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>>Mark: Hi, I'm Mark Applebaum. I compose music that sounds
like this.
[cacophonous music plays]
Yeah. I'm also a professor of music at Stanford university.
Clearly mistakes were made because I have tenure. Now that
may disturb you and if so, it's possible that there's still
time for you to choose one of those East Coast schools,
maybe you wanna go to one of those instead. If this in any
way freaks you out, what I'll do is I'll pause for a moment
and let those of you leave the room who need to leave. OK?
[piano music plays]
>>Mark: You're still here, huh? In that case I'd like to say
hello to the class of 2016 and to let you know that I've
been invited to select our common readings for this year's
three books program. Now I presume that you've been
wrestling with them for the first part of the summer. That
is, presuming you haven't spent the first part of the summer
in a drunken stupor. Or mysteriously and obsessively
studying to retake the SAT exam for some inexplicable
reason.
So assuming you have checked out those things that we sent
you in June, and presuming that you have started forming
some questions and some opinions about the materials and
that you're anxious to discuss them with your colleagues
when you come to campus in September. In advance of that
conversation, I wanted to send you some remarks. A kind of
verbal study guide. In preparation. So. What I thought I'd
do is share those remarks with you, and I wanna first let
you know that they're not meant to dampen your own
enthusiasm for your own thoughts. Many of which will be
better and more relevant than mine. What I'm trying to
provide for you is simply a bunch of trailheads for you to
follow. And rhetorical flourishes and straw man questions,
and somewhat silly arguments follow. And those are, those
are purposely there to sort of aggravate and provoke. So
please understand that everything that follows, in what
follows, nothing is actually immune from debate or
criticism.
[pause]
For the first time, Stanford's three books includes forms
beyond the book. A documentary film presented on DVD. With
attention to a special features epilogue. A suite of smart
phone applications. Described on a website with links to
articles and YouTube videos. And delivered on iPhones in the
fall as useable tools. As well as a book. It is hoped that
the diversity of format encourages students to think about
how ideas are expressed differently by the written word, in
filmic presentation, through music, or using contemporary
social media. The 2012 2013 year at Stanford highlights the
arts.
[clears throat]
It marks the opening of the 112 million dollar Bing concert
hall. An occasion that prompts us not to complacently
celebrate the arts on campus as we know them. But to ask
broader questions about where art was made. What art is
important? And who gets inside.
The three books or rather, texts, were selected because they
serve as an undercurrent to a larger, enduring question that
must be taken up by every responsible college student. Why
does a liberal education's components, its disciplines,
subjects, topics, curricula, its assignments, projects,
course formats, its assumptions, questions, goals and
values. Why are these things organized the way that they
are? Why are things included or excluded? And how can the
student meaningfully engage in the discourse and its
evolution?
[pause]
A successful student is one who takes ownership of his or
her education. This student understands that any curricular
infrastructure is a mere starting point. And considered from
one perspective, an arbitrary one. From which a lifetime of
learning, exploration, experimentation, investigation,
useful failure, and creative thought are undertaken. And
from which curiosity, imagination, obsession, and ample but
harmonized self confidence and self criticism are
engendered. All in service of increasing one's own
intellectual creative agency. That of one's fellow
colleagues and that of those who enjoy less privilege. This
can't be done unless the college student thinks about the
university's form and assumptions. And rather than
swallowing them whole, charts a personally engaged path
through them. We hope for a class of open-minded joyful
skeptics. Not sleepwalking academic sycophants.
[pause]
Does heavy metal belong in the curriculum of our august
educational institution? IF so, does it deserve a place in
our dignified new concert hall? Chuck Klosterman's book,
Fargo Rock City, a Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural North
Dakota, is a loving tribute to a genre whose traditional
setting is less prestigious. The garage or the dive bar.
Furthermore, instead of examining the founding generation of
metal, such as Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, and Black Sabbath,
bands whose historical cache are enshrined. Klosterman looks
at glam metal bands of the 1980s. a subgenre considered
inconsequential and disposable by many critics and even fans
of metal. But 1980s heavy metal was hardly marginal. In
1989, for example, 40 percent of all sound recordings sold
in the united states were heavy metal. Does its mass
consumption by the public automatically make it worthy of
our consideration in the academy? Or is its very popularity
the thing that obviates it from study? That is, is it too
self-evident to be taught? What qualities must art possess
to demand our attention? Must the art be good? Oh yeah.
Whose idea of good?
Klosterman's treatment is both anthropological and personal.
A social autobiography that tells us a great deal about
adolescence and life in rural America. But is his small town
North Dakota perspective too marginal to warrant our
attention at Stanford? Should we prioritize California
culture instead? After all, I mean, California is the most
populated state and being local, it represents Stanford's
native, that is non-foreign culture. Or we could prioritize
the culture of New York City. After all, New York has the
world's greatest everything. So it must hold the world's
most authoritative point of view. Or maybe a European
perspective would be best, since all of our ideas, and even
our people, come from Europe. Right?
And those British people have such smart sounding accents,
they must be right about serious things like culture. My
sarcastic questions are conversation prompts. Pokes or jabs
really. That aspire to get students to uncover their values
and prejudices. To appreciate the gap between their
experiences and those of others. They also aim to flood
light our ignorance and blind spots. Much in the sense of
the adage, "You don't know what you like. You like what you
know."
Our new concert hall is the product of the finest architects
and world class acousticians. It will be an elite edifice.
Is it only for elite experienced and highly prestigious
musicians? If that is the case, and presuming that seniors
have more experience, then maybe freshmen should be barred
from performing there. Or perhaps students shouldn't perform
there at all. Because professionals are better. And since
being professional means earning money, then maybe we should
only allow the most expensive concerts. A sign of our
success will be the elimination of free concerts or student
price tickets. Our goal will be to produce a full house of
only wealthy patrons.
But what about Metallica. They are a professional ensemble.
Draw large audience. And command hefty ticket prices. Or is
the entire heavy metal genre prohibited from our highbrow
hall? Do we object to the genre's decibels? Which by the
way, are equaled in moments of symphonic music? Or is it the
hair? Or is the point of barring heavy metal to protect it,
not us? That is, are we worried that we will emasculate
heavy metals' counter cultural meaning by bestowing academic
institutional acceptance upon it?
Let us remember the joke made by university administrators
and teachers. "If only we could get rid of the students,
this place would run much more smoothly." The witticism
reminds us that the point of the educational enterprise is
the students. So our infrastructure, whether programmatic or
of the bricks and mortar kind, must serve our students first
and foremost. Our shiny new concert hall derives its meaning
and authority from its service to the educational mission.
That mission might favor orchestras who play the music of
dead white European males. Or not. So how do you think that
our concert hall should be used? And how do you think our
curriculum should be designed? Is it even up to you to
decide? Perhaps we should cultivate and explore different
ways of assessing value. Klosterman presents some unique
ways of determining musical value. For example the Charlie
Daniel's band's song, The Devil Went Down To Georgia was
admired because, quote "The guys who bought us beer loved
it." Unquote. And Klosterman reckons that someone would have
to pay him 98 dollars in order to never listen again to AC/
DCs "Back and Black". Are these useful ways of determining
value? However unorthodox?
Klosterman's rhetorical style itself is unorthodox. And
since he's not an academic, we might hastily dismiss him.
Instead he represents a different kind of thinker. A
different kind of critical thinker. In fact. That of the
public intellectual. Are we too close minded and
pusillanimous to acknowledge the possible utility of his
work? However it may differ from conventional academic
scholarship.
What in fact are the most valuable insights in Klosterman's
ebullient book?
[pause]
Heavy Metal is a marginal part of the university curriculum.
Also underrepresented on campus is the demographic group.
Kids. The college atmosphere is optimized for the emergence
of adulthood. A place for serious things. For performance.
Not play. So children are not invited to the university.
Since the Industrial Revolution we protect childhood as a
special state. One without the expectation of greatness. Or
even of achievement. And certainly detached from labor. But
is it inconceivable that children might contribute something
good? Or even superior to the university? Something that we
might value highly, conversely, can children teach adults
something about the value of childhood creativity? Might the
rehabilitation of play be a state to which we ought to
return? Marla Olmstead's story exposes a tangle of problems.
As Maya Feinman asks, quote "If a child can make great
abstract paintings, does this mean that modern art is itself
a hoax? A high culture con game?" unquote. How do you defend
abstract art? If someone likes it, is it art? And can it be
art if you don't like it?
Other questions abound. To what extent should we value
novelty in art? Is it OK if the novelty is in the artists'
biography? Not in the work itself? Michael Kimmelman in his
deft Special Features comments on art points out that the
exchange value of an artwork may be exterior to its physical
medium. The consumer experiences the story behind the making
of the art as more significant than the art object itself.
Does that strike you as problematic? Is the phrase "The work
of art" a noun? Like "an artifact." Or a verb? As in, "the
work of making art." These are vexing problems for artists.
Art critics. Art historians and art investors. But the
problems extend more generally to adults. What does it mean
when a child's work is valued more than an adult's. can
anyone be an artist? Or do you need special training? Can
you accomplish your professional goals without a Stanford
pedigree?
Marla also highlights a dilemma for Stanford students. Who
are known for their promise and ambition. Were you a
wunderkind whose childhood was distinguished by a special
skill or aptitude? Do you expect to continue to be a
wunderkind? Do others expect that of you? Does the idea of
the gifted individual or child prodigy whose talent
represents a chance trait or unearned genetic inheritance,
does it undermine the idea of hard work? Discipline?
Striving and refining? According to legend, Robert Johnson's
extraordinary prowess as a blues guitarist was a result of
making a deal with the devil. In exchange for his eternal
soul, the devil made him the greatest blues guitarist.
But such stories, while entertaining, have a problematic
subtext. That we, who would never associate with evil, are
excused from trying through conventional means, like arduous
practice, to become excellent. Similarly, if you were not a
gifted child prodigy in a particular enterprise, should you
give up on pursuing excellence as an adult? If not through
communion with the devil, perhaps you got into Stanford by
virtue of some other kind of help along the way. Did you
have stage parents? To what extend can you attribute your
childhood achievements to adult collaborators? Whether
parents, teachers, or mentors. That is, are all of your
accomplishments all your own?
[pause]
The question we have been asking is, who gets to determine
the value of something? We questioned the relevance of
talking about popular music in an academic setting. Or the
value of an abstract painting. We might also wonder about
the artistic merit of a new technology. The iPhone is not a
traditional musical instrument. It is not prestigious. It is
not formal. Unlike the most sought after instruments, say a
15.9 million dollar Stradivarius violin, a great functioning
mobile phone is neither expensive nor rare. iPhone
applications cost next to nothing. And they are easy to get.
Most important, they are not difficult to use. So everyone
can become a musician instantly. Right? Or is the iPhone
actually a pricy status symbol that not everyone can own?
Not entirely unlike a fine violin.
On the one hand, easy access is not what our music
conservatories want. They conserve a tradition. As well as
the corresponding hierarchy of specialists possessing
esoteric skill sets. On the other hand, widespread access to
these mobile phone applications means that the modes of
production have been granted to the masses. That everyone
can compose and play music. Is this a good thing? To what
extent is elitism in art worth preserving? Is participation
most important? What historical events can you think of in
which simple or common tools were used to create something
sophisticated, refined, or useful? What about the reverse?
What great artworks required extraordinary and precious
resources? Time, money, labor or tools, to create.
Ge ***'s iPhone applications are exoteric. They have been
used by millions. But are they musical instruments? If so,
are they good musical instruments? And do you think that
your opinion of them will change between your first summer
encounter with their introductory website documentation, and
your experience actually making music with them on the
campus in the fall? Wong's applications allow users to hear
one another's work instantly and globally. Is social
networking the best way to share musical expressions today?
Or is it time to present these mobile phone instruments on
the exalted stage of the new Stanford concert hall? Given
the limited number of free hours in the hall, is it OK if
***, the Stanford Mobile Phone Orchestra displaces the
Stanford Symphony Orchestra? Is the reverse OK? Is the
violin mightier or more important than the mobile phone? Is
the violin mightier than the electric guitar? Is the
professional violinist mightier than the child prodigy? And
who gets to decide?
Wong's company Smule is a silicon valley enterprise. It was
cofounded by ***'s graduate student Jeff Smith. Like
Google, Smule can be traced back to Stanford's intellectual
environment and the entrepreneurial creativity of its
students and faculty. You are not just any student. You are
a Stanford student. Do Stanford accomplishments like Smule
and Google encourage you to strive for success? Does having
impressive Stanford role models give you a sense of
entitlement to success? Or an expectation of success?
Conversely, there are many alumni, stories not so often
told. Who accomplished mediocrity, anonymity, and obscurity.
Even if you were happy, would these be acceptable outcomes
of your Stanford education?
[pause]
What is the takeaway from studying heavy metal through the
eyes of a public intellectual? From Marla Olmsted's story.
Or from Smule's explosive popularity. Is it about the
adaptability of our curriculum to a progressive culture? The
humility to seriously consider a child's artistic
expression? And a revolution in technological utility? Or is
it about the dumbing down of culture as mass consumption
erodes genuine quality? These three texts invite you to
inaugurate your Stanford education by considering the themes
that emerge from them. In particular, you're urged to
consider how society defines success. And how this
definition in turn exerts pressure on your own definition of
success. An artwork made by a kid. A popular song. Even if
maligned by highbrow critics. Or an auto tune tool that
fixes your vocal intonation, may be worthy of your attention
as a student at an elite educational institution. Or they
may be barbarians at the gate. Ultimately for any of us
willing to participate in the debate, it is up to us to
decide.
And with that I thank you for your attention. And I look
forward to seeing you this fall on campus. Bye.
>>Male Student: On Friday afternoon of new student
orientation, time is scheduled for dorm-based group activity
involving the Smartphone applications. Small groups of
housemates will check out a device that is preloaded with
the apps. And groups will then have a project to complete
together on that shared device. Groups will complete this
task during this time on Friday. But they can continue to
use the devices on Saturday and Sunday prior to the three
books program on Sunday afternoon.