Hiking the Batona Trail: A Director’s Cut

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Photo by Matthew Wright

Four years ago my good friend Matt Wright and I set out to hike The Batona Trail in the Pinelands. We were on assignment for New Jersey Monthly—me as writer, he as photographer—and incredibly excited for the opportunity. And while I was really pleased with the way the story turned out in the magazine, I was a little bummed that so many nuanced anecdotes and asides had to be left on the cutting room floor for the sake of magazine page count. Writing this essay was a labor of love filled with all of those writerly tidbits and flourishes us writers are always so sad to see cut (despite the obvious necessity), and it’s always been my intention to present the unedited manuscript to readers of Twenty Pounds of Headline.  And so, lo these many years later, I bring you my Batona: The Director’s Cut!

A Walk In The Pines: Four Days on the Batona Trail
By Nick DiUlio

It was about two hours before sunset on our first day in the Pine Barrens when it occurred to me that Matt and I had made a terrible mistake. I didn’t want to say anything to him just yet, so instead I quietly hiked a few paces back on the sandy trail and engaged in a bit of silent, dread contemplation. With more than five miles still to go before we reached camp, we were soaking wet, bedraggled, and exhausted. The situation was not looking good. Continue reading

Book A Week 1: The Human Factor by Graham Greene

Simon And Schuster, Book Club Edition, Copyright 1978

Simon And Schuster, Book Club Edition, Copyright 1978

Well, I’ve finally decided to take the plunge. Yes indeed, I just (well, two days ago) finished my first week in a book-a-week challenge, and I have to say: I feel pretty damn good about it. But before I get into the book itself, a word about the impetus behind such seeming insanity.

I must confess, I’ve never been a terribly prolific reader. I’ve always wanted to be a prolific reader, but only in the same way I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who wakes up and goes for a run at 5:30 a.m. as the sun barely begins cresting the horizon. The Theory = a pretty cool way to go about dancing on this Earth. The Practice = hitting my iPhone’s snooze button (icon?) until my dogs all but grab me by the ankles and drag me down the stairs.

Don’t get me wrong—I adore reading. In case you haven’t noticed, I do a bit of writing now and then, and when I’m not writing I am probably engaged in some form of reading. Novels. Long form journalism. Comics. Memoirs. Online essays. The backs of cereal boxes. So yeah, reading itself has never been the problem. Reading a lot in a short amount of time, however…now that’s a dust jacket of a different color.

If I had to guess (and this, friends, is a rather liberal guess) I would say I go through—maybe—10 books a year. And that would be a good year. To be sure, that’s certainly a better number than, say, someone who doesn’t read at all, but it’s not a number of which I am terribly proud. I want to read more not only because I love reading (or because I am acutely aware of the enormity of my dream reading list juxtaposed to the limited number of days each of us is granted upon this frail plane). I also want to read more because I believe it makes us all better people. And it makes me a better writer.

Personally, my brain and spirit just feel, well, different when I’m reading a lot. My observations about life are more keen and more quick to rise from those dread bottomless depths increasingly littered with the ephemera of pop-up ads, inane Facebook posts, and so much (oh so much) clickbait. It’s a cliche for sure, but there is no better brain exercise than frequent reading. And that’s the triple truth, Ruth.

As for the writing part—same. When I’m not reading with some degree of fervency, I’m also not writing (at least not in the way I want to write). The two tasks feed off of each other in some kind of weird, cerebral dance I’m still trying to figure out. Reading makes me want to write, and writing makes me want to read. Dig?

Consider the way Stephen King puts it in his most excellent On Writing (a memoir about, well, writing—seriously, read this book):

The real importance of reading is that it creates an ease and intimacy with the process of writing; one comes to the country of the writer with one’s papers and identification pretty much in order. Constant reading will pull you into a place (a mind-set, if you like the phrase) where you can write eagerly and without self-consciousness. It also offers you a constantly growing knowledge of what has been done and what hasn’t, what is trite and what is fresh, what works and what just lies there dying (or dead) on the page. The more you read, the less apt you are to make a fool of yourself with your pen or word processor.

Right on. I completely understood this when I first read it more than ten years ago (!) and it still rings incredibly true today.

And so here I am, staring down the barrel of a challenge that feels at once both overwhelming and exhilarating. On one hand, 52 books is a lot of books. On the other hand, 52 books…IS A LOT OF BOOKS! Isn’t that exciting? I’ll finally read Animal Farm. And 1984. And Rabbit Run. And The Giver. And, like, a whole lot more. Yeah. It’s pretty damn exciting.

Besides, I’ve done the math. If I typically tackle books between 200 and 300 pages, that’s somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 to 50 pages a day. Does’t sound too menacing, does it? Sure, this means reading every morning over coffee and breakfast instead of catching up on the next installment of classic Doctor Who (I’m currently up to Episode One of “Death to the Daleks,” for those of you playing along at home), but isn’t that, like, the point?

Well, having already completed one week of this exercise I am fairly confident that I can (and will) do this. As a precaution against falling off the wagon, I’ve also decided to blog about each week’s literary conquest—so keep me accountable interneters! So, now that you know a little about this project, let’s talk a little about Graham Greene’s The Human Factor.

Dust jacket photo of Graham Greene, taken by some chap with the cool ass name Ottawa Karsh.

Dust jacket photo of Graham Greene, taken by some chap with the cool ass name Ottawa Karsh.

There are three reasons I chose this as my first book (none of which are particularly poignant):

1. Greene wrote The Power and the Glory, one of my all-time favorite novels and—for my money—one of the greatest books ever written.

2. I’ve never been entirely comfortable saying “I’m a fan of Graham Greene” knowing that I’ve only got one of his books under my belt.

3. My wife and I recently moved. As a result, all of our novels are still in boxes. This one was at the top of the first box I opened last week. Win win.

I must say, I wasn’t all that thrilled with the novel at the start. Veering quite noticeably from the spiritual and existential themes and overall ethos of The Power and the Glory, The Human Factor concerns the seemingly pedestrian life of a British secret service agent named Castle (first name Maurice). Turns out he’s got quite an interesting backstory that involves a clandestine love affair with (and eventual marriage to) a South African woman named Sarah and the adoption of her infant son as his own. There’s also a lot of angst going on about apartheid and Communism and a few other dated intricacies that sometimes confused me in their lack of context, but once given a chance, The Human Factor really begins to delight with its literary minimalism and overriding atmosphere of paranoia wedged between the gloomy hum-drum of British life in the late 70s. From the inside dust jacket:

The Human Factor marks Graham Greene’s triumphant return to the ambiguous world of deceit, illusion, treachery, faith and loneliness that is espionage…

I think the key word there is “loneliness.” That’s the emotion I didn’t expect to encounter, but it’s also the emotion that continued to fascinate and move me throughout the course of this curious little novel. Loneliness is an obvious occupational hazard here (not only for Castle, but also for the hand full of secondary characters that litter the story, including the brilliantly realized Colonel Daintry). What’s more, this loneliness is an existential byproduct that seems to be absent of any really redemptive subsequent. In other words, no one in this story is particularly convicted about what he does, yet they all bemoan the dour prospects of their respective fates. Oh sure, there’s some very pale allusions to national duty or some such folderol, but I venture to guess that everyone in this novel (most especially the protagonist) would much rather be sipping whiskey on a country porch somewhere. Yes, everyone here is a spy, but they might as well be working for the DMV.

Upon doing a slight bit of research I came to realize this was precisely Greene’s intention. His objective was “to write a novel of espionage free from the conventional violence, which has not, in spite of James Bond, been a feature of the British Secret Service.” He goes on to say that he “wanted to present the Service unromantically as a way of life, men going daily to their office to earn their pension.”

Objective, consider thyself achieved. This is indeed a spy novel with almost (almost) every ounce of sex, violence and cliched adrenaline stripped away, leaving us instead with men who are supremely unhappy with the choices they’ve made in life wandering through the mists of Britain yearning for escape that will never come. It’s a rather bleak tale that bears some hallmark passages only Greene could compose. Consider this moment between Colonel Daintry (who has just returned from a funeral) and one of his more fusty colleagues:

“I’ve come from a funeral.”

“No one close, I hope?”

“No. Someone from the office.”

“Oh well. A funeral’s always better to my mind than a wedding. I can’t bear weddings. A funeral’s final. A wedding—well, it’s only an unfortunate stage to something else. I’d rather celebrate a divorce—but then that’s often a stage too, to just another wedding. People get into the habit.”

Or even wonderfully simple lines like, “A man in love walks through the world like an anarchist, carrying a time bomb.”

All in all, an intriguing—if, at times, a bit tedious—novel. The end result is a sense of inescapable gloom that only Greene can deliver, even when his subject matter is international espionage instead of whiskey priests and broken vows.

Up Next: A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L’ Engle

A recent story I wrote for SpareFoot about the season premier of ‘Storage Wars’

Dave Hester

Everyone who tuned in to the Aug. 12 season premiere of “Storage Wars” was waiting for it—the deep, resonant, antagonistic “Yuuup!” that would officially signal the return of storage auction “mogul” Dave Hester. And it didn’t take long for fans to get what they came for.

In the episode’s opening shot, Hester took a seat, looked straight into the camera and let his trademark cry echo through the homes of everyone who eagerly awaited his unlikely return from a two-season hiatus and highly publicized feud with A&E. And as he burst into a maniacal laugh before the opening montage rolled, there was no doubt about it. “The Man in Black” was indeed back, and the tension surrounding his return would dominate the majority of the show’s 30-minute season debut. Continue reading

Aljazeera America

Spent the day in their New York studios for an article I’m writing. Pretty cool assignment. Stay tuned for details. Pictured: anchor David Shuster.

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Happy Sunday Funday

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Saturday Afternoon Reading

Nothing like some weekend Doctor Who comic adventures…

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Tuckerton Seaport Roots Music Festival

It’s summer, which, for many of us, means loads of options for live music weekend adventures. And if you’re considering venturing out this Saturday or Sunday for some outdoor entertainment (and can’t scrimp together cheddar to fly out to Glastonbury) may I make a suggestion: Go check out the Tuckerton Seaport Roots Music Festival.

This Saturday and Sunday, the historical nautical museum will host one of the most exciting events of the summer, which not only includes a whole host of wine tasting options but also some, well, roots music.

What excited me the most is the inclusion of The Keystone Swingbillies, a Pennsylvania outfit fronted by my good friend Dave Young. According to the band’s website, The Keystone Swingbillies “combines the best Country, Swing and Rockabilly music of the early half of the 20th century with modern energy and passion.” Check ’em out here.

I’ll be writing a review of The Swingbillies’ new record sometime over the next few days, but in the meantime, go see them for yourself. You won’t be disappointed.

Michael Jackson Five Years Gone—A Retrospective

MichaelJackson

I’m trying to resist the temptation to say, “I can’t believe it’s already been five years.” Because that’s what everyone says about such things, right? But such resistance would be disingenuous. Because truly, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that it’s been a half decade since Michael Jackson left the world behind.

As if his musical legacy weren’t enough, I think it’s a fitting testament to his gravity and presence that Michael’s death on June 25, 2009 is one of those moments people seem to anecdotally recall in ways not dissimilar to the assassination of JFK. It takes a very large person indeed to leave such a lasting vacuum of emotion. For me, I was getting ready to attend a summer afternoon party at a nearby friend’s house when I got a text from an acquaintance. “Did you hear about Michael Jackson,” she wrote. I hadn’t. But after just a few quick keystrokes on Google I suddenly learned that what I hoped was just a rumor was, in fact, truth.

I write this without any trace of exaggeration or hyperbole: I could spend the next several hours composing thousands of words about the greatness that is Michael Jackson. I count him as one of the finest entertainers and songwriters to ever inhabit the space of human existence; an individual who transcended so many seeming limitations of talent and expectation that words pale against the blinding light he cast during his half century on this Earth. And so, in the interest of brevity and my own personal sanity, I instead present a few interesting links and lamentations.

First, I beg you to read an essay from a 2009 issue of Paste magazine written by Nick Marino titled “What I Miss About Michael Jackson.” Marino eloquently summarizes what made Michael so much more than a mere performer, and his bittersweet elegy was perhaps the most fitting of the year. Want a taste?

The moonwalk? It was jaw-dropping, one of the last dance moves to become a cultural phenomenon. Everybody saw it, everybody knew it, everybody was stunned by it. (When he debuted the move in 1983, during a 25th-anniversary concert celebration for Motown Records, the audience responded with a bewildered shriek—they’d never seen anything like it.) This was not like the Macarena, a wedding dance, an asinine hand jive drunken bubbas could do in the stands at NFL games. The moonwalk was otherworldly. We didn’t know a body could move like that—our bodies couldn’t move like that. The moonwalk belonged, and still belongs, to Michael. Have you ever seen anyone else attempt his signature move? It’s pathetic.

And then there’s this, his halftime performance at Super Bowl XXVIII in 1993. Notice how long he stands at the center of the stadium for the better part of two minutes before moving a muscle. And then, when he does move…well, the whole thing speaks for itself.

 

Finally, I humbly present a blog post I wrote in 2010 after watching the most excellent documentary This Is It.

The Truth About Michael Jackson (or, The Time For Easy Answers Has Passed)

Here, in a few words, is the paradox of Michael Jackson that is so difficult for us to understand:

The issue, really, comes down to our refusal of the reality that none of us is capable of being defined (or, more importantly, defining others) by any one particular facet of one’s personality. I am no more wholly “Nick From Medford” than I am “Nick, Cydnee’s Boyfriend.” Or “Nick, Guitar Player” than I am “Nick, the 29-year-old dude who lives next to me on Mill Street.” I am all of these people—these personalities, these manifest versions—combined into one. Separate, but equal. It is a strange duality indeed, and while I always strive for unity between my own fickle nature’s forces, I am increasingly confronted with the realization that it is impossible to express oneself fully at any given time.

I need look no further than those I know. Surely there are elements of other people’s personalities—my sister’s, my brother’s, my parents’, my best friend’s—of which I am at least partially, if not wholly, unaware. So doesn’t it only make sense that I too have such places and elements of personality, of which others are not wholly (or even partially) aware?

Of course it does.

Now, consider Michael Jackson. He was a human being, therefore he was subject to the same whims and impossibilities that govern all other human beings, myself most certainly included. If one also considers that Michael Jackson was not only a human being but a remarkable one at that—in talent, fame, and fortune—one is forced to contemplate what such exception does to the unpredictable and sometimes calamitous human spirit. Because of his place in the world, Michael Jackson’s dualities were obviously larger and far more noticeable to others (i.e., complete strangers and enemies) than they are to most of us, myself most certainly included.

How, we seem to ask ourselves, is it possible that such a beautiful and talented creature—a force of poetic human potential and positive energy such as the world only sees every few centuries—be equally scarred by such dark demons of self? How could Michael Jackson have been at once so unifying and divisive at the same time?

These are the sorts of questions we cannot seem to answer about Michael Jackson because these are the sorts of questions we cannot seem to answer about ourselves. Moreover, these are the sorts of questions that will continue to haunt us in his memory (and our own evolution) unless we begin to understand the larger frame of knowledge taking shape here. If we self examine—not superficially, but really self examine, down to the uncharted core of the soul, that place we keep hidden and from which we too often hide—and accept, rather than deny, our own shared dualities and conflicts and impossibilities of self, we will fail to understand perhaps the ultimate reason for his existence. What a shame that would be.

“And no message could have been any clearer. If you wanna make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change…”

Ninja Turtles, Siberian Cities, Supreme Court Rulings, and The Music Of Trees: MidWeek Links To Enlighten

teenage-mutant-ninja-turtles-in-hogwarts-colors

It’s Wednesday, it’s hot, and it feels like summer’s languid ennui is finally settling in for good. So let’s keep it fast and easy by exploring some of the most interesting and entertaining goings on out there on the interwebs these days…

T-U-R-T-L-E Power: The second official trailer for the much (well…kinda) anticipated Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles August blockbuster is here. God help us.

As a massive fan of the original cartoon series and the films from 1990 and 1991, I just can’t stand to see yet another Michael Bayification of my childhood. I know I’m not the target audience here, okay. But…seriously? At the risk of sounding all “GET OFF MY LAWN,” why do The Turtles need high-tech weaponry that makes the Call Of Duty dudes look like a bunch of backyard Boyscouts? And why the hell does Shredder have to manifest as some kind of superhuman, Transformers reject that probably needs the entire weight of the United States Armed Forces to give him so much as a sprained ankle? Can’t we just be fine with a badass, evil ninja who wears a menacing (non-CGI) costume and fights a badass mutant rat on the backstreets of New York? Oh, and speaking of Splinter, you’ll notice that he no longer sports an Asian accent. Nothing against Tony Shalhoub (who lends his voice to this most recent iteration) but the anglicization of Splinter not only betrays the series’ roots but is yet another slight to a wealth of Asian-American acting talent, which Hollywood apparently just loves to do. Like I said…God help us all. Check out the trailer below:

 

Go Ninja, Go Ninja, Go: Speaking of The Ninja Turtles, here’s a hilarious video from the geniuses at Screen Junkies highlighting the most embarrassing moments from the entire TMNT franchise (and there are plenty). Remember their touring musical act? Or when they appeared on Oprah? Well, these guys do.

 

The Silence of Scorsese: Making the transition from hack, trope-laden filmmakers to celebrated sages, here’s a wonderful (and short) video essay from filmmaker Tony Zhou about the ways in which Martin Scorsese uses silence for sublime emotional resonance. From the Vimeo description:

“Even though Martin Scorsese is famous for his use of music, one of his best traits is his deliberate and powerful use of silence. Take a glimpse at fifty years of this simple technique from one of cinema’s masters. For educational purposes only.”

After watching the clip below make sure to check out Zhou’s most excellent Tumblr Every Frame a Painting. Damn, how I wish this guy had been around when I was in film school.

 

The New “R” Word: No matter where you stand on the whole Washington Redskins name kerfuffle, you should definitely read this short piece from Esquire about the real history of the term. And guess what? It’s not what you think.

The Music Of Trees: Now this is just too damn cool. What you’re about to hear is an excerpt from the record Years, which is the creation of one Bartholomäus Traubeck. It’s seven recordings made from the rings of Austrian trees, including Oak, Maple, Walnut, and Beech. The clip below is the sound of an Ash tree’s “year ring data.” Here’s a nice little descriptive blurb from The Mind Unleashed blog:

Keep in mind that the tree rings are being translated into the language of music, rather than sounding musical in and of themselves. Traubeck’s one-of-a-kind record player uses a PlayStation Eye Camera and a stepper motor attached to its control arm. It relays the data to a computer with a program called Ableton Live. What you end up with is an incredible piano track, and in the case of the Ash, a very eerie one.

We do indeed live in amazing times…

 

Does The Cold Even Bother Them Anyway? You’ve probably never heard of Norilsk. Located in Siberia, it’s the world’s northernmost city of more than 100,000, and not only does it take home the title for one of the coldest cities on Earth, but its nickel ore smelting industry has also made it one of the most polluted. Check out this beautiful photo essay from io9. Here’s something to whet your appetite:

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They Fought The Law, And The Law Won: Finally, in a decision that I had been anticipating for weeks, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled today that Aereo Inc. violated copyrights on programming. This is a huge blow to not only an ambitious and innovative tech startup, but also to the broader evolution of common sense, on-demand television options for discerning American consumers. To avoid getting too technical and long winded, here’s a succinct nuts-and-bolts summary of the case from today’s Wall Street Journal:

The ruling is a potentially deadly blow to Aereo, whose technology promised a new—and cheaper—way of watching television that threatened the broadcast ecosystem. The decision bolsters broadcasters’ leverage over the deployment of new technologies for watching television programming.

The court’s 6-3 ruling blocks a company whose goals were to upend long-standing models for how broadcast programming is delivered to consumers. The service, which appealed to cord cutters seeking Internet-based alternatives to cable TV, allowed subscribers paying as little as $8 a month to watch and record their local over-the-air broadcasts from an array of electronic devices.

Since setting out on my own in 2001, I have never paid (and will never pay) for a cable subscription. Not because I’m one of those “KILL YOUR TV, MAN!” iconoclasts (there’s a lot of fantastic television out there), but because I just never saw the need to fork over $100-plus per month for a bloated bouquet of programing that could just as easily be found either through old-fashioned rabbit ears or new-fashioned streaming services like Netflix or Hulu. To that end, I am Aereo’s prime target consumer. I would have gladly spent $8 per month (was waiting for the option to do so, in fact) for quality local programming that not only allowed me to bypass the tedium of hauling out my shitty digital antenna every time I wanted to catch an Eagles game, but also gave me the option of pre-recording shows and watching them on wireless devices like my phone and iPad at my leisure.

This ruling comes as a great disappointment. Because of antiquated FCC verbiage and an unrelenting desire for cable companies to maintain their gross monopolies, it looks like I’ll just have to continue pirating. Way to go guys. Yet another example of technology being decades ahead of bloated and antiquated bureaucracies.

In closing, here is the unabridged email message sent out today by Aereo CEO and founder, Chet Kanojia, who’s probably feeling pretty much awful right now. I urge you to read it, whether you’re a cable subscriber or not:

“Today’s decision by the United States Supreme Court is a massive setback for the American consumer. We’ve said all along that we worked diligently to create a technology that complies with the law, but today’s decision clearly states that how the technology works does not matter. This sends a chilling message to the technology industry.  It is troubling that the Court states in its decision that, ‘to the extent commercial actors or other interested entities may be concerned with the relationship between the development and use of such technologies and the Copyright Act, they are of course free to seek action from Congress.’ (Majority, page 17) That begs the question: Are we moving towards a permission-based system for technology innovation?”

“Consumer access to free-to-air broadcast television is an essential part of our country’s fabric. Using an antenna to access free-to-air broadcast television is still meaningful for more than 60 million Americans across the United States.  And when new technology enables consumers to use a smarter, easier to use antenna, consumers and the marketplace win. Free-to-air broadcast television should not be available only to those who can afford to pay for the cable or satellite bundle.”

“Justice Scalia’s dissent gets it right. He calls out the majority’s opinion as ‘built on the shakiest of foundations.’ (Dissent, page 7)  Justice Scalia goes on to say that ‘The Court vows that its ruling will not affect cloud-storage providers and cable television systems, see ante, at 16-17, but it cannot deliver on that promise given the imprecision of its results-driven rule.’ (Dissent, page 11)

“We are disappointed in the outcome, but our work is not done.  We will continue to fight for our consumers and fight to create innovative technologies that have a meaningful and positive impact on our world.”

Is Everything Really Just A Remix: Plagiarism vs. Inspiration

Zeppelin

Last week I wrote a post about recent revelations that longtime journalist Chris Hedges has, for some time now, been lifting other writers’ words and passing them off as his own. The whole matter seemed pretty cut and dry. Plagiarism is an ill born of some unknowable combination of laziness, ignorance, and hubris. But then I stumbled upon an interesting (and very well-made) video series called Everything Is A Remix, and I’m curious about where we draw the line between stealing someone else’s work and, well, using previous work as a springboard for (suspiciously identical) inspiration.

I’ve only seen the first two videos in the series so far, but from what I can tell the premise is quite compelling: What do we do when we realize that all art is, in fact, derivative? For instance, fans of Led Zeppelin (myself included) shouldn’t be surprised to learn that many of the band’s most celebrated songs—including “Stairway To Heaven” and  “Dazed and Confused”—are pretty much direct, unattributed ripoffs of songs that came before them. Ever heard of this guy?

A bit more startling was to watch some of the uncanny instances where George Lucas used shots and conceits from several other films in making Star Wars: Episode IV. And he isn’t the only one. As Remix narrator and filmmaker Kirby Ferguson points out, Hollywood (and the music industry, for that matter) has made billions by way of recycling old material, and will probably continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

To be sure, Everything Is A Remix does not set itself up as a defense of plagiarism—and neither does this blog post. But I think it’s worth exploring some of the nuances between purloining the intellectual property of others and using that property in an interesting (fair?) way to go on and make newer iterations.

What’s more, I’m left wondering how to feel about the issue when I’m confronted with instances wherein artists I love and admire seem to be lifting material quite unapologetically for their own purposes. Consider, for instance, the insanely obvious parallels between Prince’s “Purple Rain” and Ryan Adams’ “Hotel Chelsea Nights.” I mean, shit. It’s like Adams was writing the exact same song with different words.

Or consider this 2012 LA Times article that looks at the many instances where, throughout his career, Bob Dylan has been accused of plagiarizing the songs and lyrics of those who came before him. In response, Dylan made some interesting declarations about the organic and muddied nature of the issue. Like this:

Dylan added: “I’m working within my art form. It’s that simple. I work within the rules and limitations of it. There are authoritarian figures that can explain that kind of art form better to you than I can. It’s called songwriting. It has to do with melody and rhythm, and then after that, anything goes. You make everything yours. We all do it.”

This issue will never go away. In fact, in the internet age—where so much material is so easily shared and repurposed—I have a suspicion that the conversation will only grow fiercer and more challenging. In the meantime, check out the first two parts of Everything Is A Remix below (and visit the site for more—it’s worth it). I’d love to get your thoughts.