Appropriately Grey – By John Eischeid

In December of 2003, DJ Danger Mouse began the counterintuitive task of mixing black and white.

Appropriately Grey

By John Eischeid

 

 

 

 

In December of 2003, DJ Danger Mouse began the counterintuitive task of mixing black and white. He wittily entitled the result "The Grey Album," since it was composed solely of lyrics from Jay-Z’s "The Black Album" and samples from the Beatles’s "The White Album." This finished work attracted attention because no one had heard anything like it before and the DJ never got permission to use the work of either artist. Originally, DJ Danger Mouse, whose given name is Brian Burton, did not intend for his work to be heard outside of his circle of friends, but the album was a nearly instant underground sensation. On peer-to-peer file-sharing networks, an estimated 100,000 copies have been downloaded. The postmodern pastiche has become widely recognized as an original and innovative work, regardless of the legal turmoil over who, if anyone, owns it. Pop culture has already begun to feel the impact of the album: stories have come from the New Yorker, the Village Voice, CNN and National Public Radio. Despite the legal problems it poses, it is one of the most innovative hip-hop works in memory.

At their inception, MCs crafted their rhymes on top of beats taken from records already made, using the rhythm as a template. Burton has turned this process on its head, rewriting "The White Album" to accentuate the language and lyricism of recorded words. The MC doesn’t rock the beat and the DJ rocks the rhymes. While it is common for producers and DJs to make remixes, Burton has crafted each sample and beat specifically around the words, making the album a fresh take on an old form and emphasizing the virtuosity of the DJ as much as the lyricism of the MC. Burton has literally flipped the script, making the sterling performance on "The Black Album" divinely unapproachable. Jay-Z truly sounds worthy of his nickname "The God MC." DJs and producers are well advised to follow suit.

Though the media has anointed Burton as the creator of "The Grey Album," its constituent parts might belong to others. While "The White Album" and "The Black Album" are arguably the property of their respective publishers and record companies, it’s difficult to tell who, if anyone, owns rights to "The Grey Album," or if "The White Album" is old enough to fall under fair-use doctrines. Since Burton never advertised or otherwise promoted the work, its success alone is testament to the work’s creative prowess, originality, and relevance. It also proves the dictum that the whole can be much greater than its parts. EMI issued a cease-and-desist letter to some Internet sites offering the download for free. The letter bluntly refers to "copyright infringement" and "unauthorized exploitation." Curiously, the letter asserts no ownership claims to "The Grey Album" itself. No party on any of the three sides probably ever will, given that the album is already a Pandora’s box of intellectual property issues and has added fuel to the fire raging between major record companies and file-sharers.

In the media, Burton has been credited with the creation of a highly original work. In the eyes of the law, the work’s parts belong to others. Without proper legal clearance, Burton will face insurmountable hurdles in claiming rights over the works on "The Grey Album" and in subsequently distributing it. However, if Burton doesn’t own it, then who does? Culturally, how will Burton’s inversion of the usual process of making hip-hop influence works to come? While the album has exposed the unlikely common ground between the Beatles and Jay-Z, it has also unearthed a gap between the cultural notion of ownership and the legal definitions thereof. "The Grey Album" raises more questions than it answers, leaving its impact — and its future — appropriately grey.