George Lucas drew a distinction for the crowd at D earlier this week that became something of a refrain for the rest of the event.

Lucas said: there’s circus, and then there’s art. “Circus is random and voyeuristic. What you see on YouTube right now — I call it feeding Christians to the lions. The movie term is, throwing puppies on a freeway. You don’t have to write anything or do anything — you just have to sit there, and it’s interesting. Like American Idol. Just put a camera on your neighbor’s window and see what happens. Then you get to art — where a particular person contrives a situation and tells a story, and hopefully that story reveals a truth behind the facts. With voyeurism all you’re getting is the facts.”

Lucas is a brilliant man who has told some great stories in his day. And I think he intended to defend the enterprise of making art, which we can always applaud. But with this generalization he has cast a great slur on the circus world.

I spent several years of my life as a working theater critic in San Francisco during the heyday of what was once known as New Vaudeville; I witnessed the work of pioneering Bay Area institutions like the Pickle Family Circus and saw the rise of “new circus” institutions like the Cirque du Soleil. And I do not think it’s going out on a limb to say that George Lucas is dead wrong in defining circus and art as opposites.

Circus is art. It doesn’t “just happen.” The people who perform in it spend years or lifetimes perfecting their skills.

Lucas, perhaps, really meant “sideshow” — where they used to put the freaks and the mutant animals and the geeks who would bite the heads off animals. In that sense, sure, YouTube is often a sideshow.

The videos Steve Jobs highlighted as he showed off AppleTV’s new YouTube connection were, essentially, sideshows. Mentos in Coke is sideshow. The “human slingshot” is sideshow.

But surprisingly often, YouTube is art. And when you experience a really great circus performance you encounter a kind of truth, too.

Jimmy Guterman’s post (also here) about the Gates/Jobs show at D is worth reading. I like his thinking out loud here:

They do have so much in common. When Gates said, “Neither of us have anything to complain about” and “We’re two of the luckiest guys on the planet,” and Jobs quoted The Beatles’ “Two Of Us” to express his affection for Gates, it didn’t seem like a put-on. Indeed, one can think of Gates and Jobs (as opposed to Gates and Allen, or Jobs and Wozniak) as the Lennon and McCartney of the PC era. They worked together for a long time and they fought for a long time, but the two of them experienced extremes that no one else in their business ever faced. For all their differences, they’re two of a kind, unlike anyone else anywhere.

Nicely put. But I think the Lennon/McCartney comparison goes too far, because, after all, these guys are and always have been primarily rivals, not collaborators, and they have done their best work apart, not together — which was not really the John-and-Paul story at all.

Perhaps — as someone else pointed out this week (can’t remember now where I read this!) — a Beatles/Stones comparison would be more apt? Elvis/Dylan? Clash/Sex Pistols?

As most successful companies evolve and expand they develop some nostalgic sense of romance around their freewheeling early days. An exchange here at D with Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer suggests that Microsoft is atypical in this regard. Perhaps one root of Microsoft’s paranoid corporate DNA — its collective sense that no matter how successful it is, the roof could cave in any minute — lies in an inferiority complex that goes back to its formative years.

Here is what Ballmer said, responding to a question from Walt Mossberg about managing such a huge company today: “Don’t think the early days of Microsoft, when I joined, were so great. We didn’t have great agility.”

Mossberg: “What, it was small but ossified?”

Ballmer: “The people we had weren’t as good — they just weren’t pushing as much.”

Mossberg: “Like Paul Allen?”

Ballmer: “Paul was good. Bill was good. Four out of 30 were good — and believe me, the rest are gone.”

This conference is a Wall Street Journal event, so the specter of Rupert Murdoch’s buyout hovered over everything — like the Eye of Sauron turning its gaze upon, well, not exactly a settlement of happy hobbits, but, let’s just say, a crowd of sheltered journalists. (As a Journal reader, I’d hate to see the paper’s quality decline, but then again, as I’ve said, it’s only fitting that market forces should be threatening this champion of free markets.) Pushing this analogy to an extreme would cast NewsCorp president Peter Chernin, who spoke here and defended Murdoch’s bid, as the Mouth of Sauron.

Here is what Chernin had to say when quizzed about Murdoch’s plans for the Journal by Kara Swisher, who — like the rest of the WSJ journalists at the event — would work for him should the deal be consummated: “The notion that we want to buy one of the great trophies, a genuine public trust — the notion that we want to buy that to change it is completely counterintuitive. We made an offer at a significant premium. We believe it is the premier source of news and information on a specific aspect of this society.”

But what else was he going to say? “We intend to rape and pillage?” Assurances like these are pro forma.

“News Corp. is mischaracterized,” Chernin declared. “This is a very broad church.” Indeed; any media empire that can embrace moralistic right-wing politics and least-common-denominator popular entertainment has to be broad.

It wasn’t surprising that Mossberg and Swisher would be direct in confronting a News Corp. interviewee with tough questions about the deal: It’s still an open question whether Murdoch will win his bid, and everyone here had the same questions in mind. But, if Murdoch gets the Journal, is it likely that, a year from now, at the next D conference, we’ll be watching News Corp. execs get grilled on stage?

The much-ballyhooed joint interview with Bill Gates and Steve Jobs here at the Wall Street Journal D conference not only failed to throw sparks — it was a veritable orgy of hugs and nostalgia for the revolution the men led in their now long-ago youth.

Just this afternoon, Jobs had knocked Windows software: he’d explained why Windows users love iTunes’ jukebox software so much by declaring, “It’s like giving a glass of ice water to somebody in hell.”

But in the warm evening glow Jobs dropped that familiar braggadoccio and joined in the spirit that interviewers Walt Mossberg and Kara Swisher set, of thoughtful reminiscence and mutual appraisal. On those terms, the event was a fascinating bout of PC-industry psychoanalysis.

Many others live-blogged the event (Engadget, the D5 blog, Dan Farber, Paul Kedrosky, Eric Savitz and more), so instead let me offer some impressions based on the unusual opportunity to observe these two industry pioneers side by side.

Gates has always tended to let his words wander into thickets of technical minutiae, but the trait only showed itself in deeper relief next to Jobs’ ability to cut quickly and cleanly to the heart of an anecdote. As Gates began to fumble through some digressive detail in telling the tale of how Microsoft’s floating-point BASIC ended up on the Apple II, Jobs watched impatiently, then finally broke in — “Let me tell the story!” — and provided the key bit of human color. For reasons nobody ever figured out, Jobs explained, Steve Wozniak had written, by hand, on paper, “a BASIC that’s like the best BASIC on the planet, it’s perfect in every way,” except it only did fixed-point math. So Apple bought Gates’s floating-point version for $31,000 — and got the Microsoft code on a cassette.

Jobs is also faster with a joke than his old rival. When Swisher asked them to describe “the greatest misunderstanding about your relationship and about each other,” Jobs deadpanned, “We’ve kept our marriage secret for over a decade.” Gates froze for a painfully long silence before mumbling something about how “It’s been fun to work together” and “I kind of miss some of the people who aren’t around any more.”
(more…)

I’m down at the Wall Street Journal D conference this week.

Tuesday night, Sen. John McCain, following up on his appearance at Google 3 weeks ago, courted the tech industry’s money and talent here. Quizzed by conference hosts Walt Mossberg, Kara Swisher and members of the audience for nearly an hour, McCain didn’t always tell the crowd what it seemed to want to hear — particularly about the Iraq war. But after a subdued opening, McCain found his voice, and a measure of positive response, by promising an administration that would tap the nation’s best minds, JFK-style.

In filling the federal bureaucracy’s leadership positions, like the Federal Communications Commission, McCain said, “Don’t pick the person who’s contributed the most or shown the most loyalty. Bring in experienced people that know the field and ask them to serve.”

“I know who the smart people in America are,” he said. He could easily have added, They’re right here! He proceeded to drop names like Federal Express founder Fred Smith (who could whip the “screwed up” defense acquisition system into shape), Cisco CEO John Chambers and Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer. The latter two men, as it happened, were in the room.

“I’m curious,” Swisher interjected. “Steve Ballmer as secretary of state?” (In the tech industry, Ballmer is known for his pugnacity.)

“Ambassador to China,” McCain quipped back.

McCain seemed most relaxed in these “pick your dream cabinet” exchanges, and least at ease in attempting to square his ardent free-market principles with complex questions about Net neutrality and the failure of the U.S. broadband market to match the speeds and services available in other countries. At times the senator trotted out stump-rhetoric set pieces that felt oddly stiff in this relatively intimate venue. After sketching the dangerous scenario of a nuclear-armed Iran passing a bomb to terrorists, for instance, he realized he was sounding too gloomy for a successful presidential candidate, so he hastily added, “We’re the strongest nation in the world and the best nation in every way, and we will prevail again.”

On Iraq, he restated the position he shares with President Bush: “setting a date for withdrawal is setting a date for surrender.” He recalled his record criticizing the conduct of the war, including his relatively early break with former defense secretary Donald Rumsfeld. But today, he said, “We are where we are. If we leave, there will be chaos in the region…and they will follow us home. Now, we have got a new general and a new strategy. It is working.”

“You really believe that?” Mossberg looked dubiously at McCain. McCain started reeling off the names of experts who, he said, share his view that withdrawal would be a disaster: Scowcroft, Zinni, Kissinger. Mossberg pointed out Kissinger’s iffy record of managing the wind-down of the Vietnam war, and McCain started to work up a heated response about that era’s history — which he knows a bit about — but then thought better of it.

The same issue came up again when Brian Dear, founder of Eventful, held up a copy of the 2000 reissue of the late David Halberstam’s The Best and the Brightest, and reminded the senator that he’d written a preface that urged leaders to read the book twice before entering any war. “Did you urge the Bush Administration to read this book? Doesn’t seem like they did.”

“It’s a lot of pages,” Swisher pointed out.

There’s more coverage of McCain over at AllThingsD, Mossberg and Swisher’s new blog site.

Before the opening talk at the Web 2.0 Expo earlier this week, the conference organizers played Michael Wesch’s video-ode to the participatory Web, “The Machine is Us/ing Us”. Given the insider-y nature of the crowd, I have to assume that most of the attendees had already seen it — it had rocketed to blogospheric celebrity in early February. But I didn’t realize the guy who made the video, a professor of cultural anthropology from Kansas State University, was at the conference.

On Tuesday afternoon I literally stumbled upon his talk in the hallway (on a tip from my neighbor Tim Bishop); it was a part of the free, informal “Web2Open” parallel conference. Across the hall, a hubbub made it hard to hear Wesch — the Justin.tv people had set up camp there and needed to be asked to pipe down.

Wesch turns out to be a rare combination of ingenuous Web enthusiast and smart cultural critic. In my experience, the cultural critics are usually pickled in cynicism and the Web enthusiasts are often blinded to their technology’s drawbacks. Maybe the discipline of cultural anthropology has helped Wesch maintain some balance; or maybe his sheer distance from Silicon Valley-mania — whether in the flatlands of Kansas or the mountains of Papua New Guinea — has helped him find a fresh perspective.

The came-out-of-nowhere saga of Wesch’s video neatly serves to mirror its message about the generated-from-the-bottom-up nature of the Web. Wesch originally made the video, he explained, because he was writing a paper about Web 2.0 for anthropologists, trying to explain how new Web tools can transform the academic conversation. He created it “on the fly” using low-end tools. Its grammar, with its write-then-delete-and-rewrite rhythms, emerged as he made goofs and fixed them: “The mistakes were real, at first. Then I thought they were cool, and started to plan them.” The music was a track by a musician from the Ivory Coast that he found via Creative Commons. (Once the video became a hit, Wesch says, he got a moving e-mail from the musician, who said that he’d been about to give up his dreams of a life in music, but was now finding new opportunities thanks to the attention the video was sending his way.)

The video’s viral success took Wesch by surprise. He’d forwarded it to some colleagues in the IT department to make sure that he hadn’t erred in his definition of XML. They sent it around. It took a week to go ballistic.

At one point someone in the small audience asked Wesch a question about his field research in Papua New Guinea. He paused for a second, asking, “There’s about a two-hour lecture there, I’m not sure I can compress that into a five-minute answer — should I try?” I couldn’t help myself; I blurted, “Hey, you did the entire history of the Web in four minutes — go ahead!”

Rick Kleffel has a review site called the Agony Column, does a radio show for KUSP, and also podcasts, and sometimes contributes to NPR. So he keeps busy. I met him recently at KQED for an interview about Dreaming in Code, and he showed up with a copy of the book that bristled with more post-it-note bookmarks than I’d have thought physically possible:

It’s great that Kleffel liked my book enough to pay it this kind of close attention. He also recognized my effort to find, in the saga of a software project, some broader themes: for instance, how strange and difficult it is for groups of people to work together creating anything that’s abstract. He wrote: “The book, though it stays focused on software engineering, is clearly applicable to every other realm of life.”

Here’s Kleffel’s review; here’s the audio of our interview. A version of it is scheduled for broadcast on KUSP on Friday at around 10 AM, if you’re in the general Santa Cruz vicinity.

I attended the O’Reilly Emerging Technology Conference, or ETech, once again this year, and, distracted by other projects, did a very poor job of blogging about it. (You can read about the excellent EFF-sponsored debate between Mark Cuban and Fred von Lohmann, on the YouTube/Viacom lawsuit, here and here; Raph Koster spoke about magic as the underlying structure of game-play; and Danah Boyd gave a wonderful talk titled “Incantations for Muggles,” about the relationship between technologist-wizards and the rest of the human race — Koster took notes on it.)

The conference, as you may have heard, was abuzz with discussion of the Kathy Sierra saga — she’d been booked as a kickoff keynote speaker, but cancelled at the last minute, understandably spooked by threatening comments posted on her site and a couple of other blogs.

Sierra’s plight set off an immediate and vast blogstorm. There was much introspection and self-questioning about the onslaught of invective, nastiness, vicious taunts and obscene threats that sometimes emerges online, and seems especially targeted at women; there was also something of a rush to judgment to point fingers at particular bloggers whose sites and posts might (or might not) have encouraged the posts that caused Sierra such grief.

A prodigious number of people seemed to feel they had to weigh in immediately on this ugly situation, though virtually no one (yes, including myself) seemed willing or able to take the time needed to explore, in detail, what had actually happened and who had done what. I still haven’t seen any fully reported-out piece on the events — the coverage in the S.F. Chronicle seemed creditable, but it didn’t unravel the toughest questions: who was stalking Sierra, and was there in fact any relationship at all between said stalker(s) and the well-known bloggers she called out in her wounded post?

Sitting in a conference without the time or resources to do any reporting of my own, I thought, shoot, there’s no way I can know enough about what happened to add anything to the conversation. Of course comments like those Sierra encountered are, and should be considered, beyond the pale; Sierra deserved sympathy and support. But the storm of anger and the rush to judgment her post sparked represented, I thought, a failure of forethought. Running a blog provides the constant temptation to shoot off at the mouth. Sometimes, though, when you just don’t know all the facts, considered silence is golden.

The irony here is that this was supposed to be ETech’s year of fun and games.
(more…)