Today we’d like to tell you about two events coming up this summer. First, the Malta Festival in Poznan, which has drawn mixed reviews. In today’s Germany, such a situation (differing opinions on a single matter) would likely be viewed negatively. People here tend to prefer clear-cut evaluations. But when everything gets “five stars,” that’s probably a bad sign in the arts. I’m curious to see how the festival develops. June 21–28. Here the link.
The second festival is the New Horizons Film Festival. If you don’t want to or can’t travel to Wroclaw, you can also stream the films. A little later. July 23–August 2. Here.
What is music really about? More broadly, what is art about? Recently, the focus has been on whether music is created by humans or made by machines. This distinction is important not only for the viewer, but also for the artist. It’s not just because machines are supposed to appeal to our emotions. After all, AI operates through repetition. With AI-generated music, for example, we get an essence of what came before. We’ve already written about this here.
So, what is music really about? Or art? Sometimes, it’s about the final product. A concept. Only humans can conceive of concepts, implement them, and present them. Angine de Poitrine does exactly that. They’re carrying out a Dadaist project, which, in times of war, still carries historical significance and reflects on where our civilization has ended up (we sometimes forget that Dadaism emerged during World War I).
But be warned. Angine de Poitrine plays math rock. It’s not for everyone.
I can’t remember the context or when it was. Someone sent me an essay by Alain on reading books. Well. It’s about how books might make us feel depressed, and how we should go out into nature instead. Apparently, nature calms us down when it enters our brains through our eyes. How lovely.
I don’t want to engage in cultural relativism here, but I’m interested in the dichotomy between ‘nature’ and ‘intellect’. For one thing, we don’t have ‘nature’. I don’t know what it is. This is because we live in the here and now, and at least as far as European ‘nature’ is concerned, it is domesticated. Without roaming animals, we speak more of a cultural landscape than nature. Of course, I can observe ‘nature’. But what I’m usually looking at springs from the minds of landscape architects, farmers and urban planners.
We now come to another point: the Fibonacci numbers. In other words, we are not focusing on the numbers themselves, but rather on what their discovery signifies. After all, in its development — at least as far as the Golden Ratio is concerned — nature follows precisely this pattern. The forms of ‘nature’ correspond to this pattern, to these numbers. So did nature spring from Fibonacci’s mind?
Ultimately, we can take this idea further by citing Wiener and Deleuze. Wiener compares our perception to a machine. This means that, as humans, we can be both machines and nature. This is where the problem of dichotomy arises. Perhaps we should avoid it. Instead, let’s take a bike and a book and read in nature. Then everything becomes one.
Films are journeys. They are journeys into the past and into a different consciousness. They are journeys into the future. The question is always whether the travelers can bring the audience along. Are the landscapes right? And whether the journey itself is exciting enough.
How can the journey of a drug-addicted jockey who is about to become a father and is being pursued by the mafia be interesting? Who isn’t sure if his girlfriend loves him? Sure, it’s banal stuff. It’s interesting for horse lovers.
But a journey is conveyed through images. Landscapes. Through changes. It’s interesting that the story distances itself from the narrative. Yes, it is surrealistic. This surrealism appears to be a response to Maya Deren’s criticism that film is merely a reflection of theater.
Luis Ortega succeeds. He accomplishes this by wandering around Buenos Aires, embracing change, and diverting attention from the protagonist, who disappears over time.
In recent months, Sienna Rose’s name has become familiar to many music fans via streaming platforms. She has millions of monthly listeners and songs such as “Into the Blue,” “Safe With You,” and “Where Your Warmth Begins.” Her songs have also been featured on Spotify’s viral charts. But while her soulful R&B tracks are undeniably catchy, one question in particular is causing quite a stir: Is Sienna Rose human—or an AI creation?
So much for ChatGPT. Of course, it would be amusing to have an AI write about a potential AI. But let’s not go there.
2.
First, a clarification. What most of us call “artificial intelligence” are actually language models that scour the internet and reproduce words with a certain degree of probability that are likely to be correct. Therefore, the style and entire text are a combination of existing internet posts. Additionally, there are models programmed for music, images, and films. These models do not create new scenes but rather synthesize familiar voices, chords, and notes. Given the way such models work, a style—let alone a personal one—is not possible. It is a cybernetic model of feedback. However, since the human ear and mass taste are trained to recognize the familiar, AI-generated “creations” have a high probability of success.
3.
Regardless of who or what Sienna Rose is, AI-generated music consists of chords that the AI has been trained on. It has to learn before it can do anything, and as before, it is not creative; rather, it calculates probabilities. Rick Beato calls it outright theft, and, in a sense, it falls under intellectual property theft. ChatGPT writes:
“AI models are trained with existing music.”
The open question is whether the original artists were fairly compensated for this.
If an AI is trained in the style of thousands of R&B singers, who owns the result?
Additionally, AI-produced art does not contribute anything new to creativity. We are merely repeating what is already known.”
And that is where civilization ends. Not through AI agents, though.
P.S.
We initially considered using AI to generate the text. There are plenty of models available. Then we considered a mixture of the two. But then we decided it wasn’t funny. Writing is also faster than formulating prompts.
We’re back! And we’re bringing you a series of photos from Africa. In recent editions, we heard that there were no people in the photos. That Africa was empty. But Africa is not empty. This time, we have photos with people. Animals. Cities.
Zunächst eine mehrspurige Schnellstraße, auf der jeder schnell fährt. Es gilt Linksverkehr, wie in den meisten Ländern südlich des Äquators. Vielleicht erklärt das meine Verwunderung, als ich in das Taxi einstieg und das Lenkrad auf „meiner“ Seite vorfand. Kein Wunder, bei dieser Luft. Doch der Fahrer wirkte etwas schockiert. Es gilt Linksverkehr – dazu später mehr.
Dann die Stadt. Die Schnellstraße endet abrupt an einem Kreisverkehr, doch manchmal ist es klüger, sie vorher zu verlassen, um schneller voranzukommen. Zu den Pkw gesellen sich Lkw, ständig überfüllte Minibusse, Fußgänger am Straßenrand, TukTuks, die man sonst nur in Asien in solchen Mengen sieht, Motorräder, Radfahrer, Menschen, die mitten auf der Straße überqueren. Ab und an Polizisten, die das Geschehen beobachten. Geschwindigkeiten sind hier nicht zu erwarten. Wozu auch. Wir beeilen uns nicht. Und wenn wir uns beeilen, nähern wir uns nur unserem Tod. Niemand will sterben. Deshalb beeilen wir uns nicht.
Der Straßenbelag ändert sich. Noch immer Asphalt, doch von solcher Qualität, dass schnelles Fahren unmöglich wird. Dann verschwindet der Belag ganz. Normalerweise würde niemand diese Straße nutzen. Aber sie wurde gebaut. Angeblich von Chinesen – ich weiß es nicht. Wir fahren also auf einer unfertigen Straße, weichen Schlaglöchern aus. Europäern ist es verboten, mit einem Mietwagen Nairobi zu verlassen. Europäer haben ein Problem mit der Zeit. Sie hetzen.
Am Ende der Straße: der Strand. Das Meer. Der eigentliche Weg entlang der Swahili-Küste, wo Schiffe langsam und gelassen nach Indien segeln.
In this edition, we present another part of the African Diaries in the form of photos. This time, it’s not about the smell or taste of the continent. This time, we’re focusing on the images. However, the taste and, above all, the sound still resonate in the photos. If you wish, you can listen to reggae in the background. It has only limited relevance to the continent, but it does create a holiday atmosphere. This time, if you look closely, you can see people. Some of the photos may seem familiar. This is an optical illusion.
In his essay on the State of Exception, Agamben discusses the signifier as one of the most significant cultural developments of the 20th century. In our cultural sphere, at least. This is the same cultural sphere that gave us the concept of the limes. And Heraclitus. But with Heraclitus, change was coming. Like a thunderstorm. Here, we want to draw attention to this phenomenon. We have already written about it. Here. About transitions. Blurring.
1. Cultural borders. Limes
This refers to the concept rather than the actual development. It is the idea that something completely different exists beyond the border. This could be a political or geographical border, or a border between two blocs. The sharp distinction between ‘here’ and ‘there’ may be appealing to many. However, it obscures the nuances. It obscures areas that are similar but which have been divided by a border. Even the Limes was not a sharp border. Beyond it lay civilised lands, and ideas flowed back and forth. Ethiopia, for example, is a transition between the Middle East and the region south of the Sahara, at least culturally speaking (the Ethiopians might not entirely agree with me on this). I’m not just talking about the script, which borrows from Hebrew.
2. Change
Perhaps we will soon find ourselves in the midst of a storm. But when it comes, it comes slowly. There are individual changes. Take the transition from democracy to dictatorship, for example. Dictatorship doesn’t come overnight and reign supreme. We get used to the new situation day by day. In small steps. Some of these steps may outrage us. But the outrage subsides. We no longer get annoyed by it. It becomes part of our daily routine. Until the next upheaval comes along, that is. Perhaps our language changes slightly to adapt to the new situation. At first, it rains a little. We may be slightly annoyed by the rain. But after all, we have an umbrella with us. We quickly wipe away the drops on our faces. The thunder is far away. Maybe it won’t reach us. But when it does, we are surprised. Just like every year when winter sets in.
3. War (again).
We have already written about war. About the fact that it is already happening. At least we no longer have peace. As we did 10 years ago. But what is it? War. We may have ideas about it. From films. But can we recognise that there are many ways to undermine a country? One way may be more violent. There are other, gentler forms. Gentler ones. Interest groups may have more influence than others. We try to take those interests into account. Perhaps we just want to be left in peace. Then those interests become more powerful. We become gentle but determined to pay attention to them. Then it doesn’t matter which party governs us. After all, parties don’t have much say in the matter. Then the storm begins.