  21. Katie Hawkins-Gaar

    August 12, 2014 at 4:11 pm

    This article from @scottros is a fantastic read for anyone interested in participatory journalism: wordyard.com/2014/08/10/doi…

  22. Cliff

    August 13, 2014 at 2:18 pm

    Great writing for great reading. I’m supposed to be doing something else, but….For years I assume “Jane” was “mary jane,” and to hell with the lyrics that had nada to do with grass. But the riff is one of the all-time greats.

    Somehow the fact that AOL was hosting a conference on Web 2.0 strikes me as super ironic. Have they ever gotten it to this day?

  23. Jeffrey Yamaguchi

    October 27, 2014 at 12:07 pm

    Thanks @scottros, and great essay on “Doing is knowing”

  24. Scott Rosenberg

    October 27, 2014 at 12:59 pm

    @jeffyamaguchi thank you!

  25. Scott

    July 28, 2015 at 12:23 am

    the ironies were everywhere not only this night, but that trip with Lou on a small west coast leg of his tour. I worked with him for the last 12 years of his life and helped Jon in organizing this event and other fun performances for Lou in those years. Your article is beautiful and expresses a depth and appreciation of his music and the man. Send me your contact information as I have a funny anecdote from that trip that I’d like to share with you in private. Talk about irony. Best, SR

  26. Joy Mayer

    August 25, 2015 at 6:48 am

    @scottros @Brizzyc I adore it. I keeping looking for new ways to fit it into my Participatory Journalism class.

  27. Scott Rosenberg

    August 25, 2015 at 7:11 am

    @mayerjoy @brizzyc Thank you! Great to hear

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  68. Kars says:
    August 13, 2014 at 1:21 am

    Wednesday, August 13, 2014 by Kars | Articles

    “Playing a song changes your understanding of it. Playing music changes how you listen to it. Doing changes knowing.”

    Great piece on how the internet is facilitating a new literacy of media production. Doing definitely changes knowing. However, I disagree old structures of power and access are no longer in place on the internet. And I also disagree learning to play a song on a guitar is the same as “learning” to post a tweet. There’s a different relationship between the tool, the media and the person going on there.

    (via Doing is knowing: “Sweet Jane” and the Web — Wordyard)(Source: https://www.youtube.com/)

    Related posts:
    The Toy-Like Nature of Social Media
    YouTube Is a Spam Machine!

    Kars
    Kars is an independent interaction and game designer. His main professional interests are cities, physical & social interactions and play. He is also a teacher and an organizer of events. He lives and works in Utrecht, the Netherlands.

  69. SimonOwens says:
    August 13, 2014 at 7:37 am

    With Facebook over a decade old now and blogging even older still, it can be easy to forget how recent it is in human history that you, the group formerly known as the audience, have had access to media platforms that put you on an evil playing field with the world’s most powerful media entities. That’s not to say most of you will ever reach the power and influence of a Bob Woodward or a Miley Cyrus, but as Scott Rosenberg explains in this essay for his blog, that’s not the point:

    One thing we can say with some certainty is that, for the first time in the still-short span of human history, the experience of creating media for a potentially large public is available to a multitude. A good portion of the population has switched roles from “audience” to — speaker, creator, participant, contributor, we don’t even have the proper word yet.
    Forget whether this is “good” or “bad”; just dwell with me for a moment on its novelty.
    Millions of people today have the chance to feel what it’s like to make media — to create texts or images or recordings or videos to be consumed by other people they may or may not know. Whether they are skilled at doing this is as beside the point as whether or not I can play “Sweet Jane” well. What matters about all this media-making is that they are doing it, and in the doing, they are able to understand so much more about how it works and what it means and how tough it is to do right — to say exactly what you mean, to be fair to people, to be heard and to be understood. If you find this exciting, and I do, it is not because you are getting some fresh tickets to the fame lottery; that’s the same game it’s always been. It’s because we are all getting a chance to tinker with and fathom the entire system that surrounds fame — and that shapes the news and entertainment we consume every day.

    More from my siteDid blog posts attract more comments before Facebook and Twitter?Marketers may hate Facebook’s Newsfeed algorithm, but it has users more addicted to Facebook than everHow do you open your news org up to unpaid bloggers without sacrificing quality?Are Upworthy’s days of Facebook dominance numbered?We now know how Facebook will integrate Oculus RiftThe fall of the independent blog

  70. Consuming versus participating: How creation changes perception | joy mayer says:
    September 12, 2014 at 11:29 am

    Consuming versus participating: How creation changes perception
    Posted: September 12, 2014 | Author: Joy Mayer | Filed under: Uncategorized |Leave a comment
    I kicked off this semester’s Participatory Journalism class with a new reading — a blog post that has become like a mental ear worm for me. I keep chewing on it and getting more from it.
    Scott Rosenberg published an insightful story last month called Doing is knowing: “Sweet Jane” and the Web. It’s a wonderful reflection on how a participatory culture and digital innovation have opened up possibilities of creation, not just consumption, to the masses. Plus, Lou Reed is awesome.
    From the post:
    “But I’ve learned what musicians have always known: Playing a song changes your understanding of it. Playing music changes how you listen to it. Doing changes knowing.”
    I’d love to hear thoughts from others about how this might relate to their own lives and work. In my class, we talked about the differences between “Sweet Jane” YouTube tutorials that had thousands of views versus dozens. We talked about the rise of Let’s Play videos on YouTube, and how my 11-year-old son watches them but also wants to record himself playing Minecraft and share that video with others. We talked about the ways we invite readers of our news product to contribute, and what might motivate them to do that.
    I suspect I’ll keep this music theme going throughout the semester.
    One more excerpt, then go read the thing yourself:
    Millions of people today have the chance to feel what it’s like to make media — to create texts or images or recordings or videos to be consumed by other people they may or may not know. Whether they are skilled at doing this is as beside the point as whether or not I can play “Sweet Jane” well. What matters about all this media-making is that they are doing it, and in the doing, they are able to understand so much more about how it works and what it means and how tough it is to do right — to say exactly what you mean, to be fair to people, to be heard and to be understood. If you find this exciting, and I do, it is not because you are getting some fresh tickets to the fame lottery; that’s the same game it’s always been. It’s because we are all getting a chance to tinker with and fathom the entire system that surrounds fame — and that shapes the news and entertainment we consume every day.
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  74. René Quiroz says:
    January 19, 2016 at 9:20 am


    ¿Qué tipo de experiencias de aprendizaje educativas cambiaría vidas?
    Como respuesta a esa pregunta, la monografía de George Kuh sobre las prácticas de alto impacto ha sido enormemente influyente en toda la educación superior. 1 Cuando Kuh publicó su monografía en 2008, el énfasis en la competitividad de la economía mundial de los Estados Unidos fue enmarcando el valor de una universidad / universidad grado cada vez más en términos de potencial de un individuo para ganancias de por vida, así como el capital humano de la nación para la investigación, desarrollo y producción. Educación era cada vez más acerca de las carreras y “competencias” (una palabra Kuh mismo utiliza, aunque en un sentido más amplio que otros tienen) y menos acerca de la investigación, es decir, de decisiones, y una vista general humano de la capacidad humana. El ensayo de Kuh reconoció implícitamente que uno de los grandes costos de abandono de estos puntos de vista más amplios de la finalidad de la educación superior fue que los estudiantes podrían llegar a ser alienados de sus propias experiencias de aprendizaje. Él estaba en lo correcto. A pesar de que “centrado en el estudiante el aprendizaje” se convirtió en el mantra, la mayor atención a los resultados y los objetivos sirvió (y todavía sirve) para permitir un estrechamiento, el enfoque conductista en medir fácilmente, fácil de describir los resultados vinculados a detalladas prescripciones, normas y sanciones, todo contenida en los contratos del curso (es decir, programas de estudios, por supuesto).
    Por el contrario, “las prácticas de alto impacto” de Kuh trataron de reforzar y, en algunos casos, recuperar la idea de aprender todo como una aventura en el discernimiento y la autorrealización dentro de un contexto social profundamente relacional, una aventura en la síntesis e integración. El marco conceptual de Kuh supone una cultura progresiva de la enseñanza, que haría hincapié en el aprendizaje individual dentro de una red cada vez mayor de las conexiones que van desde lo personal a lo altamente conceptual. Dicha red es lo que Jerome Bruner llamó, hace cincuenta años, “la web de la reciprocidad social.” 2En el marco de Kuh, el apoyo para el descubrimiento de red de conexiones sería en el centro tanto del ambiente de aprendizaje como fue diseñado por la facultad y el aprendizaje medio ambiente como las experimentadas por los estudiantes.
    Kuh aparece diez prácticas de alto impacto, dispuestos en un diseño de primera piedra a piedra angular que se fusionaron explícitamente curriculares y co-curricular (es decir, no supuesto- o salón de clases definidas) de aprendizaje. Su diseño se dirigió a la necesidad de un enfoque integral de aprendizaje de los estudiantes a nivel de pregrado; como él señaló: “En casi todos los campus, la utilización de prácticas de aprendizaje activo es asistemático, en detrimento del aprendizaje de los estudiantes.” Dentro del diseño de Kuh son prácticas, en su mayoría, pero no del todo en el área curricular, que han llegado a ser llamado aprendizaje experimental: estudio en el extranjero, prácticas, aprendizaje de servicio y compromiso con la comunidad. Dependiendo de la institución, la investigación de pregrado también puede ser incluido en la categoría de aprendizaje experiencial. El denominador común es un contexto del mundo real que ofrece oportunidades de integración profunda para el aprendizaje en el aula que debe aplicarse a problemas u oportunidades situados complejas y complejamente.
    Sin embargo, un elemento fundamental no aparece en la lista de Kuh: aprendizaje en red a través de Internet, en especial de la World Wide Web. En la catedral de Turing: Los orígenes del Universo Digital, George Dyson observó: “La computadora de programa almacenado, tal como fue concebido por Alan Turing y entregado por John von Neumann, rompió la distinción entre números que significan cosas y números que hacencosas Nuestro universo. nunca sería el mismo. “3 Por desgracia, la mayor parte de la educación superior ha pasado por alto, ignorado o negado rotundamente este punto de inflexión crucial, así como nosotros con razón, valorizar y tratamos de preservar las formas anteriores de aprendizaje en red implícita dentro de la palabra muy universidad.
    Aunque las estructuras de gestión de los horarios del curso, horas de crédito, registro en línea (de manera similar a la banca en línea), “la gestión de aprendizaje”, y toda la mecánica de “éxito de los estudiantes” pueden hacer que la experiencia de aprender más compartimentada y fragmentada, todavía hay una conjunto básico de experiencias de aprendizaje en red pre-digitales en el corazón de la educación superior. Ir a la biblioteca de la universidad o universidad más cercana. No haga caso de las estaciones de computadoras y las affordances digitales. Introduzca las pilas, y pasa los dedos por los lomos de los libros en los estantes. Usted está trazando nodos y conexiones. Estás tocando en red de aprendizaje-en cámara lenta y errática, sin duda, pero sólida y presente y, a decir verdad, emocionante. Los fundadores de la edad de la informática de los soñadores y constructores como Vannevar Bush, JCR Licklider, Douglas Engelbart, Ted Nelson, Alan Kay, y Adele en red digitales Goldberg-buscaron para amplificar el alcance e impacto del aprendizaje en red y la inteligencia colectiva de la especies. Rápidamente se dieron cuenta de la naturaleza embriagadora experiencial del ciberespacio ayudaron a inventar-una emoción como la de aprender lo que una biblioteca realmente representa.¿Por qué no ofrecer a los estudiantes una experiencia de la sensación de excitante posibilidad dentro del ciberespacio se dan por sentado, el ciberespacio que LMS y aplicaciones han comenzado a retirar de nuestro punto de vista?
    Al considerar las prácticas de alto impacto a la luz de la cultura contemporánea, hay que añadir aprendizaje en red mediada digitalmente a la lista de Kuh, porque la experiencia de construir y participar dentro de una red mediada digitalmente de descubrimiento y colaboración es una base cada vez más necesario para todas las demás formas de aprendizaje experiencial en la era digital. Por otra parte, la experiencia de construir y participar dentro de una red mediada digitalmente del descubrimiento es en sí misma una forma de aprendizaje experiencial, de hecho un tipo de aprendizaje metaexperiential que claramente y de manera concreta enseña la experiencia de los propios redes. Con las redes reemplazar escaleras y los árboles como una metáfora primaria para describir las estructuras de conocimiento, el aprendizaje digital en red se vuelve maravillosamente recursiva como lugar de integración: la experiencia misma profundiza la comprensión alumnos de la condición de aprendizaje en sí mismo dentro de un contexto fuertemente social que puede movilizar comunidades de práctica rápida y eficaz. 4 Si hay algo que el Internet y la web deberían nos han enseñado, es que lo que Engelbart llama un “repositorio dinámico del conocimiento” es una manifestación mediada por ordenador de la obra colectiva de la civilización, una manifestación tan real como cualquier otra forma de experiencia mediada y, a la luz de la observación de Dyson, una que tiene propiedades como poderosos, y maleables, como el lenguaje mismo.
    Nadie cree que el conocimiento del alfabeto y la pronunciación de las palabras significan que una persona posee la alfabetización profundidad necesaria para el aprendizaje a nivel universitario. Sin embargo, nuestras ideas acerca de la alfabetización digital son cada vez más empobrecida, hasta el punto de que muchos de mis estudiantes actuales, inmersos en un mundo “jardín amurallado” de aplicaciones y medios de comunicación social, saben casi nada acerca de la web o en Internet. Por primera vez desde la aparición de la web, el año pasado descubrí que la mayoría de mis estudiantes a nivel de segundo año no entendía el concepto de una URL y, por tanto luché con el uso eficaz y la formación de los hipervínculos en la clase de escritura en red que Colegio Universitario de la UCV llama cariñosamente “vectores del Pensamiento en Space Concept”, una frase atribuida por Kay de Engelbart y uno que describe el aspecto fundamental de la experiencia de aprendizaje en red. 5 Mis alumnos no parecían ser capaces de analizar los dominios en los que publican su trabajo , lo que significaba que no podían imaginar constantemente cómo localizar o enlazar el trabajo del otro simplemente examinando la estructura de las URLs involucrados. Si uno no puede entender los principios de organización de un entorno construido, no se puede contribuir a la construcción. Y si uno no puede contribuir a la construcción, ciertos modos vitales de conocimiento estarán para siempre fuera de su alcance.
    Sin embargo, los educadores tratan de proporcionar lo que Carl Rogers llama “libertad de aprender” seguir trabajando en esas prácticas de alto impacto digitales. 6 Es una tarea paradójica, para estar seguro, pero es que vale la pena intentar, sobre todo ahora, cuando “para primera vez en la aún breve lapso de la historia humana, la experiencia de la creación de medios para una posible gran público está disponible a una multitud. “7experiencia de lo que Henry Jenkins ha articulado como la mediación en red de los estudiantes” debe cultura participativa ” extender su experiencia a la escuela también. 8La escuela como lugar de la práctica de alto impacto de alumno-construida, instructor facilitado, el aprendizaje digital en red puede transformar la experiencia de la educación, incluso, ya que conserva, y las escalas, nuestro compromiso con la educación de toda la persona.
    La web ha sido diseñado sólo para este tipo de colaboración. Uno no necesita permiso para hacer un hipervínculo. Sin embargo, se hace necesario “la idea de confianza, laautoridad de los medios de comunicación de decisiones” para crear significado de esos vínculos. Esta confianza y la autoridad deben ser uno de los resultados de aprendizaje más altos a disposición de nuestros estudiantes dentro de lo que Mimi Ito y otros han descrito como “aprendizaje conectado.” 9 conexiones Aprendices iniciados que identifican tanto los nodos y las líneas entre ellos, en lugar de limitarse a conectar el puntos que los maestros ya se han establecido (valioso como que podría ser), co-crear lo que Lawrence Stenhouse sostiene es “la naturaleza del conocimiento como algo distinto de la información…” – “una estructura para sostener el pensamiento creativo y proporcionar marcos para el juicio.” Tales estructuras pueden alentar una floración enormemente beneficioso de la diversidad humana, que está más allá del alcance de los resultados prefabricados: “La educación como inducción al conocimiento es un éxito en la medida en que hace que los resultados del comportamiento de los estudiantes impredecibles.” 10
    Ofrecer a los estudiantes la posibilidad de aprender de la experiencia en computación en todas sus personales, interactivos en red gloriosamente desordenado variedades proporciona la oportunidad más rico aún para el pensamiento integrador dentro y más allá “escolarización”. Si la educación superior puede abarcar la complejidad del aprendizaje en red y se puede valorar el estado de emergencia que el aprendizaje en red faculta, todavía puede ser el momento para fomentar el aprendizaje en red como una estructura y una disposición, un diseño y un hábito de ser.
    Notas
    George D. Kuh, Prácticas Educativas de Alto Impacto: Qué son, quién tiene acceso a ellos, y por qué son importantes  (Washington, DC: Asociación de Colegios y Universidades, 2008 Americana).
    Jerome S. Bruner, Hacia una teoría de la Instrucción (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, de la Universidad de Harvard, 1966).
    George Dyson, la Catedral de Turing: Los orígenes del universo digital (Nueva York: Pantheon Books, 2012), ix.
    Para una elegante exposición del cambio de paradigma de redes, consulte el TED Talk por Manuel Lima, “Una historia visual del conocimiento humano”,TED2015, marzo de 2015.
    Ver Doug Engelbart, Alan Kay, Ted Nelson, y Tim Berners-Lee, panel de discusión, MIT / Castaño Vannevar Bush Simposio, Cambridge, Massachusetts 13 de octubre de 1995.
    Carl R. Rogers, libertad para aprender: una visión de lo que podría convertirse en la Educación (Columbus, OH: CE Merrill, 1969). La obra de George Siemens en el aprendizaje conectivista es vital en este sentido.
    Scott Rosenberg, “Hacer es saber: ‘Sweet Jane’ y la Web,” Wordyard Proyecto, 10 de agosto 2014.
    Henry Jenkins et al., Frente a los desafíos de la cultura participativa: la educación en medios para el siglo 21 (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2009).
    Para pensamientos más reciente publicación de Ito sobre este tema, ver a Henry Jenkins, Mizuko Ito, y Danah Boyd, Participatory Culture en una época en red: Una conversación sobre la Juventud, Aprender, Comercio y Política (Malden, MA: Paidós, 2015).
    Lawrence Stenhouse, Introducción a la Investigación y Desarrollo Curricular(Londres: Heinemann, 1975), 82.
    Fuente: http://er.educause.edu/
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  75. The Ada Initiative and ‘Citizen Editors’ | Story Addict says:
    March 29, 2017 at 1:35 pm

    […] are tags, not categories. If you love a subject, and you have some money and some time, you can haul under-appreciated work into wider discourse, curate it, and help it sing.  X I […]

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