Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Von der hinteren Coverseite

Aus dem Klappentext

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Vocal Tracks

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

Contents

Acknowledgments..............................................................viiIntroduction.................................................................1PART ONE: Flooding Out1. Recorded Laughter and the Performance of Authenticity.....................152. Erotic Performance on Record..............................................50PART TWO: A Finer Grain of the Voice3. The Nearness of You; or, The Voice of Melodrama...........................814. Rough Mix.................................................................115PART THREE: Bugging the Backstage5. The Act of Being Yourself.................................................1656. Phony Performances........................................................200Conclusion...................................................................243Notes........................................................................251Bibliography.................................................................271Index........................................................................287

Chapter One

In Steven Spielberg's A.I.: Artificial Intelligence (2001), the android David (Haley Joel Osment) tries desperately to appear human and so win the love of his adoptive mother, Monica (Frances O'Connor). In one of the film's most affecting scenes, David and his "parents" laugh at the way Monica eats her spaghetti. At first, David's laughter appears remarkably human, making us momentarily forget that he is a robot (figure 1). But gradually this laughter takes on an eerie and uncanny quality that makes him seem less human than ever. Jonathan Rosenbaum writes that the scene asks us to consider the line between mechanical and real laughter: "The laughter of David and his adopted parents becomes impossible to define as either forced or genuine, mechanical or spontaneous, leaving us perpetually suspended over the question as if over an abyss" (2001, 36). There is nothing new about this phenomenon. Though the spasmodic and nonsemantic nature of laughter makes it seem an unlikely carrier of meaning, it has played an ongoing role in the presentation of the authentically human in mass-mediated texts, notably on early genres of phonographic recordings and the broadcast laugh track.

The sound of uninhibited laughter, produced both by performers and by audiences, was an important index of authentic presence used to bridge the gap between recorded sound and the listener. The recording studios of the phonograph industry represented a radically new type of performance space, where performers had to develop new stylistic techniques meant, in Jonathan Sterne's words, to "stand in for reality within the system of reproduced sounds" (2003, 285). The laugh emerged as an expression that was particularly able to represent a sense of immediacy when mechanically reproduced for audiences that studio performers would never see. Recorded genres of "laughing songs," "laughing records," and "laughing stories" show that the laugh played a central role in the introduction of recorded sound as a form of entertainment. Further, these records can be seen as precursors to broadcast laugh tracks, which I place in the historical and discursive contexts of radio, television, and an "ideology of liveness."

Paddy Scannell writes that "all day, every day and everywhere people listen to radio and watch television as part of the utterly familiar, normal things that anyone does on any normal day" (1996, 6). The laugh track is an especially mundane part of the everyday TV experience that Scannell describes. For most viewers the sound of the laugh track is intensely, intimately familiar, so much so that focusing on it takes a concerted effort. It is by definition background, a part of the sonic wallpaper, effortlessly tuned out. In this chapter I'd like to bring the background to the fore, to make that familiar sonic object strange. As I plan to show, the laugh track is part of a larger story of the recorded laugh in the history of media, and telling that story can provide insights into the ways in which people have interacted with media technologies and in which bodies and voices have been represented through them. As such, the examples I will present from phonograph records and radio broadcasts can also illuminate performances found in Hollywood films. Throughout these different media contexts, the laugh has been presented as the ultimate expression of the human-often as the result of its connection to discourses about race, class, and gender-and its mechanical reproduction has served as a lightning rod for anxieties concerning the social dimensions of mass media performance and consumption.

CRACKING UP: THE PERFORMANCE OF LAUGHTER

To begin an examination of the relationship between performed laughter and the media, consider the way in which early "talking machines" were demonstrated to the public. Interestingly, the use of the laugh to demonstrate the virtuosity of talking machines predates Thomas Edison's 1877 invention of the phonograph; it can be found in conjunction with the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century devices of Wolfgang von Kempelen and Joseph Faber. Kempelen, most famous for his automaton chess player, also designed a keyboard-operated machine in the 1780s that could imitate the vocal organs. Using Kempelen's designs, Charles Wheatstone, a leading British scientist of the time, built a talking machine in 1837. After seeing it demonstrated, an observer wrote that the machine "laughs and cryes with a perfect imitation of nature" (Feaster 2006b, 52). A decade later Joseph Faber designed a similar speaking machine that featured the torso of a "Turk" and a more convenient keyboard. The Illustrated London News noted in 1846 that the machine was capable of not only speech, but "even whispering, laughing and singing: all this depending on the agility of the director in manipulating the keys" (Feaster 2001, 67). Indeed, laughter seems to have become a routine part of Faber's demonstrations after 1846; the London Times noted on August 12 of that year that the machine laughed "with the merriment of good humour" (cited in Feaster 2006b, 68). The laugh seems to have been a particularly evocative performance, one that was used for testing both the realism and the amusement value of a talking machine.

This was still the case when Edison's tinfoil phonograph was displayed thirty years later. Early demonstrations of the phonograph often delighted audiences: the machine laughed and coughed and sneezed. Accounts of exhibitions of the tinfoil phonograph reveal that laughter recurred frequently. Take, for example, an article from the New York Sun on February 22, 1878, which described how Edison "coughed, sneezed, and laughed at the mouthpiece, and the matrixes returned the noises true as a die." The Philadelphia Press on March 9, 1878, described the following demonstration: "Laughter and whistling and singing and sighing and groans-in fact, every utterance of which the human voice is capable-was stored in that wondrous wheel and emitted when it was turned." The New York Daily Graphic described on March 15, 1878, how a phonograph exhibitor had "laughed to his heart's content ... and the sounds were reproduced" (Feaster 2006a, 125).

In these demonstrations of the phonograph, as was true of...