By Dave Shiflett (Bloomberg) – Maybe Igor Stravinsky should be named patron saint of hip-hop. His dictum -- “A good composer does not imitate, he steals” -- has found much resonance among hip-hoppers and their artistic descendents, according to “Copyright Criminals,” a fascinating special airing on PBS Jan. 19 at 10 p.m. New York time. An expanding “remix culture,” many members of which probably haven’t heard of Igor, is creating a massive body of work by snatching bits and pieces of earlier compositions and creating sonic pastiches. They speak of “borrowing,” “re-interpretation” and performing feats of musical “archaeology.” Copyright holders have a less exalted view: they call this practice a form of theft, which is making some lawyers feel very groovy. Things are definitely hopping on this front of the intellectual property war. The documentary, produced by Benjamin Franzen and Kembrew McLeod, takes us back to the early days of hip-hop. Even viewers (myself included) who consider hip-hop a form of aural dentistry may develop an appreciation for the process of building these compositions. There’s more to this stuff than meets the ear, especially the frantic and sometimes acrobatic use of the turntable, which is considered a musical instrument. The show features a who’s who including Public Enemy’s Chuck D, producer Hank Shocklee, DJ Qbert (the world’s greatest DJ, according to aficionados), and Long Island hip-hoppers De La Soul. Also appearing are historian Jeff Chang, producer El-P, Paul D. Miller (DJ Spooky the Subliminal Kid) and members of Eclectic Method, London-based creators of music/film “mash ups” that may remind some viewers of those warnings about the brown acid. There’s copious scorn for the samplers. Steve Albini, a recording engineer who has worked with Nirvana, Jimmy Page and Roger Plant, says samplers “should be embarrassed for behaving this way.” Their process, he explains, is to take “someone else’s life’s work and put your name on it.” Indeed, you have to assume they’d make some righteous noise if you slipped by and “shared” their car without permission. Yet there is praise from the pharaoh of funk, George Clinton, who himself looks like a result of sampling, with orange hair, blazing wardrobe, and a wearily beatific look. Samplers, he says, make “the noise sound good” and they also revived his career, according to the film. The most compelling figure is Clyde Stubblefield, once a member of James Brown’s band and thought to be the most sampled drummer in the world. His signature beats in Brown’s “Cold Sweat” have shown up in countless compositions. Stubblefield, who taps on his steering wheel with drumsticks while driving, seems flattered, though flattery doesn’t pay the bills. “I haven’t got a penny for it yet.” Worse, he says he’s never gotten any credit on the samplers’ CDs. Others have fared better. Lawsuits have benefited lawyers and created a new industry: sampling clearance. But scrutiny also spawned a new game: manipulating samples so much it’s impossible to prosecute. Stubblefield says sometimes he can’t tell if a beat that sounds suspiciously like his work really is. It’s easy to tell who’s having the fun here, including a band called Little Roger and the Goosebumps, whose send-up of “Stairway to Heaven” – “Stairway to Gilligan’s Island” – drew an immediate lawsuit from Led Zeppelin’s lawyers. It also seems likely that no amount of legal action is going to silence the practice. Samplers assert a grand tradition, including blues music, which has always used “borrowed” melodies, and Andy Warhol’s photos of soup cans. Plus, they have Igor on their side. So far as they’re concerned, case closed. (
