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The Omnivore’s Dilemma

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The Omnivore
By Michael Pol­lan
Pen­guin, 2007

In The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Michael Pol­lan sets out to trace the ori­gins of three meals, each the prod­uct of a dif­fer­ent food chain. These food chains — the indus­trial, the pas­toral, and the per­sonal, as he calls them — basi­cally rep­re­sent in reverse order the var­i­ous human rela­tion­ships with food. In doing this, he hopes to shed light on what he terms America’s “national eat­ing dis­or­der:” we lack national food tra­di­tions, and are often so far removed from our food’s ori­gins that we have to rely on food com­pa­nies and nutri­tion­ists to tell us what to eat. For Pol­lan, this dis­or­der reached its height with the Atkins diet craze, that fad that sought to suck the soul (bread, pasta, even fruit!) out of Amer­i­can meals and replace it with large quan­ti­ties of meat.

In America’s indus­trial food chain, every­thing seems to revolve around corn. Gov­ern­ment sub­si­dies encour­age farms to pro­duce far more Zea mays than the Amer­i­can peo­ple can eat. It falls to food sci­en­tists to fig­ure out what to do with the sur­plus (and suc­cess­ful corn-based prod­ucts only lead to a demand for more corn). Today, corn is processed by so-called “wet mills” into dozens of diverse sub­stances: vit­a­mins, corn oil, adhe­sives, sta­bi­liz­ers, acids, ethanol, emul­si­fiers, and sweet­en­ers (includ­ing the sneak­ily ubiq­ui­tous high-fructose corn syrup). These var­i­ous “frac­tions” of corn are the build­ing blocks of the processed foods industry.

Coal

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Coal
By Bar­bara Freese
Pen­guin (Non-Classics), 2004

In this book, Bar­bara Freese traces the entire his­tory of coal, reach­ing all the way back to the lep­i­do­den­dron forests of the Car­bonif­er­ous period. These forests pro­vided most of the organic mate­r­ial that turned into coal over hun­dreds of mil­lions of years. She reminds us that the energy we pro­duce through the burn­ing of coal (and other fos­sil fuels) ulti­mately came from the sun: the car­bon came from plants, like lep­i­do­den­dron, that grew by har­vest­ing solar energy through the process of photosynthesis.

But, as the book’s sub­ti­tle makes clear, this is pri­mar­ily a his­tory of humans and coal. Freese begins this his­tory with the Roman inva­sion of Britain in 43 A.D. Romans, find­ing exposed coal deposits through­out their new ter­ri­tory, dis­cov­ered that the mate­r­ial was eas­ily carved. They made jew­el­ery and other dec­o­ra­tions out of it. Some burned it for fuel, but it would take another thou­sand years for that prac­tice to become widespread.

From this point on, Freese chron­i­cles a num­ber of love-hate rela­tion­ships with coal. Among other things, coal can be burned for heat, to smelt iron, to power steam engines, and to gen­er­ate elec­tric­ity. But doing so pro­duces acrid black smoke and neces­si­tates the often very dan­ger­ous task of min­ing the fos­sil fuel. Freese’s account of the Indus­trial Rev­o­lu­tion in Britain pro­vides a good exam­ple of both the desir­able and unde­sir­able prod­ucts of coal power: more and bet­ter iron, steam power, mech­a­nized fac­to­ries, loco­mo­tives; black­ened skies, mine explo­sions, slum­mish fac­tory towns, child fac­tory labor.

In addi­tion to a great deal about coal in Britain, Freese also cov­ers the his­tory of the fuel in the United States. With this she brings the story up to date, detail­ing how coal has shaped our country’s energy infra­struc­ture and nar­rat­ing a tour of a coal-fired power plant in Min­nesota. Freese offers her own exper­tise in the area of Amer­i­can energy pol­icy and leg­is­la­tion: she worked for a num­ber of years as an envi­ron­men­tal attor­ney for the State of Minnesota.

The penul­ti­mate chap­ter is devoted to coal use in China, the his­tory of which has many par­al­lels to that of Britain. Here, Freese betrays a Euro-centric world­view: China is rel­e­gated to the back of the book even though Chi­nese peo­ple began using coal for smelt­ing iron as early as 1100 A.D, and have been burn­ing it for fuel since around 4000 B.C. Still, she pro­vides an inter­est­ing overview of China’s his­tory with coal and the country’s cur­rent strug­gle to bal­ance the grow­ing energy needs that accom­pany mod­ern­iza­tion with inter­na­tional pres­sure to reduce air pollution.

All in all, this is a fas­ci­nat­ing book. Freese does a good job of con­nect­ing the his­tor­i­cal dots: she shows just ho inte­gral coal has been to the devel­op­ment of the indus­tri­al­ized world, some­times com­ing into play in unex­pected ways. This is another won­der­ful entry into the recent cat­e­gory of single-word-title mate­ri­als histories.

Capturing Sound

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Capturing Sound
By Mark Katz
Uni­ver­sity Of Cal­i­for­nia Press, 2004

The many var­ied forms of sound record­ing and play­back tech­nolo­gies, begin­ning with Edison’s inven­tion of the phono­graph in the 1870s, have undoubt­edly changed the ways in which we lis­ten to and dis­sem­i­nate music. Mark Katz argues that beyond this, record­ing has in many ways altered music itself: it has changed per­form­ers’ approach to play­ing music, com­posers’ approach to writ­ing music, and has has even spawned com­pletely new musi­cal gen­res. In Cap­tur­ing Sound, Katz pro­vides a num­ber of case stud­ies, each explor­ing one of these “phono­graph effecs,” as he calls them. His dis­cus­sions encom­pass a vari­ety of musics, rang­ing from clas­si­cal and jazz to hip-hop and techno.

Katz begins by out­lin­ing what he sees as the seven most impor­tant char­ac­ter­is­tics of sound record­ing tech­nol­ogy (e.g. tan­gi­bil­ity, repeata­bil­ity, and manip­u­la­bil­ity). It is these traits, singly and in com­bi­na­tion, that give rise to the var­i­ous phono­graph effects Katz addresses in the remain­der of the book. He then pro­ceeds to give a short his­tory of not of early record­ing tech­nol­ogy, but of the var­i­ous ways in which early record­ing and (espe­cially) play­back equip­ment found its way into Amer­i­can culture.

The first real phono­graph effect Katz tack­les is the dis­sem­i­na­tion and rapidly grow­ing pop­u­lar­ity of jazz in the 1910s and 1920s. Jazz was really the first genre to ben­e­fit dur­ing its for­ma­tive years from the porta­bil­ity and repeata­bil­ity of sound record­ings. Katz pro­vides a pretty good sum­mary of this phe­nom­e­non, but I’m not sure he really adds any­thing to what pre­vi­ous writ­ers have done. With his next topic, though, Katz enters what seems to be new ground.

Vio­lin­ists, on the whole, increased their use of vibrato around the begin­ning of the twen­ti­eth cen­tury. This fact seems to be widely rec­og­nized, but lit­tle time has been devoted to deter­min­ing the impe­tus for the change. Katz, as you might guess, makes a case for record­ing tech­nol­ogy being respon­si­ble: vio­lin­ists dis­cov­ered that using more vibrato could com­pen­sate for some of the lim­i­ta­tions of early acoustic record­ings. The record­ings they pro­duced were then emu­lated by aspir­ing play­ers, lead­ing to a styl­is­tic shift. This seems a good place to men­tion the CD that accom­pa­nies the book. It con­tains thir­teen musi­cal exam­ples, of which five serve to illus­trate the change in vibrato aes­thetic. It’s quite help­ful to have these; prose descrip­tions of sound are often insufficient.

Katz next dis­cusses the rel­a­tively short-lived idea of Gram­mophon­musik — music in which the phono­graph was used as a tool for com­po­si­tion. This might be done by alter­ing exist­ing record­ings, or by actu­ally attempt­ing to engrave sound forms by hand onto a blank phono­graph disc. The genre was mostly spec­u­la­tive, but a few exam­ples cre­ated by Paul Hin­demith survive.

The remain­ing chap­ters of Cap­tur­ing Sound deal with pop­u­lar music, and mainly with elec­tronic and/or dig­i­tal sound tech­nolo­gies. Katz gives a short his­tory of DJing and turntab­lism, and then out­lines his own field­work in the study of DJ bat­tles or com­pe­ti­tions. He devotes a chap­ter to the “art and pol­i­tics” of sam­pling, look­ing at exam­ples drawn from hip-hop, pop, rock, techno, and art music. Katz’s last chap­ter explores how MP3s (and other dig­i­tal audio files) and peer-to-peer file-sharing net­works are chang­ing the expe­ri­ences of lis­ten­ing to, dis­cov­er­ing, and con­sum­ing music. While these var­i­ous sub­jects have been treated else­where, they have gen­er­ally not been done so with a schol­arly approach.

Over­all, I enjoyed Cap­tur­ing Sound. Katz’s top­ics are inter­est­ing, and his writ­ing style is clear and engag­ing. I found the book as a whole to be a lit­tle uneven, though. Some chap­ters (like those about vio­lin vibrato and DJ bat­tles) involve a great deal of Katz’s own orig­i­nal research, while oth­ers (such as those about Gram­mophon­musik and the rise of jazz) do not. Katz acknowl­edges that his var­i­ous top­ics are “con­nected per­haps by noth­ing save record­ing.” Thus it is per­haps bet­ter to approach Cap­tur­ing Sound as a col­lec­tion of essays rather than as a cohe­sive book. I hope, as does Katz, that his writ­ing will inspire oth­ers to pro­duce work in a sim­i­lar vein — I imag­ine there’s a lot more to be said about technology’s influ­ence on music.