Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „Plainnes du Loup“

AbstractFour Holocene alluvial fills are present in Nebraska's South Loup River valley. Fill IV, the oldest and thickest, was deposited between 10,200 and 4800 14C yr B.P.; Fill III has an age of about 3000 14C yr B.P.; Fill II is younger than 2100 and older than 900 14C yr B.P.; and Fill I is younger than 900 14C yr B.P. Regional contemporaneity of valley alluviation in the eastcentral Great Plains suggests that climate has controlled long-term sediment storage in the South Loup River valley.

Three different-scale electromagnetic (EM) measurements have been performed in the Kujukuri coastal plain, southeast Japan, to investigate the distribution of saline groundwater. The three techniques were audio-frequency magnetotelluric (AMT), transient electromagnetic (TEM), and small loop-loop EM measurements. The resistivity sections estimated from these data sets reveal three independent resistivity distributions extending to different depths. The AMT method reveals a regional-scale resistivity distribution across the plain to a maximum depth of approximately [Formula: see text] and the existence of deep conductive zones, which are inferred to be associated with fossil seawater trapped in a Pleistocene formation. The TEM results show a medium-scale resistivity distribution to depths of approximately [Formula: see text], in which two shallow conductive zones are recognized. It is concluded that these features are caused by present seawater intrusion and high-salinity salt-marsh deposits formed during sporadic marine regressions. The small loop-loop EM method provided a shallow resistivity profile that highlights the conductive salt-marsh deposits and resistive sandy ridges. Although these resistivity sections correspond to different depth ranges, the overlapping portions of the sections are very consistent with one another. These EM methods are useful in detecting and interpreting important resistivity features. Taking the geologic evolution of the coastal plains into consideration is crucial when interpreting resistivity profiles such as these, and our results suggest that the presence of fossil seawater is an important factor controlling resistivity at a variety of depths.

La conservation de nombreux écosystèmes patrimoniaux est conditionnée par le maintien d’une activité d’élevage extensive. Les prairies humides et les systèmes transhumants de Méditerranée constituent deux exemples contrastés de territoires à forts enjeux naturels où excès d’eau dans le premier cas et sècheresses annuelles dans l’autre conditionnent à la fois la végétation et les conditions d’élevage. Les marais portent des services environnementaux majeurs comme l’accueil de la biodiversité, notamment de l’avifaune ou la régulation des crues. Ce sont des territoires complexes où de nombreux acteurs interagissent autour de la gestion des niveaux d’eau. Parmi eux, les éleveurs jouent un rôle clé en gérant des prairies contraignantes à exploiter. Les prairies de marais sont fragilisées par un double mouvement d’intensification et de déprise agricole. L’élevage craven, exemple de système ovin transhumant de la plaine de Crau en zone méditerranéenne, permet de lutter contre la fermeture des milieux et joue un rôle de protection contre certains risques naturels comme les incendies dans les collines en Provence ou contre les risques d’avalanche dans les Alpes. Dans la plaine de la Crau, les éleveurs sont au coeur des enjeux de biodiversité dans la conservation du « Coussoul », dernière steppe européenne. Crise de la filière ovine, retour du loup et pression foncière grandissante sur les espaces de Crau menacent ce système d’élevage. Le maintien de l’élevage représente un véritable enjeu pour la conservation des espaces à forte valeur patrimoniale. Il dépend de la viabilité économique de formes d'élevage soumises à de fortes contraintes naturelles et nécessite donc une politique agroenvironnementale adaptée. La dynamique des territoires, à travers une valorisation de produits de qualité, apparaît également comme un levier pour préserver les activités d’élevage et conserver les habitats naturels.

DOSSIER : Spécificités de l’élevage de ruminants en montagne Avant-propos Dans le cadre de l’organisation d’une séance annuelle commune, l’Académie d’Agriculture de France et l’Académie Vétérinaire de France ont choisi pour 2013 le thème de l’élevage en montagne (séance publique du 17 avril 3013). Sur fond de crise, d’évolution des politiques agricoles européennes et de fluctuation des revenus des éleveurs, l’Académie d’Agriculture, et plus particulièrement la section « Production Animale », réfléchit sur les conditions de restauration de perspectives positives pour l’élevage ; elle assume l’hypothèse qu’une clé est l’ancrage territorial de cette activité, associé à un effort d’imagination pour valoriser des produits propres à combler l’attente des citoyens. Choisir en premier lieu d’approfondir l’évolution de l’élevage en montagne et d’en analyser quelques traits spécifiques est un prologue tout indiqué pour cette réflexion. De manière convergente l’Académie Vétérinaire, confrontée à la déprise territoriale du métier de vétérinaire notamment dans les zones dites difficiles ou défavorisées que représentent certaines régions de montagne, a relevé de manière frappante les risques associés, sur les plans sanitaire et épidémiologique, aux systèmes de transhumance et de mise en commun des troupeaux toutes générations confondues, loin de leurs « camps de base » et des yeux attentifs de leurs propriétaires. Rassembler des troupes issues d’exploitations multiples, c’est aussi favoriser les échanges de leurs agents pathogènes respectifs risquant ainsi d’exposer brutalement à de tels agents des jeunes peu ou pas immunisés. Dans les milieux de montagne la détection précoce des maladies est rendue difficile par la dissémination des animaux sur de vastes territoires. Loin de toute vision rousseauiste sur la salubrité et la paix des alpages, l’élevage de montagne est de plus confronté à des prédateurs tolérés voire défendus par les profanes (ours et loup) et à la mitoyenneté avec une faune sauvage porteuse d’agents pathogènes non contrôlés, parfois responsables de zoonoses (agent de la brucellose, notamment). Le thème de l’élevage des ruminants en montagne était donc particulièrement bienvenu pour cette séance commune. L’Editeur d’« Inra Productions Animales », René Baumont, a bien voulu reconnaître l’intérêt des travaux présentés en cette occasion sur quelques aspects géographique, technique, économique, historique et sanitaire, même s’ils ne traitent qu’une partie des problèmes de l’élevage en montagne. Grâce à ses exigences, et à celles des lecteurs critiques des articles, ce dossier a pris figure et pourra constituer une base estimable de références pour de nombreux lecteurs intéressés à l’élevage en montagne. Dans le respect de la pluralité professionnelle représentée dans nos académies nous avons demandé à de jeunes chercheurs d’une part, à des professionnels praticiens en activité d’autre part, de présenter différentes facettes des forces et faiblesses de ces systèmes pastoraux. Bruno Martin, avec Michel Lherm et Claude Béranger, dresse un panorama très documenté, dans l’espace et dans le temps, des atouts qui ont permis à des éleveurs dynamiques et imaginatifs demaintenir par leurs initiatives et leur sens de l’entraide la stabilité économique de ces modes de production, tout en assurant un service écologique par la préservation de milieux fragiles, qui légitime des soutiens publics spécifiques. Stabilité, il est vrai, à un niveau de revenus moindre que leurs homologues des plaines, beaucoup plus affectés par la crise de l’élevage. L’avenir de la production de ruminants en montagne passe comme en plaine par la nécessaire maîtrise des coûts, mais surtout par la capacité des filières animales à valoriser les atouts spécifiques de ces territoires notamment autour de la notion de paniers de biens. Marie Dervillé, avec Gilles Allaire, s’interroge sur le devenir de la production laitière de montagne après la suppression en 2015 des quotas laitiers protecteurs. Détaillant les mécanismes de concurrence entre montagne et plaine d’une part, et entre différentes régions de montagne d’autre part, elle montre que la différenciation des productions de montagne par rapport à celles qui peuvent être obtenues en plaine est la stratégie essentielle d’adaptation à la libéralisation des marchés. Développer au niveau d’un territoire une capacité d’innovation et la construction d’une réputation collective, répondant à l’imaginaire des citoyens, conditionnera la survie de la production laitière et fromagère de montagne. Jean-Pierre Alzieu, en collaboration avec Jeanne Brugère-Picoux et Christophe Brard, montre que les dominantes pathologiques sont d’abord et surtout des maladies dites de groupe, principalement d’étiologie infectieuse. Il explicite les raisons de la plus grande susceptibilité sanitaire de ce type de conduite des troupeaux, face à une diversité de maladies (respiratoires, parasitaires ou boiteries entre autres) qui vont trouver dans le pâturage de montagne des conditions favorables à leur propagation. S’il existe au sein du troupeau un ou plusieurs états cliniques avant la montée à l’estive, ceux-ci seront amplifiés et propagés aux autres animaux réunis, d’où l’importance primordiale des mesures prophylactiques en amont et notamment durant l’hivernage. Christophe Roy présente, au regard de ces conditions sanitaires particulières, les contraintes spécifiques à l’activité vétérinaire en montagne. Celles-ci contribuent à une légère découverture du maillage vétérinaire. Or, la veille sanitaire est très importante en montagne, sans doute plus qu’ailleurs étant donné les risques liés à l’élevage dans ces régions. L’auteur nous livre quelques pistes d’adaptation afin de maintenir une offre de service aussi efficace et performante que possible alors que l’engouement pour les produits de montagne, notamment fromagers, appelle une vigilance soutenue. Outre ces avertissements sanitaires, des alertes sont perceptibles : une partie de la production laitière, trop générique, résistera mal à la concurrence des plaines. Des appétits fonciers apparaissent, pas seulement pour des activités de loisir consommatrices de territoires et de ressources en eau : des compétitions nouvelles pour l’accès aux estives apparaissent avec des investisseurs aux capacités financières affirmées. A un titre ou un autre tous les auteurs de ce dossier soulignent néanmoins les atouts de cette production montagnarde, basée sur une culture collective d’acteurs durs au labeur : recours à une ressource herbagère peu coûteuse, utilisation de races locales rustiques, référence à des terroirs évocateurs de dépaysement, robustesse d’une activité fromagère calée sur des appellations contrôlées et dans laquelle les urbains se plaisent à reconnaître une naturalité respectueuse du bien-être animal, au servicedu maintien de milieux et de paysages à préserver. La conjonction d’acteurs de montagne combatifs et sobres, de citoyens avides d’images pastorales devrait favoriser l’acceptation de soutiens financiers spécifiques et la pérennisation économique de systèmes d’élevages ancrés sur ces territoires tout en sachant s’adapter.

Abstract The Hoopoe is a widespread species in Hungary with the strongest populations on the Great plains. The fact that in 2015 it became ‛The Bird of the Year’ in Hungary offers the possibility to summarise the information about the distribution, population size, dispersion, migration as well as the nature conservation status of the Hoopoe population breeding in Hungary. In the period of 1999–2014 the number of breeding pairs and trend of population level was estimated based on the Common Bird Census database. The population size was estimated as 13,500–17,500 pairs with a stable trend (slope=−1.3%, SE=2.5%) over 1999–2014. There is very limited information on migration from bird ringing, only 8 recoveries between 1928–1963 indicate, that the Hungarian population is migrating on a south-southeast direction in autumn, wintering in the eastern parts of the Sahel, possibly in Chad and Sudan and migrates back in spring following a loop migration pattern further to the east. The main conservation issues are agricultural intensification impacting feeding possibilities, lack of nesting cavities and hunting during migration.

These Tamarix species and their hybrids, known collectively as saltcedar, are perennial small trees or shrubs native to Eurasia, and were among the Tamarix species introduced to the United States in 1800s as ornamentals, for plantings in windbreaks, and to stabilize eroding stream banks. They have since escaped and become damaging invasive plants in large areas of the western and Great Plains regions of the United States. They are able to reproduce vigorously by both seed and vegetative propagation, and are persistent and long-lived once established. Ecological problems include hydrologic impacts, displacement of native flora and fauna including endangered species, and excretion of salt, which increases soil salinity. Economic impacts include costs associated with control as well as losses of irrigation and municipal water, flood control costs, and loss of recreational opportunities. Invaded habitats include floodplains, salt flats, marshes, reservoirs, stock watering ponds, and irrigation ditches. Saltcedar is difficult to control and almost impossible to eradicate once established. In 2007, naturalized saltcedar was found near Penticton and at Osoyoos Lake in British Columbia, Canada. It is also currently sold in several Canadian provinces as an ornamental. Ecological niche modelling indicates that large areas of the Canadian Prairies are susceptible to invasion. Hybridization, multiple intentional introductions through garden plantings, natural dispersal from populations in the northern United States, and climate warming will increase the risk and promote the spread of saltcedar in Canada. Key words: Saltcedar, Tamarix ramosissima, Tamarix chinensis, invasive alien plant, weed biology, invasion biology, ecological niche modeling

Daily weather types (WTs) over the Southeast United States have been analyzed using 850 hPa winds from reanalysis data from March to October of 1979–2019. Six WTs were obtained. WTs 1–3 represent mid-latitude synoptic systems propagating eastward. WT4 is a summer-type pattern predominantly occurring in June–August, with the center of the North Atlantic Subtropical High (NASH) along the Gulf coast in the southern United States. WT5 is most frequent from August to middle October, with the NASH pushed further north and southerly winds over the northern Great Plains. An anticyclone centered at the Carolina coast characterizes WT6, which occurs in all months but is slightly more frequent in the spring and fall, especially in October, corresponding to fair weather in the region. WTs 1, 2 and 3 can persist for only a few days. WTs 4, 5 and 6 can have long spells of persistence. Besides self-persistence, the most observed progression loop is WT1 to WT2, to WT3, and then back to WT1, corresponding to eastward-propagating waves. WTs 4 and 5 are likely to show persistence, with long periods of consecutive days. WT6 usually persists but can also transfer to WT3, i.e., a change from fair weather in the Southeast U.S. to rainy weather in the Mississippi River Valley. A diurnal cycle of precipitation is apparent for each WT, especially over coastal plains. The nocturnal precipitation in central U.S. is associated with WT3. WTs 1–3 are more frequent in El Niño years, corresponding to stronger westerly wave activities and above normal rainfall in the Southeast U.S. in the spring. The positive rainfall anomaly in the Mississippi and Ohio River valley in El Niño years is also associated with more frequent WT3.

Shallow subsurface geological structure mapping combined with ground effective thermal conductivity values at the basin scale provide an appropriate method to evaluate the installation potential of ground-source heat pump systems. This study analyzed the geological structure of the Aizu Basin (Northeast Japan) using sedimentary cores and boring log and mapped the distribution of average ground effective thermal conductivity in the range from −10 m to −100 m depth calculated from cores and logs. Gravel layers dominate in alluvial fans of the northern and southern basin areas, which are found to be associated with higher average ground effective thermal conductivity values, 1.3–1.4 W/m/K, while central and western floodplain areas show lower values of 1.0–1.3 W/m/K due to the existence of thick mud layers in the shallow subsurface. The results indicate that the conventional closed-loop systems are more feasible in northern and southern basin areas than in the central and western areas. Evaluation for the installation potential of the ground-source heat pump systems using depth-based distribution maps of average ground effective thermal conductivity is the originality of this study. This approach is valuable and proper for the simple assessment of the system installation in different sedimentary plains and basins in Japan and other countries.

Evaluating the installation potential of ground source heat pump (GSHP) systems based on the hydrogeological condition of an area is important for the installation and sustainable use of the system. This work is the first to have compared the distributions of heat exchange rate in the Sendai Plain and Aizu Basin (Japan) in terms of topographical and hydrogeological conditions. A regional groundwater flow and heat transport model was constructed for the Sendai Plain. Suitability assessment was conducted for an identical closed-loop system by preparing the distribution maps of heat exchange rate for space heating for the plain and basin. For both locations, the upstream area showed a higher heat exchange rate than the downstream area. Multiple regression analysis was conducted using heat exchange rate as a response variable. Average groundwater flow velocity and average subsurface temperature were considered as explanatory variables. The heat exchange rate for the plain, whose Péclet number ranged from 3.5 × 10−3–7.3 × 10−2, was affected by groundwater flow velocity and subsurface temperature. The exchange rate for the basin, whose Péclet number ranged from 8.5 × 10−2–5.8 × 10−1, was affected by groundwater flow velocity. Inland basins are likely to be more suitable for GSHP system installation utilizing groundwater flow than coastal plains in terms of inclination of slope. This study showed that multiple regression analysis can reveal factors affecting the heat exchange rate as well as the degree to which they affect it.

The relatively subdued topography of British Columbia’s northern interior plains does not reflect the irregular, buried bedrock surface. Many areas have been deeply incised by preglacial rivers that have subsequently filled with a succession of Quaternary sediments. In this study, oil and gas petrophysical logs, drill chip samples, water well logs, and surficial and bedrock outcrop maps were used to model the bedrock topography of the Fontas map sheet (NTS 94I). The modelled data produced several depressions that are interpreted to be paleovalleys incised into the soft Cretaceous shale of the Fort St. John Group. Understanding the geometry, thickness, and stratigraphy of the drift has considerable safety and resource management implications as artesian aquifers and natural gas were encountered in the drift during oil and gas well drilling. Four major paleovalleys are suggested. The most dominant paleovalley (Kotcho–Hoffard Paleovalley) is located south of the Etsho Plateau and trends west-southwest across the map area. A second depression occurs within the loop of the Hay River and may be a tributary of the Kotcho–Hoffard Paleovalley that links with the Rainbow Paleovalley in Alberta. A third paleovalley is mapped south of the Sahtaneh River (Kyklo Creek Paleovalley) and is either a tributary to, or crosscuts the Kotcho–Hoffard Paleovalley. The Niteal Creek Paleovalley is located between the Fontas and Sikanni Chief rivers. Its geometry is speculative as there are sparse data, but it may be a tributary of the Kotcho–Hoffard Paleovalley.

Abstract Historically, estimates of precipitation for hydrologic applications have largely been obtained using ground-based rain gauges despite the fact that they can contain significant measurement and sampling errors. Remotely sensed precipitation products provide the ability to overcome spatial coverage limitations, but the direct use of these products generally suffers from their relatively coarse spatial and temporal resolution and inherent retrieval errors. A simple ensemble-based disaggregation scheme is proposed as a general framework for using remotely sensed precipitation data in hydrologic applications. The scheme generates fine-scale precipitation realizations that are conditioned on large-scale precipitation measurements. The ensemble approach allows for uncertainty related to the complex error characteristics of the remotely sensed precipitation (undetected events, nonzero false alarm rate, etc.) to be taken into account. The methodology is applied through several synthetic experiments over the southern Great Plains using the Global Precipitation Climatology Project 1° daily (GPCP-1DD) product. The scheme is shown to reasonably capture the land-surface-forcing variability and propagate this uncertainty to the estimation of soil moisture and land surface flux fields at fine scales. The ensemble results outperform a case using sparse ground-based forcing. Additionally, the ensemble nature of the framework allows for simply merging the open-loop soil moisture estimation scheme with modern data assimilation techniques like the ensemble Kalman filter. Results show that estimation of the soil moisture and surface flux fields are further improved through the assimilation of coarse-scale microwave radiobrightness observations.

Wheat streak mosaic virus (WSMV) and triticum mosaic virus (TriMV) are economically important viruses of wheat (Triticum aestivum L.), causing significant yield losses in the Great Plains region of the United States. These two viruses are transmitted by wheat curl mites, which often leads to mixed infections with synergistic interaction in grower fields that exacerbates yield losses. Development of dual-resistant wheat lines would provide effective control of these two viruses. In this study, a genetic resistance strategy employing an RNA interference (RNAi) approach was implemented by assembling a hairpin element composed of a 202-bp (404-bp in total) stem sequence of the NIb (replicase) gene from each of WSMV and TriMV in tandem and of an intron sequence in the loop. The derived RNAi element was cloned into a binary vector and was used to transform spring wheat genotype CB037. Phenotyping of T1 lineages across eight independent transgenic events for resistance revealed that i) two of the transgenic events provided resistance to WSMV and TriMV, ii) four events provided resistance to either WSMV or TriMV, and iii) no resistance was found in two other events. T2 populations derived from the two events classified as dual-resistant were subsequently monitored for stability of the resistance phenotype through the T4 generation. The resistance phenotype in these events was temperature-dependent, with a complete dual resistance at temperatures ≥25°C and an increasingly susceptible response at temperatures below 25°C. Northern blot hybridization of total RNA from transgenic wheat revealed that virus-specific small RNAs (vsRNAs) accumulated progressively with an increase in temperature, with no detectable levels of vsRNA accumulation at 20°C. Thus, the resistance phenotype of wheat harboring an RNAi element was correlated with accumulation of vsRNAs, and the generation of vsRNAs can be used as a molecular marker for the prediction of resistant phenotypes of transgenic plants at a specific temperature.

Short bowel syndrome is a pathological symptom complex that occurs after removal (resection) of the small intestine (more than 25% of its length), or when there is a signifi cant violation of its function. The most common cause of short bowel syndrome is adhesions of the small intestine that occur after surgical interventions on the abdominal organs. A description of the clinical observation of short bowel syndrome with severe manifestations of enteric insufficiency in a 41-year old patient is given. The patient was admitted to the surgical Department of FGBUZ Central clinical of the hospital Russian Academy of Sciences with com-plaints of General weakness, pain, spastic nature in the abdomen without clear localization, pain in the area of operational wound (for 4 months had 4 surgery for adhesive intestinal obstruction), abdominal distention, thirst, dry mouth, semiliquid chair 3–4 times a day, weight loss for the last 7 months before the hospitalization at 22 kg, the body mass index was 17.3 kg/m2. After the last surgical intervention, ileostomy of the ascending colon was applied using the Brooke method in connection with adhesive small bowel obstruction. The functioning segment of the jejunum was anastomosed with the ascending colon and was 22 cm long. At admission, the state of moderate severity, moderately emaciated, dehydrated. Liquid stool up to 6 times a day, without pathological impurities. MSCT of abdominal organs from 03.05.2018 with contrast: in meso — and hypogastria (mainly on the left), expanded loops of the small intestine (up to a maximum of 37–38 mm) fi lled with liquid content were visualized, the contrast preparation in the above described loops of the small intestine was not visualized. Additionally, non-expanded loops of the small intestine were visualized in the hypogastria and did not contain contrast. Non-functional loops of the small intestine in the meso — and hypogastrium. Liver, biliary system, pancreas, spleen — without features. On the background of complex therapy, the stabilization of clinical and laboratory indicators was achieved, which allowed to plan surgical treatment-laparotomy, closure of ileostomy, imposition of small intestine anastomosis in the large intestine. A laparotomy was performed with the right pararectal access. Continuous viscero-visceral and of viscero-peritoneal splices were found in the abdominal cavity. With technical difficulties caused by fi brous-calcifi ed splices, it was possible to separate the ascending colon and the part of the jejunum that goes to the anterior abdominal wall to the site of the bred jejunostomy. The intersection of the jejunum stoma was performed in close contact with the anterior abdominal wall. A double-row “end-to-side” anastomosis was formed with the middle third of the ascending colon. When performing laparotomy with left pararectal access under conditions of a pronounced adhesive process, it was possible to isolate a section of the sigmoid colon and a loop of the small intestine that was previously disabled (during the previous operation). Ileosigmoidostomy formed a double row “side to side”. The preserved portion of the small intestine was 85 cm. In the postoperative period, there were signs of endogenous intoxication. Against the background of intestinal paresis and severe intoxication, there was an increase in the markers of infl amemation and pancytopenia. Complex therapy with parenteral mixtures, prebiotics and antimicrobial drugs stopped the symptoms of intoxication, the activity of infl ammation, and improved laboratory parameters, which allowed us to gradually switch to oral food intake. Semi-formed stool 1–2 times a day. She was discharged on the 10th day after the operation for outpatient treatment under the supervision of a surgeon and gastroenterologist. One-year rehabilitation period with a positive effect, which indicates the uniqueness of this clinical observation.

Images 1-6: Photographs by Rachelle Viader Knowles (2012)This article discusses the cross-cultural, augmented artwork Parallel Worlds, Intersecting Moments (2012) by Rachelle Viader Knowles and Judy Anderson, that premiered at the First Nations University of Canada Gallery in Regina, on 2 March 2012, as part of a group exhibition entitled Critical Faculties. The work consists of two elements: wall pieces with black and white Quick Response (QR) codes created using traditional beading and framed within red Stroud cloth; and a series of videos, accessible via scanning the beaded QR codes. The videos feature Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people from Saskatchewan, Canada telling stories about their own personal experiences with new technologies. A QR code is a matrix barcode made up of black square modules on a white square in a grid pattern that is optically machine-readable. Performance artist and scholar Rebecca Caines was invited by the artists to participate in the work as a subject in one of the videos. She attended the opening and observed how audiences improvised and interacted with the work. Caines then went on to initiate this collaborative writing project. Like the artwork it analyzes, this writing documents a series of curated experiences and conversations. This article includes excerpts of artist statements, descriptions of artists’s process and audience observation, and new sections of collaborative critical writing, woven together to explore the different augmented elements of the artwork and the results of this augmentation. These conversations and responses explore the cross-cultural processes that led to the work’s creation, and describe the results of the technological and social disruptions and slippages that occurred in the development phase and in the gallery as observers and artists improvised with the augmentation technology, and with each other. The article includes detail on the augmented art practices of storytelling, augmented reality (AR), and traditional beading, that collided and mutated during this project, exploring the tension and opportunity inherent in the human impulse to augment. Storytelling through Augmented Art Practices: The Creation of the WorkJUDY ANDERSON: I am a Plains Cree artist from the Gordon’s First Nation, which is located in Saskatchewan, Canada. As a Professor of Indian Fine Arts at the First Nations University of Canada, I research and continue to learn about traditional art making using traditional materials creating primarily beaded pieces such as medicine bags and drum sticks. Of particular interest to me, however, is how such traditional practices manifest in contemporary Aboriginal art. In this regard I have been greatly influenced by my colleague and friend, artist Ruth Cuthand, and specifically her Trading series, which reframed my thinking about beadwork (Art Placement), and later by the work of artists like Nadia Myer, and KC Adams (Myer; KC Adams). Cuthand’s incredibly successful series taught me that beadwork does not only beautify and “augment” our world, but it has the power to bring to the forefront important issues regarding Aboriginal people. As a result, I began to work on my own ideas on how to create beadworks that spoke to both traditional and contemporary thoughts.RACHELLE VIADER KNOWLES: At the time we started developing this project, we were both working in leadership roles in our respective Departments; Judy as Coordinator of Indian Fine Arts at First Nations University, and myself as Head of Visual Arts at the University of Regina. We began discussing ways that we could create more interconnection between our faculty members and students. At the centre of both our practices was a dialogic method of back and forth negotiation and compromise. JA: Rachelle had the idea that we should bead QR codes and make videos for the upcoming First Nations and University of Regina joint faculty exhibition. Over the 2011 Christmas holiday we visited each other’s homes, beaded together, and found out about each other’s lives by telling stories of the things we’ve experienced. I felt it was very important that our QR codes were not beaded in the exact same manner; Rachelle built up hers through a series of straight lines, whereas mine was beaded with a circle around the square QR code, which reflected the importance of the circle in my Cree belief system. It was important for me to show that even though we, Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people, have similar experiences, we often have a different approach or way of thinking about similar things. I also suggested we frame the black and white beaded QR codes with bright red Stroud cloth, a heavy wool cloth originating in the UK that has been used in North America as trade cloth since the 1680s, and has become a significant part of First Nations fabric traditions.Since we were approaching this piece as a cross-cultural one, I chose the number seven for the amount of stories we would create because it is a sacred number in my own Plains Cree spiritual teachings. As such, we brought together seven pairs of people, including ourselves. The participants were drawn from family and friends from reserves and communities around Saskatchewan, including the city of Regina, as well as colleagues and students from the two university campuses. There were a number of different age ranges and socioeconomic backgrounds represented. We came together to tell stories about our experiences with technology, a common cross-cultural experience that seemed appropriate to the work.RVK: As the process of making the beadworks unfolded however, what became apparent to me was the sheer amount of hours it takes to create a piece of “augmentation” through beading, and the deeply social nature of the activity. We also worked together on the videos for the AR part of the artwork. Each participant in the videos was asked to write a short text about some aspect of their relationship to technology and communications. We took the short stories, arranged them into pairs, and used them to write short scripts. We then invited each pair to perform the scripts together on camera in my studio. The stories were really broad ranging. My own was a reflection of the profound discomfort of finding a blog where a man I was dating was publishing the story of our relationship as it unfolded. Other stories covered the loss of no longer being able to play the computer games from teenage years, first encounters with new technologies and social networks, secret admirers, and crank calls to emergency services. The storytelling and dialogue between us as we shared our practices became an important, but unseen layer of this “dialogical” work (Kester).REBECCA CAINES: I came along to Rachelle’s studio at the university to be a participant in a video for the piece. My co-performer was a young woman called Nova Lee. We laughed and chatted and talked and sat knee-to-knee together to film our stories about technology, both of us focusing on different types of Internet relationships. We were asked to read one line of our story at a time, interweaving together our poem of experience. Afterwards I asked her where her name was from. She told me it was from a song. She found the song on YouTube on Rachelle’s computer in the studio and played it for us. Here is a sample of the lyrics: I told my daddy I'd found a girlWho meant the world to meAnd tomorrow I'd ask the Indian chiefFor the hand of Nova LeeDad's trembling lips spoke softlyAs he told me of my life twangs then he said I could never takeThis maiden for my wifeSon, the white man and Indians were fighting when you were bornAnd a brave called Yellow Sun scalped my little boySo I stole you to get even for what he'd doneThough you're a full-blooded Indian, son I love you as much as my own little fellow that's deadAnd, son, Nova Lee is your sisterAnd that's why I've always saidSon, don't go near the IndiansPlease stay awaySon, don't go near the IndiansPlease do what I say— Rex Allen. “Don’t Go Near the Indians.” 1962. Judy explained to Rachelle and I that this was a common history of displacement in Canada, people taken away, falling in love with their relatives without knowing, perhaps sensing a connection, always longing for a home (Campbell). I thought, “What a weight for this young woman to bear, this name, this history.” Other participants also learnt about each other this way through the sharing of stories. Many had come to Canada from other places, each with different cultural and colonial resonances. Through these moments of working together, new understandings formed that deeply affected the participants. In this way, layers of storytelling form the heart of this work.JA: Storytelling holds an incredibly special place in Aboriginal people’s lives; through them we learned the laws, rules, and regulations that governed our behaviour as individuals, within our family, our communities, and our nations. These stories included histories (personal and communal), sacred teachings, the way the world used to be, creation stories, medicine stories, stories regarding the seasons and animals, and stories that defined our relationship with the environment, etc. The stories we asked for not only showed that we as Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people have the same experiences, but also work in the way that a traditional story would. For example, Rachelle’s story taught a good lesson about how it is important to learn about the individual you are dating—had she not, her whole life could have been laid out to any who may have come across that man’s blog. My story spoke to the need to look up and observe what is around you instead of being engrossed in your own little world, because you don’t know who could be lifting your information. They all showed a common interest in sharing information, and laughing at mistakes and life lessons.Augmented Storytelling and Augmented RealityRC: This work relies on the augmented reality (AR) qualities of the QR code. Pavlik and Bridges suggest AR, even through relatively limited tools like a QR code, can have a significant impact on storytelling practices: “AR enriches an individual’s experience with the real world … Stories are put in a local context and act as a supplement to a citizen’s direct experience with the world” (Pavlik and Bridges 21). Their research shows that AR technologies like QR codes brings the story to life in a three dimensional and interactive form that allows the user a level of participation impossible in traditional, analogue media. They emphasize the different viewing possible in AR storytelling as: The new media storytelling model is nonlinear. The storyteller conceptualizes the audience member not as a consumer of the story engaged in a third-person narrative, but rather as a participant engaged in a first-person narrative. The storyteller invites the participant to explore the story in a variety of ways, perhaps beginning in the middle, moving across time, or space, or by topic. (Pavlik and Bridges 22) In their case studies, Pavlik and Bridges show AR has the “potential to become a viable storytelling format with a diverse range of options that engage citizens through sight, sound, or haptic experiences… to produce participatory, immersive, and community-based stories” (Pavlik and Bridges 39). The personal stories in this artwork were remediated a number of different ways. They were written down, then separated into one-line fragments, interwoven with our partners, and re-read again and again for the camera, before being edited and processed. Marked by the artists clearly as ‘Aboriginal’ and ‘non Aboriginal’ and placed alongside works featuring traditional beading, these stories were marked and re-inscribed by complex and fragmented histories of indigenous and non-indigenous relations in Canada. This history was emphasized as the QR codes were also physically located in the First Nations University of Canada, a unique indigenous space.To view this artwork in its entirety, therefore, two camera-enabled and internet-capable mobile devices were required to be used simultaneously. Due to the way they were accessed and played back through augmented reality technologies, stories in the gallery were experienced in nonlinear fashions, started part way through, left before completion, or not in sync with the partner they were designed to work with. The audience experimented with the video content, stopping and starting it to produce new combinations of words and images. This experience was also affected by chance as the video files online were on a cycle, after a set period of time, the scan would suddenly produce a new story. These augmented stories were recreated and reshaped by participants in dialogue with the space, and with each other. Augmented Stories and Improvised CommunitiesRC: In her 1997 study of the reception of new media art in galleries, Beryl Graham surveys the types of audience interaction common to new media art practices like AR art. She “reveals patterns of use of interactive artworks including the relation of use-time to gender, aspects of intimidation, and social interaction.” In particular, she observes “a high frequency of collective use of artworks, even when the artworks are designed to be used by one person” (Graham 2). What Graham describes as “collective” and “social,” I see as a type of improvisation engaging with difference, differences between audience members, and differences between human participants and the alien nature of sophisticated, interactive technologies. Improvisation “embodies real-time creative decision-making, risk-taking, and collaboration” (Heble). In the improvisatory act, participants participate in active listening in order to work with different voices, experiences, and practices, but share a common focus in the creative endeavour. Notions such as “the unexpected” or “the mistake” are constantly reconfigured into productive material. However, as leading improvisation studies scholar Ajay Heble suggests, “improvisation must be considered not simply as a musical or creative form, but as a complex social phenomenon that mediates transcultural inter-artistic exchanges that produce new conceptions of identity, community, history, and the body” (Heble). I watched at the opening as audience members in Parallel Worlds, Intersecting Moments paired up, successfully or unsuccessfully attempted to scan the code and download the video, and physically wrapped themselves around their partner (often a stranger) in order to hear the quiet audio in the loud gallery. The audience began to help each other through the process, to improvise together. The QR code was not always a familiar or comfortable object. The audience often had to install a QR code reader application onto their own device first, and then proceed to try to get the reader to work. Underfunded university Wi-Fi connections dropped, Apple ID logins failed, devices stalled. There were sudden loud cries when somebody successfully scanned their half of the work, and then rushes and scrambles as small groups of people attempted to sync their videos to start at the same time. The louder the gallery got, the closer the pairs had to stand to each other to hear the video through the device’s tiny speakers. Many people looked over someone else’s shoulder without their knowledge. Sometimes people were too close for comfort and behavior was negotiated and adapted. Sometimes, the pairs gave up trying; sometimes they borrowed each other’s devices, sometimes their phone or tablet was incompatible. Difference created new improvisations, or introduced sudden stops or diversions in the activities taking place. The theme of the work was strengthened every time an improvised negotiation took place, every time the technology faltered or succeeded, every time a digital or physical interaction was attempted. Through the combination of augmented bead practices used in an innovative way, and augmented technology with new audiences, new types of improvisatory responses could take place.Initially I found it difficult to not simplify and stereotype the processes taking place, to read it as a metaphor of the differing access to resources and training in Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal communities, a clear example of the ways technology-use marks wealth and status. As I moved through the space, caught up in dialogic, improvisatory encounters, cross-cultural experiences broke down, but did not completely erase, these initial markers of difference. Instead, layers of interaction and information began to be placed over the Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal identities in the gallery. My own assumptions were placed under pressure as I interacted with the artists and the other participants in the space. My identity as a relative newcomer to Saskatchewan was slowly augmented by the stories and experiences I shared and heard, and the audience members shifted back and forth between being experts in the aspects of the stories and technologies that were familiar, and asking for help to translate and activate the stories and processes that were alien.Augmented Art PracticesJA: There is an old saying, “if it doesn’t move, bead it.” I think that this desire to augment with the decorative is handed down through traditional thoughts and beliefs regarding clothing. Once nomadic we did not accumulate many goods, as a result, the goods we did keep were beautified though artistic practices including quilling and eventually beadwork (painting too). And our clothing was thought of as spiritual because it did the important act of protecting us from the elements, therefore it was thought of as sacred. To beautify the clothing was to honour your spirit while at the same time it honoured the animal that had given its life to protect you (Berlo and Phillips). I think that this belief naturally grew to include any item, after all, there is nothing like an object or piece of clothing that is beaded well—no one can resist it. There is, however, a belief that humans should not try to mimic perfection, which is reserved for the Creator and in many cases a beader will deliberately put a bead out of place.RC: When new media produces unexpected results, or as Rachelle says, when pixels “go out of place”, it can be seen as a sign that humans are (deliberately or accidently) failing to use the digital technology in the way it was intended. In Parallel Worlds, Intersecting Moments the theme of cross cultural encounters and technological communication was only enhanced by these moments of displacement and slippage and the improvisatory responses that took place. The artists could not predict the degree of slippage that would occur, but from their catalogue texts and the conversations above, it is clear that collective negotiation was a desired outcome. By creating a QR code based artwork that utilized augmented art practices to create new types of storytelling, the artists allowed augmented identities to develop, slip, falter, and be reconfigured. Through the dialogic art practices of traditional beading and participatory video work, Anderson and Knowles began to build new modes of communication and knowledge sharing. I believe there could be productive relationships to be further explored between what Judy calls the First Nations “desire to bead” whilst acknowledging human fallibility; and the ways Rachelle aims to technologically-augment conversation and storytelling through contemporary AR and video practices despite, or perhaps because of the possibility of risk and disruptions when bodies and code interact. What kind of trust and reciprocity becomes possible across cultural divides when this can be acknowledged as a common human quality? How could beads and/or pixels being “out of place” expose fault lines and opportunities in these kinds of cross-cultural knowledge transfer? As Judy suggested in our conversations, such work requires active engagement from the audience in the process that does not always occur. “In those instances, does the piece fail or people fail the piece? I'm not sure.” In crossing back and forth between these different types of augmentation impulses, and by creating improvisatory, dialogic encounters in the gallery, these artists began the tentative, complex, and vital process of cultural exchange, and invited participants and audience to take this step with them and to work “across traditional and contemporary modes of production” to “use the language and process of art to speak, listen, teach and learn” (Knowles and Anderson).ReferencesAdams, K.C. “Cyborg Hybrid \'cy·borg 'hi·brid\ n.” KC Adams, n.d. 16 Nov. 2013 ‹http://www.kcadams.net/art/arttotal.html›. Allen, Rex. “Don't Go Near the Indians.” Rex Allen Sings and Tells Tales of the Golden West. Mercury, 1962. LP and CD.Anderson, Judy, and Rachelle Viader Knowles. Parallel Worlds, Intersecting Moments. First Nations University of Canada Gallery; Slate Gallery, Regina, Saskatchewan, 2012. Art Placement. “Ruth Cuthand”. Artists. Art Placement, n.d. 16 Nov. 2013 ‹http://www.artplacement.com/gallery/artists.php›.Berlo, Janet Catherine, and Ruth B. Phillips. Native North American Art. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Campbell, Maria. Stories of the Road Allowance People. Penticton, B.C.: Theytus Books, 1995. Critical Faculties. Regina: University of Regina and First Nations University of Canada, 2012. Graham, Beryl C.E. “A Study of Audience Relationships with Interactive Computer-Based Visual Artworks in Gallery Settings, through Observation, Art Practice, and Curation”. Dissertation. University of Sunderland, 1997. Heble, Ajay. “About ICASP.” Improvisation, Community, and Social Practice. University of Guelph; Social Sciences Humanities Research Council of Canada, n.d. 16 Nov. 2011 ‹http://www.improvcommunity.ca/›.Kester, Grant. Conversation Pieces: Community and Communication in Modern Art. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004. Knowles, Rachelle Viader. Rachelle Viader Knowles, n.d. 16 Nov. 2013 ‹http://uregina.ca/rvk›.Myre, Nadia. Nadia Myre. 16 Nov. 2013 ‹http://nadiamyre.com/NadiaMyre/home.html›. Pavlik, John G., and Frank Bridges. “The Emergence of Augmented Reality (AR) as a Storytelling Medium in Journalism.” Journalism & Communication Monographs 15.4 (2013): 4-59.

Murray Forman’s text The ‘Hood Comes First: Race, Space, and Place in Rap and Hip-Hop provides insightful commentary on the workings of and relationship between place and space. To highlight the difference of scale between these two parameters, he writes that, “place defines the immediate locale of human interaction in the particular, whereas space is the expanse of mobile trajectories through which subjects pass in their circulation between or among distinct and varied places” (25). This statement reflects Doreen Massey’s earlier observation from her book Space, Place, and Gender that “one view of a place is as a particular articulation” of the spatial (5). These descriptions clarify how human action shapes, and is shaped by, what Forman describes as the “more narrowly circumscribed parameters” of place (25) and the broader realm of space. Clearly, these two terms describe interconnected components that are socially constructed and dynamic: that is, they operate at different scales but are constructed in time, constantly reshaped by human action and perception. “Space and time are inextricably interwoven,” states Massey. She continues: “It is not that the interrelations between objects occur in space and time; it is these relationships themselves which create/define space and time” (261). If place and space represent different scales of social interaction and space and time are interconnected, place and time must be linked as well.While this indicates that human experience and representation operate on different scales, it is important to note that these two factors are also interrelated. As Stuart Hall writes, “[I]t is only through the way in which we represent and imagine ourselves that we come to know how we are constituted and who we are” (473). There is no objective experience, only that which is subjectively represented through various means. Through depictions of these relationships between place, space, and time, rap music shapes listeners’ comprehension of these parameters. DJs, MCs, producers, and other creative artists express personal observations through the influence of both the local and global, the past and present. In rap lyrics and their musical accompaniment, countries, cities, neighbourhoods, and even specific government housing developments inform the music, but the identities of these places and spaces are not fixed – for the performers or for the audience. They are more than the backdrop for what happens, inanimate structures or coordinates of latitude and longitude. Their dynamic nature, and their representation in music, serves to continually redefine “how we are constituted and who we are” (473).In MC Solaar’s Léve-toi et Rap from his 2001 album Cinquième as and his song Nouveau Western, from 1994’s Prose Combat, this is demonstrated in two very different ways. Léve-toi et Rap, a personal history told in the first person, clearly demonstrates both American hip-hop lineage and the transnational influences of Solaar’s upbringing. This song serves as an example of the adoption of American musical and lyrical techniques as means through which personally empowering, often place-based stories are told. In Nouveau Western, the narrative demonstrates the negative effects of globalization through this story about a geographically and temporally transported American cowboy. This track employs musical materials in a way that reflects the more critical lyrical commentary on the repercussions of American cultural and economic power. Through the manner of his storytelling, and through the stories themselves, MC Solaar explicitly demonstrates his own agency in representing, and thus constructing the meaning of, dynamic place and space as they are defined from these two perspectives.As a Paris-based French rapper, MC Solaar often makes his affiliation to this geographic focal point significant in his lyrics. This is especially clear in Léve-toi et Rap, in which Parisian banlieues (HLM government housing projects), nightclubs, and other places figure prominently in the text. From the lyrics, one learns a great deal about this rapper and his background: MC Solaar was born in Senegal, but his parents brought him to France when he was young (MC Solaar, “Léve-toi et Rap”; Petetin, 802, 805). He grew up struggling with the isolation and social problems of the banlieues and the discrimination he faced as an immigrant. He began rapping, established a musical career, and now encourages others to rap as a means of making something constructive out of a challenging situation. In the excerpt below, MC Solaar explains these origins and the move to the banlieues (Solaar, “Lève-toi et rap;” All translations by the author).Lève-toi et rap elaborates on the connection between the local and global in rap music, and between place, space, and time. The lyrics and music represent these properties in part by appropriating American rap’s stylistic practices. The introductory chorus incorporates sampled lyrics of the American artists Lords of the Underground, the Beastie Boys, Nas, and Redman (Various Contributors, “‘Lève-toi et rap’ Direct Sample of Vocals/Lyrics,” whosampled.com.). A bassline originally recorded by the funk group The Crusaders grounds the musical accompaniment that begins with the first verse (partially printed above), in which MC Solaar begins to depict his own place and space as he has experienced it temporally.In this chorus, the first sample is “I remember way back in the days on my block” from Lords of the Underground’s song Tic-Toc. This leads to “Oh My God” and “Ah, Ah, Ah,” both samples from Q-Tip’s contribution to the Beastie Boys’ song Get It Together. “I Excel,” which appears in Nas’s It Ain’t Hard to Tell comes next. The last sample, “Who Got the Funk,” is from Can’t Wait by Redman (Lords of the Underground, “Tic-Tic;” Beastie Boys and Q-Tip, “Get It Together;” Nas, “It Ain’t Hard to Tell;” The Crusaders, “The Well’s Gone Dry”).Scratching begins the introductory chorus (printed below), which ends with a voice announcing “MC Solaar.” At this point, the sampled bassline from The Crusaders’ 1974 song The Well’s Gone Dry begins.[Scratching]I remember back in the days on my block... Lords of the UndergroundOh my God... Ah, Ah, Ah... Beastie Boys and Q-TipI excel… NasWho got the funk... RedmanMC Solaar[Crusaders sample begins] The rap samples all date from 1994, the year Solaar released his well-received album Prose Combat and most are strategically placed: the first sample originated in the last verse of Tic-Toc, the Q-Tip samples in the middle are from the middle of Get It Together, and the last sample, “I Excel,” is from the first line of It Ain’t Hard to Tell. As Lève-toi et rap continues, MC Solaar’s statement of the song title itself replaces the iteration “MC Solaar” of the first chorus. In a sense, “Lève-toi et rap” becomes the last sample of the chorus. Through these American references, Solaar demonstrates an affiliation with the place in which rap is commonly known to have originally coalesced. For French rappers consciously working to prove their connection to rap’s lineage, such demonstrations are useful (Faure and Garcia, 81-82). Achieved by sampling music and lyrics from 1974 and 1994 from sources that are not all that obvious to a casual listener, Solaar spatially connects his work to the roots of rap (Shusterman, 214). These particular samples also highlight a spatial relationship to particular styles of rap that represent place and space in particular ways. Nas and Lords of the Underground, for instance, have added to the discourse on street credibility and authenticity, while Q-tip has provided commentary on social and political issues. MC Solaar’s own story widens the parameters for illustrating these concepts, as he incorporates the personally significant places such as Senegal, Chad, and the Saint Denis banlieue to establish street credibility on a transnational scale; the lyrics also describe serious social and political issues, including the “skinheads” he encountered while living in Paris. Dynamic place is clear throughout all of this, as everything occurring in these places is meaningful in part because of the unavoidable relationship with the passing of time – Solaar’s birth, his upbringing, and his success occurred through his choices and social interactions in specific places.Looking more closely at the representation of place and time, Lève-toi et rap is less than straightforward. As discussed previously, some of the vocal samples are rearranged, demonstrating purposeful alteration of pre-recorded material; in contrast, the use of a repeated funk bassline sample during a clear narrative of Solaar’s life juxtaposes a linear story with a non-linear musical accompaniment. To this, MC Solaar made a contemporary textual contribution to later choruses, with the title of the song added as the chorus’s last line. Such manipulation in the context of this first-person narrative to express this movement supports the conclusion that, far from being a victim of political and economic forces, MC Solaar has used them to his advantage. After all, the title of the song itself, Lève-toi et rap, translates roughly to “get up and rap.”In addition to manipulating the materials of American rap and funk for this purpose, Solaar’s use of verlan, a type of slang used in the banlieues, brings another level of locality to Lève-toi et rap. The use of verlan brings the song’s association with French banlieue culture closer: by communicating in a dialect fluently understood by relatively few, rappers ensure that their message will be understood best by those who share the constellation of social and temporal relations of these housing developments (Milon, 75). Adding verlan to other slang and to unique grammatical rules, the rap of the banlieues is to some extent in its own language (Prévos, “Business” 902-903).Referring to MC Solaar’s 1994 album Prose Combat, André Prévos observed that this material “clearly illustrates the continuity of this tradition, all the while adding an identifiable element of social and personal protest as well as an identifiable amount of ‘signifying’ also inspired by African American hip-hip lyrics” (Prévos, “Postcolonial” 43). While it is clear at this point that this is also true for Lève-toi et rap from Cinquème as, Nouveau Western from Prose Combat demonstrates continuity in different way. To start, the samples used in this song create a more seamless texture. A sample from the accompaniment to Serge Gainsbourg’s Bonnie and Clyde from 1967 undergirds the song, providing a French pop reference to a story about an American character (Various Contributors, “Nouveau Western” whosampled.com). The bassline from Bonnie and Clyde is present throughout Nouveau Western, while the orchestral layer from the sample is heard during sections of the verses and choruses. Parts of the song also feature alto saxophone samples that provide continuity with the jazz-influenced character of many songs on this album.The contrasts with Lève-toi et rap continue with the lyrical content. Rather than describing his own process of acquiring knowledge and skill as he moved in time from place to place, in Nouveau Western MC Solaar tells the story of a cowboy named “Harry Zona” who was proud and independent living in Arizona, hunting for gold with his horse, but who becomes a victim in contemporary Paris. In the fabled west, the guns he carries and his method of transportation facilitate his mission: Il erre dans les plaines, fier, solitaire. Son cheval est son partenaire [He wanders the plains, proud, alone. His horse is his partner.]. After suddenly being transported to modern-day Paris, he orders a drink from an “Indian,” at a bistro and “scalps” the foam off, but this is surely a different kind of person and practice than Solaar describes Harry encountering in the States (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).After leaving the bistro, Harry is arrested driving his stagecoach on the highway and shut away by the authorities in Fresnes prison for his aberrant behaviour. His pursuit of gold worked for him in the first context, but the quest for wealth advanced in his home country contributed to the conditions he now faces, and which MC Solaar critiques, later in the song. He raps, Les States sont comme une sorte de multinationale / Elle exporte le western et son monde féudal / Dicte le bien, le mal, Lucky Luke et les Dalton [The States are a kind of multinational”/ “They export the western and its feudal way/ Dictate the good the bad, Lucky Luke and the Daltons] (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).Harry seems to thrive in the environment portrayed as the old west: as solitary hero, he serves as a symbol of the States’ independent spirit. In the nouveau far west [new far west] francophone comic book characters Lucky Luke and the Daltons sont camouflés en Paul Smith’s et Wesson [are camouflaged in Paul Smith’s and Wesson], and Harry is not equipped to cope with this confusing combination. He is lost as he negotiates le système moderne se noie l’individu [the modern system that drowns the individual]. To return to Bonnie and Clyde, these ill-fated and oft-fabled figures weren’t so triumphant either, and in Gainsbourg’s song, they are represented by 1960s French pop rather than by even a hint of local 1930s musical traditions. “Harry Zona” is not the only person whose story unfolds through the lens of another culture.While Solaar avoids heavy use of verlan or other Parisian slang in this song, he does use several American cultural references, some of which I have already mentioned. In addition, the word “western” refers to western movies, but it also serves as another term for the United States and its cultural exports. “Hollywood” is another term for the west, and in this context MC Solaar warns his listeners to question this fictional setting. Following his observation that John Wayne looks like Lucky Luke, “well groomed like an archduke,” he exclaims Hollywood nous berne, Hollywood berne! [Hollywood fooled us! Hollywood fools!]. This is followed by, on dit gare au gorille, mais gare à Gary Cooper [as they say watch out for the gorilla, watch out for Gary Cooper]. Slick characters like the ones Gary Cooper played have ultimately served as cultural capital that has generated economic capital for the “multinational” States that Solaar describes. As Harry moves “epochs and places,” he discovers that this sort of influence, now disguised in fashion-forward clothing, is more influential than his Smith and Wesson of the old west (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).It is important to note that this narrative is described with the language of the cultural force that it critiques. As Geoffrey Baker writes, “MC Solaar delves into the masterpieces and linguistic arsenal of his colonizers in order to twist the very foundations of their linguistic oppression against them” (Baker, 241). These linguistic – and cultural – references facilitate this ironic critique of the “new Far West”: Harry suffers in the grip of a more sophisticated gold rush (MC Solaar, “Nouveau Western”).Lève-toi et rap transforms musical and verbal language as well, but the changes are more overt. Even though the musical samples are distinctly American, they are transformed, and non-American places of import to MC Solaar are described with heavy use of slang. This situates the song in American and French cultural territory while demonstrating Solaar’s manipulation of both. He is empowered by the specialized expression of place and space, and by the loud and proud references to a dynamic upbringing, in which struggle culminates in triumph.Empowerment through such manipulation is an attractive interpretation, but because this exercise includes the transformation of a colonizer’s language, it ultimately depends on understanding rap as linked to some extent to what Murray Forman and Tricia Rose describe as “Western cultural imperialism” (Rose, 19; Forman, 21). Both Rose and Forman point out that rap has benefitted from what Rose describes as “the disproportionate exposure of U.S. artists around the world,” (Rose, 19) even though this music has provided an avenue through which marginalized groups have articulated social and political concerns (Rose, 19; Forman 21). The “transnational circulation of contemporary culture industries” that Forman describes (21) has benefitted multinational corporations, but it has also provided new means of expression for those reached by this global circulation. Additionally, this process has engendered a sense of community around the world among those who identify with rap’s musical and lyrical practices and content; in many cases, rap’s connection to the African diaspora is a significant factor in the music’s appeal. This larger spatial connection occurs alongside more locally place-based connections. Lève-toi et rap clearly manifests this sense of simultaneously negotiating one’s role as a global citizen and as an individual firmly grounded in the place and space of local experience.Even though rap has been a music of resistance to hegemonic social and economic forces for people around the world, it is nonetheless important to recognize that the forces that have disseminated this music on a global scale have contributed to the unequal distribution of wealth and power. Working within this system is almost always unavoidable for rappers, many of whom criticize these conditions in their music, but depend on these transnational corporations for their success. Paul A. Silverstein writes that “hip-hop formations themselves, while enunciating an explicit critique of both state interventionism and the global market, have directly benefited from both and, to be sure, simultaneously desire their end and their continuation” (47-48). This is very clear in Nouveau Western, which Silverstein writes “portrayed neo-liberalism as a ‘new Far West’ where credit cards replace Remingtons.” (48) That this critique has reached a large audience in the francophone world and elsewhere highlights the irony of the situation: under the current system of popular musical production and circulation, such material often must reach its audience through complicity with the very system it denounces. This view on the mixture of the local and global presented in these songs illustrates this confusing situation, but from another perspective, the representation of social interaction on varying scales connects to the factors that have contributed to rap since its inception. Local places and geographically broad spatial connections have been articulated in constantly changing ways through musical and lyrical sampling, original lyrical references, and the uses that creators, listeners, and the industry enact vis-à-vis global rap culture. Whether revealed through clear references to American rap that facilitate a personal narrative or through a more complicated critique of American culture, MC Solaar’s songs Lève-toi et rap and Nouveau Western expose some accomplishments of a French rapper whose work reveals personal agency both outside and within the “multinational” United States. ReferencesBaker, Geoffrey. “Preachers, Gangsters, Pranksters: MC Solaar and Hip-Hop as Overt and Covert Revolt.” The Journal of Popular Culture 44 (2011): 233-54.Beastie Boys and Q-Tip. “Get It Together.” Ill Communication. Grand Royal Records, 1994. CD.Faure, Sylvia, and Marie-Carmen Garcia. “Conflits de Valeurs et Générations.” Culture Hip Hop Jeunes des Cités et Politiques Publiques. Paris: La Dispute SNÉDIT, 2005. 69-83. Forman, Murray. “Space Matters: Hip-Hop and the Spatial Perspective.” The ‘Hood Comes First: Race, Space and Place in Rap and Hip-Hop. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 2002. 1- 34. Hall, Stuart. “What Is This ‘Black’ in Black Popular Culture?” Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies, Edited by David Morley and Kuan-Hsing Chen. London: Routledge, 1996. 465-475. Lords of the Underground. “Tic-Tic.” Keepers of the Funk. Pendulum Records, 1994. CD.Massey, Doreen. Space, Place and Gender. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota Press, 1994. 19-24.Milon, Alain. “Pourquoi le Rappeur Chante? Le Rap comme Expression de la Relégation Urbaine.” Cités 19 (2004): 71-80.MC Solaar (Claude M’Barali). “Lève-toi et rap.” Cinquème as. Wea International, 2001. CD.———. “Nouveau Western.” Prose Combat. Cohiba, 1994. CD.Nas. “It Ain’t Hard to Tell.” Illmatic. Columbia Records, 1994. CD.Petetin, Véronique. “Slam, Rap, et ‘Mondialité.” Études 6 (June 2009): 797-808.Prévos, André J.M. “Le Business du Rap en France.” The French Review 74 (April 2001): 900-21.———. “Postcolonial Popular Music in France.” Global Noise: Rap and Hip-Hop outside the USA. Ed. Tony Mitchell. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 2001. 39-56. Rose, Tricia. Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America. Middletown: Wesleyan UP, 1994.Shusterman, Richard. “L’Estitique Postmoderne du Rap.” Rue Deseartes 5/6 (November 1992): 209-28.Silverstein, Paul A. “‘Why Are We Waiting to Start the Fire?’: French Gangsta Rap and the Critique of State Capitalism.” Black, Blanc, Beur: Rap Music and Hip-Hop Culture in the Francophone World. Ed. Alain-Philippe Durand. Oxford: Scarecrow Press, 2002. 45-67. The Crusaders. “The Well’s Gone Dry.” Southern Comfort. ABC/Blue Thumb Records, 1974. CD.Various Contributors. “‘Lève-toi et rap’ Direct Sample of Vocals/Lyrics.” whosampled.com.———. “‘Nouveau Western’ Direct Sample of Hook/Riff.” whosampled.com.Various Contributors. “MC Solaar – ‘Lève-toi et rap’ Lyrics.” Rap Genius.

The article will explore the augmentation of cognition with the affordances of mobile micro-blogging apps, specifically the most developed of these: Twitter. It will ask whether this is enabling new kinds of on-the-fly collective cognition, and in particular what will be referred to as ‘collective volition.’ It will approach this with an address to Bernard Stiegler’s concept of grammatisation, which he defines as as, “the history of the exteriorization of memory in all its forms: nervous and cerebral memory, corporeal and muscular memory, biogenetic memory” (New Critique 33). This will be explored in particular with reference to the human relation with the time of protention, that is an orientation to the future in the lived moment. The argument is that there is a new relation to technology, as a result of the increased velocity, multiplicity and ubiquity of micro-communications. As such this essay will serve as a speculative hypothesis, laying the groundwork for further research. The Context of Social Media The proliferation of social media, and especially its rapid shift onto diverse platforms, in particular to ‘apps’—that is dedicated software platforms available through multiple devices such as tablet computers and smart phones—has meant a pervasive and intensive form of communication has developed. The fact that these media are also generally highly mobile, always connected and operate though very sophisticated interfaces designed for maximum ease of use mean that, at least for a significant number of users, social media has become a constant accompaniment to everyday life—a permanently unfolding self-narrative. It is against this background that multiple and often highly contradictory claims are being made about the effect of such media on cognition and group dynamics. We have seen claims for the birth of the smart mob (Rheingold) that opens up the realm of decisive action to multiple individuals and group dynamics, something akin to that which operates during moments of shared attention. For example, in the London riots of 2011 the use of Blackberry messenger was apportioned a major role in the way mobs moved around the city, where they gathered and who turned up. Likewise in the Arab Spring there was significant speculation about the role of Twitter as a medium for mass organisation and collective action. Why such possibilities are mooted is clear in the basic affordances of the particular social media in question, and the devices through which these software platforms operate. In the case of Twitter it is clear that simplicity of its interface as well as its brevity and speed are the most important affordances. The ease of the interface, the specificity of the action—of tweeting or scrolling though a feed—is easy. The limitation of messages at 140 characters ensures that nothing takes more than a small bite of attention and that it is possible, and routine, to process many messages and to communicate with multiple interlocutors, if not simultaneously then in far faster succession that is possible in previous applications or technologies. This produces a form of distributed attention, casting a wide zone of social awareness, in which the brains of Twitter users process, and are able to respond to, the perspectives of others almost instantly. Of course the speed of the feed that, beyond a relatively small number of followed accounts, means it becomes impossible to see anything but fragments. This fragmentary character is also intensified by the inevitable limitation of the number of accounts being followed by any one user. In fact we can add a third factor of intensification to this when we consider the migration of social media into mobile smart phone apps using simple icons and even simpler interfaces, configured for ease of use on the move. Such design produces an even greater distribution of attention and temporal fragmentation, interspersed as they are with multiple everyday activities. Mnemotechnology: Spatial and Temporal Flux Attending to a Twitter feed thus places the user into an immediate relationship to the aggregate of the just passed and the passing through, a proximate moment of shared expression, but also one that is placed in a cultural short term memory. As such Twitter is thus a mnemotechnology par-excellence, in that it augments human memory, but in a very particular way. Its short termness distributes memory across and between users as much, if not more, than it does extend memory through time. While most recent media forms also enfold their own recording and temporal extension—print media, archived in libraries; film and television in video archives; sound and music in libraries—tweeting is closer to the form of face to face speech, in that while it is to an extent grammatised into the Twitter feed its temporal extension is far more ambiguous. With Twitter, while there is some cerebral/linguistic memory extension—over say a few minutes in a particular feed, or a number of days if a tweet is given a hash tag—beyond this short-term extension any further access becomes a question of paying for access (after a few days hash tags cease to be searchable, with large archives of tweets being available only at a monetary cost). The luxury of long-term memory is available only to those that can afford it. Grammatisation in Stiegler’s account tends to the solidifying extension of expression into material forms of greater duration, forming what he calls the pharmakon, that is an external object, which is both poison and cure. Stiegler employs Donald Winnicott’s concept of the transitional object as the first of such objects in the path to adulthood, that is the thing—be it blanket, teddy or so forth—that allows the transition from total dependency on a parent to separation and autonomy. In that sense the object is what allows for the transition to adulthood, but within which lies the danger of excessive attachment, dependency and is "destructive of autonomy and trust" (Stiegler, On Pharmacology 3). Writing, or hypomnesis, that is artificial memory, is also such a pharmakon, in as much as it operates as a salve; it allows cultural memory to be extended and shared, but also according to Plato it decays autonomy of thought, but in fact—taking his lead from Derrida—Stiegler tells us that “while Plato opposes autonomy and heteronomy, they in fact constantly compose” (2). The digital pharmakon, according to Stiegler, is the extension of this logic to the entire field of the human body, including in cognitive capitalism wherein "those economic actors who are without knowledge because they are without memory" (35). This is the essence of contemporary proletarianisation, extended into the realm of consumption, in which savour vivre, knowing how to live, is forgotten. In many ways we can see Twitter as a clear example of such a proletarianisation process, as hypomnesis, with its derivation of hypnosis; an empty circulation. This echoes Jodi Dean’s description of the flow of communicative capitalism as simply drive (Dean) in which messages circulate without ever getting where they are meant to go. Yet against this perhaps there is a gain, even in Stiegler’s own thought, as to the therapeutic or individuating elements of this process and within the extension of Tweets from an immediately bounded, but extensible and arbitrary distributed network, provides a still novel form of mediation that connects brains together; but going beyond the standard hyper-dyadic spread that is characteristic of viruses or memes. This spread happens in such a way that the expressed thoughts of others can circulate and mutate—loop—around in observable forms, for example in the form of replies, designation of favourite, as RTs (retweets) and in modified forms as MTs (modified tweets), followed by further iterations, and so on. So it is that the Twitter feeds of clusters of individuals inevitably start to show regularity in who tweets, and given the tendency of accounts to focus on certain issues, and for those with an interest in those issues to likewise follow each other, then we have groups of accounts/individuals intersecting with each other, re-tweeting and commenting on each other–forming clusters of shared opinion. The issue at stake here goes beyond the question of the evolution of such clusters at that level of linguistic exchange as, what might be otherwise called movements, or counter-publics, or issue networks—but that speed produces a more elemental effect on coordination. It is the speed of Twitter that creates an imperative to respond quickly and to assimilate vast amounts of information, to sort the agreeable from the disagreeable, divide that which should be ignored from that which should be responded to, and indeed that which calls to be acted upon. Alongside Twitter’s limited memory, its pharmacological ‘beneficial’ element entails the possibility that responses go beyond a purely linguistic or discursive interlocution towards a protection of ‘brain-share’. That is, to put it bluntly, the moment of knowing what others will think before they think it, what they will say before they say it and what they will do before they do it. This opens a capacity for action underpinned by confidence in a solidarity to come. We have seen this in numerous examples, in the actions of UK Uncut and other such groups and movements around the world, most significantly as the multi-media augmented movements that clustered in Tahrir Square, Zuccotti Park and beyond. Protention, Premediation, and Augmented Volition The concept of the somatic marker plays an important role in enabling this speed up. Antonio Damasio argues that somatic markers are emotional memories that are layered into our brains as desires and preferences, in response to external stimuli they become embedded in our unconscious brain and are triggered by particular situations or events. They produce a capacity to make decisions, to act in ways that our deliberate decision making is not aware of; given the pace of response that is needed for many decisions this is a basic necessity. The example of tennis players is often used in this context, wherein the time needed to process and react consciously to a serve is in excess of the processing time the conscious brain requires; that is there is at least a 0.5 second gap between the brain receiving a stimulus and the conscious mind registering and reacting to it. What this means is that elements of the brain are acting in advance of conscious volition—we preempt our volitions with the already inscribed emotional, or affective layer, protending beyond the immanent into the virtual. However, protention is still, according to Stiegler, a fundamental element of consciousness—it pushes forward into the brain’s awareness of continuity, contributing to its affective reactions, rooted in projection and risk. This aspect of protention therefore is a contributing element of volition as it rises into consciousness. Volition is the active conscious aspect of willing, and as such requires an act of protention to underpin it. Thus the element of protention, as Stiegler describes it, is inscribed in the flow of the Twitter feed, but also and more importantly, is written into the cognitive process that proceeds and frames it. But beyond this even is the affective and emotional element. This allows us to think then of the Twitter-brain assemblage to be something more than just a mechanism, a tool or simply a medium in the linear sense of the term, but something closer to a device—or a dispositif as defined by Michel Foucault (194) and developed by Giorgio Agamben. A dispositif gathers together, orders and processes, but also augments. Maurizio Lazzarato uses the term, explaining that: The machines for crystallizing or modulating time are dispositifs capable of intervening in the event, in the cooperation between brains, through the modulation of the forces engaged therein, thereby becoming preconditions for every process of constitution of whatever subjectivity. Consequently the process comes to resemble a harmonization of waves, a polyphony. (186) This is an excellent framework to consolidate the place of Twitter as just such a dispositif. In the first instance the place of Twitter in “crystallizing or modulating” time is reflected in its grammatisation of the immediate into a circuit that reframes the present moment in a series of ripples and echoes, and which resonates in the protentions of the followers and followed. This organising of thoughts and affections in a temporal multiplicity crosscuts events, to the extent that the event is conceived as something new that enters the world. So it is that the permanent process of sharing, narrating and modulating, changes the shape of events from pinpointed moments of impact into flat plains, or membranes, that intersect with the mental events. The brain-share, or what can be called a ‘brane’ of brains, unfolds both spatially and temporally, but within the limits already defined. This ‘brane’ of brains can be understood in Lazzarato’s terms precisely as a “harmonization of waves, a polyphony.” The dispositif produces this, in the first instance, modulated consciousness—this is not to say this is an exclusive form of consciousness—part of a distributed condition that provides for a cooperation between brains, the multifarious looping mentioned above, that in its protentions forms a harmony, which is a volition. It is therefore clear that this technological change needs to be understood together with notions such as ‘noopolitics’ and ‘neuropolitics’. Maurizio Lazzarato captures very well the notion of a noopolitics when he tells us that “We could say that noopolitics commands and reorganizes the other power relations because it operates at the most deterritorialized level (the virtuality of the action between brains)” (187). However, the danger here is well-defined in the writings of Stiegler, when he explains that: When technologically exteriorized, memory can become the object of sociopolitical and biopolitical controls through the economic investments of social organizations, which thereby rearrange psychic organizations through the intermediary of mnenotechnical organs, among which must be counted machine-tools. (New Critique 33) Here again, we find a proletarianisation, in which gestures, knowledge, how to, become—in the medium and long term—separated from the bodies and brains of workers and turned into mechanisms that make them forget. There is therefore a real possibility that the short term resonance and collective volition becomes a distorted and heightened state, with a rather unpalatable after-effect, in which the memories remain only as commodified digital data. The question is whether Twitter remembers it for us, thinks it for us and as such also, in its dislocations and short termism, obliterates it? A scenario wherein general intellect is reduced to a state of always already forgetting. The proletarian, we read in Gilbert Simondon, is a disindividuated worker, a labourer whose knowledge has passed into the machine in such a way that it is no longer the worker who is individuated through bearing tools and putting them into practice. Rather, the labourer serves the machine-tool, and it is the latter that has become the technical individual. (Stiegler, New Critique 37) Again, this pharmacological character is apparent—Stiegler says ‘the Internet is a pharmakon’ blurring both ‘distributed’ and ‘deep’ attention (Crogan 166). It is a marketing tool par-excellence, and here its capacity to generate protention operates to create not only a collective ‘volition’ but a more coercive collective disposition or tendency, that is the unconscious wiling or affective reflex. This is something more akin to what Richard Grusin refers to as premediation. In premediation the future has already happened, not in the sense that it has already actually happened but such is the preclusion of paths of possibility that cannot be conceived otherwise. Proletarianisation operates in this way through the app, writing in this mode is not as thoughtful exchange between skilled interlocutors, but as habitual respondents to a standard set of pre-digested codes (in the sense of both programming and natural language) ready to hand to be slotted into place. Here the role of the somatic marker is predicated on the layering of ideology, in its full sense, into the brain’s micro-level trained reflexes. In that regard there is a proletarianisation of the prosumer, the idealised figure of the Web 2.0 discourse. However, it needs to be reiterated that this is not the final say on the matter, that where there is volition, and in particular collective volition, there is also the possibility of a reactivated general will: a longer term common consciousness in the sense of class consciousness. Therefore the general claim being made here is that by taking hold of this device consciousness, and transforming it into an active collective volition we stand the best chance of finding “a political will capable of moving away from the economico-political complex of consumption so as to enter into the complex of a new type of investment, or in other words in an investment in common desire” (Stiegler, New Critique 6). In its most simplistic form this requires a new political economy of commoning, wherein micro-blogging services contribute to a broader augmented volition that is not captured within communicative capitalism, coded to turn volition into capital, but rather towards a device consciousness as common desire. Needless to say it is only possible here to propose such an aim as a possible path, but one that is surely worthy of further investigation. References Agamben, Giorgio. What Is an Apparatus? Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2009. Crogan, Patrick. “Knowledge, Care, and Transindividuation: An Interview with Bernard Stiegler.” Cultural Politics 6.2 (2010): 157-170. Damasio, Antonio. Self Comes to Mind. London: Heinemann, 2010. Dean, Jodi. Blog Theory. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010. Foucault, Michel. “The Confession of the Flesh.” Power/Knowledge Selected Interviews and Other Writings. Ed. Colin Gordon. New York: Pantheon. 1980. Grusin, Richard. Pre-mediation. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2011. Lazzarato, Maurizio. “Life and the Living in the Societies of Control.” Deleuze and the Social. Eds. Martin Fuglsang and Meier Sorensen Bent. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006. Rheingold, Howard. Smart Mobs. Cambridge, Mass.: Perseus Books, 2002. Stiegler, Bernard. For a New Critique of Political Economy. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010. ———. What Makes Life Worth Living: On Pharmacology. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2013.

IntroductionThe death of Chris Cornell in the spring of 2017 shook me. As the lead singer of Soundgarden and a pioneer of early 1990s grunge music, his voice revealed an unbridled pain and joy backed up by the raw, guitar-driven rock emanating from the Seattle, Washington music scene. I remember thinking, there’s only one left, referring to Eddie Vedder, lead singer for Pearl Jam, and lone survivor of the four seminal grunge bands that rose to fame in the early 1990s whose lead singers passed away much too soon. Alice in Chains singer Layne Staley died in 2002 at the age of 35, and Nirvana front man Kurt Cobain’s death in 1994 had resonated around the globe. I thought about when Cornell and Staley said goodbye to their friend Andy Wood, lead singer of Mother Love Bone, after he overdosed on heroine in 1990. Wood’s untimely death at the age of 24, only days before his band’s debut album release, shook the close-knit Seattle music scene and remained a source of angst and inspiration for a genre of music that shaped youth culture of the 1990s.When grunge first exploded on the pop culture scene, I was a college student flailing around in pursuit of an English degree I had less passion for than I did for music. I grew up listening to The Beatles and Prince; Led Zeppelin and Miles Davis; David Bowie and Willie Nelson, along with a litany of other artists and musicians crafting the kind of meaningful music I responded to. I didn’t just listen to music, I devoured stories about the musicians, their often hedonistic lifestyles; their processes and epiphanies. The music spoke to my being in the world more than the promise of any college degree. I ran with friends who shared this love of music, often turning me on to new bands or suggesting some obscure song from the past to track down. I picked up my first guitar when John Lennon died on the eve of my eleventh birthday and have played for the past 37 years. I rely on music to relocate my sense of self. Rhythm and melody play out like characters in my life, colluding to make me feel something apart from the mundane, moving me from within. So, when I took notice of grunge music in the fall of 1991, it was love at first listen. As a pop cultural phenomenon, grunge ruptured the music and fashion industries caught off guard by its sudden commercial appeal while the media struggled to galvanize its relevance. As a subculture, grunge rallied around a set of attitudes and values that set the movement apart from mainstream (Latysheva). The grunge sound drew from the nihilism of punk and the head banging gospel of heavy metal, tinged with the swagger of 1970s FM rock running counter to the sleek production of pop radio and hair metal bands. Grunge artists wrote emotionally-laden songs that spoke to a particular generation of youth who identified with lyrics about isolation, anger, and death. Grunge set off new fashion trends in favor of dressing down and sporting the latest in second-hand, thrift store apparel, ripping away the Reagan-era starched white-collared working-class aesthetic of the 1980’s corporate culture. Like their punk forbearers who railed against the status quo and the trappings of success incurred through the mass appeal of their art, Kurt Cobain, Eddie Vedder, and the rest of the grunge cohort often wrestled with the momentum of their success. Fortunes rained down and the media ordained them rock stars.This auto-ethnography revisits some of the cultural impacts of grunge during its rise to cultural relevance and includes my own reflexive interpretation positioned as a fan of grunge music. I use a particular auto-ethnographic orientation called “interpretive-humanistic autoethnography” (Manning and Adams 192) where, along with archival research (i.e. media articles and journal articles), I will use my own reflexive voice to interpret and describe my personal experiences as a fan of grunge music during its peak of popularity from 1991 up to the death of Cobain in 1994. It is a methodology that works to bridge the personal and popular where “the individual story leaves traces of at least one path through a shifting, transforming, and disappearing cultural landscape” (Neumann 183). Grunge RootsThere are many conflicting stories as to when the word “grunge” was first used to describe the sound of a particular style of alternative music seeping from the dank basements and shoddy rehearsal spaces in towns like Olympia, Aberdeen, and Seattle. Lester Bangs, the preeminent cultural writer and critic of all things punk, pop, and rock in the 1970s was said to have used the word at one time (Yarm), and several musicians lay claim to their use of the word in the 1980s. But it was a small Seattle record label founded in 1988 called Sub Pop Records that first included grunge in their marketing materials to describe “the grittiness of the music and the energy” (Yarm 195).This particular sound grew out of the Pacific Northwest blue-collar environment of logging towns, coastal fisheries, and airplane manufacturing. Seattle’s alternative music scene unfolded as a community of musicians responding to the tucked away isolation of their musty surroundings, apart from the outside world, free to submerge themselves in their own cultural milieu of rock music, rain, and youthful rebellion.Where Seattle stood as a major metropolitan city soaked in rainclouds for much of the year, I was soaking up the desert sun in a rural college town when grunge first leapt into the mainstream. Cattle ranches and cotton fields spread across the open plains of West Texas, painted with pickup trucks, starched Wrangler Jeans, and cowboy hats. This was not my world. I’d arrived the year prior from Houston, Texas, an urban sprawl of four million people, but I found the wide-open landscape a welcome change from the concrete jungle of the big city. Along with cowboy boots and western shirts came country music, and lots of it. Garth Brooks, Reba McEntire, George Straight; some of the voices that captured the lifestyle of my small rural town, twangy guitars and fiddles blaring on local radio. While popular country artists recorded for behemoth record labels like Warner Brothers and Sony, the tiny Sub Pop Records championed the grunge sound coming out of the Seattle music scene. Sub Pop became a playground for those who cared about their music and little else. The label cultivated an early following through their Sub Pop Singles Club, mailing seven-inch records to subscribers on a monthly basis promoting new releases from up-and-coming bands. Sub Pop’s stark, black and white logo showed up on records sleeves, posters, and t-shirts, reflecting a no-nonsense DIY-attitude rooted in in the production of loud guitars and heavy drums.Like the bands it represented, Sub Pop did not take itself too seriously when one of their best-selling t-shirts simply read “Loser” embracing the slacker mood of newly minted Generation X’ers born between 1961 and 1981. A July 1990 Time Magazine article described this twenty-something demographic as having “few heroes, no anthems, no style to call their own” suggesting they “possess only a hazy sense of their own identity” (Gross & Scott). As a member of this generation, I purchased and wore my “Loser” t-shirt with pride, especially in ironic response to the local cowboy way of life. I didn’t hold anything personal against the Wrangler wearing Garth Brooks fan but as a twenty-one-year-old reluctant college student, I wanted to rage with contempt for the status quo of my environment with an ambivalent snarl.Grunge in the MainstreamIn 1991, the Seattle sound exploded onto the international music scene with the release of four seminal grunge-era albums over a six-month period. The first arrived in April, Temple of the Dog, a tribute album of sorts to the late Andy Wood, led by his close friend, Soundgarden singer/songwriter, Chris Cornell. In August, Pearl Jam released their debut album, Ten, with its “surprising and refreshing, melodic restraint” (Fricke). The following month, Nirvana’s Nevermind landed in stores. Now on a major record label, DGC Records, the band had arrived “at the crossroads—scrappy garageland warriors setting their sights on a land of giants” (Robbins). October saw the release of Soundgarden’s Badmotorfinger as “a runaway train ride of stammering guitar and psycho-jungle telegraph rhythms” (Fricke). These four albums sent grunge culture into the ether with a wall of sound that would upend the music charts and galvanize a depressed concert ticket market.In fall of 1991, grunge landed like a hammer when I witnessed Nirvana’s video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on MTV for the first time. Sonically, the song rang like an anthem for the Gen Xers with its jangly four-chord opening guitar riff signaling the arrival of a youth-oriented call to arms, “here we are now, entertain us” (Nirvana). It was the visual power of seeing a skinny white kid with stringy hair wearing baggy jeans, a striped T-shirt and tennis shoes belting out choruses with a ferociousness typically reserved for black-clad heavy metal headbangers. Cobain’s sound and look didn’t match up. I felt discombobulated, turned sideways, as if vertigo had taken hold and I couldn’t right myself. Stopped in the middle of my tracks on that day, frozen in front of the TV, the subculture of grunge music slammed into my world while I was on my way to the fridge.Suddenly, grunge was everywhere, As Soundgarden, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam albums and performances infiltrated radio, television, and concert halls, there was no shortage of media coverage. From 1992 through 1994, grunge bands were mentioned or featured on the cover of Rolling Stone 33 times (Hillburn). That same year, The New York Times ran the article “Grunge: A Success Story” featuring a short history of the Seattle sound, along with a “lexicon of grunge speak” (Marin), a joke perpetrated by a former 25-year-old Sub Pop employee, Megan Jasper, who never imagined her list of made-up vocabulary given to a New York Times reporter would grace the front page of the style section (Yarm). In their rush to keep up with pervasiveness of grunge culture, even The New York Times fell prey to Gen Xer’s comical cynicism.The circle of friends I ran with were split down the middle between Nirvana and Pearl Jam, a preference for one over the other, as the two bands and their respective front men garnered much of the media attention. Nirvana seemed to appeal to people’s sense of authenticity, perhaps more relatable in their aloofness to mainstream popularity, backed up with Cobain’s simple-yet-brilliant song arrangements and revealing lyrics. Lawrence Grossberg suggests that music fans recognise the difference between authentic and homogenised rock, interpreting and aligning these differences with rock and roll’s association with “resistance, refusal, alienation, marginality, and so on” (62). I tended to gravitate toward Nirvana’s sound, mostly for technical reasons. Nevermind sparkled with aggressive guitar tones while capturing the power and fragility of Cobain’s voice. For many critics, the brilliance of Pearl Jam’s first album suffered from too much echo and reverb muddling the overall production value, but twenty years later they would remix and re-release Ten, correcting these production issues.Grunge FashionAs the music carved out a huge section of the charts, the grunge look was appropriated on fashion runways. When Cobain appeared on MTV wearing a ragged olive green cardigan he’d created a style simply by rummaging through his closet. Vedder and Cornell sported army boots, cargo shorts, and flannel shirts, suitable attire for the overcast climate of the Pacific Northwest, but their everyday garb turned into a fashion trend for Gen Xers that was then milked by designers. In 1992, the editor of Details magazine, James Truman, called grunge “un fashion” (Marin) as stepping out in second-hand clothes ran “counter to the shellacked, flashy aesthetic of 1980s” (Nnadi) for those who preferred “the waif-like look of put-on poverty” (Brady). But it was MTV’s relentless airing of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden videos that sent Gen Xers flocking to malls and thrift-stores in search grunge-like apparel. I purchased a pair of giant, heavyweight Red Wing boots that looked like small cars on my feet, making it difficult to walk, but at least I was prepared for any terrain in all types of weather. The flannel came next; I still wear flannos. Despite its association with dark, murky musical themes, grunge kept me warm and dry.Much of grunge’s appeal to the masses was that it was not gender-specific; men and women dressed to appear unimpressed, sharing a taste for shapeless garments and muted colors without reference to stereotypical masculine or feminine styles. Cobain “allowed his own sexuality to be called into question by often wearing dresses and/or makeup on stage, in film clips, and on photo shoots, and wrote explicitly feminist songs, such as ‘Sappy’ or ‘Been a Son’” (Strong 403). I remember watching Pearl Jam’s 1992 performance on MTV Unplugged, seeing Eddie Vedder scrawl the words “Pro Choice” in black marker on his arm in support of women’s rights while his lyrics in songs like “Daughter”, “Better Man”, and “Why Go” reflected an equitable, humanistic if somewhat tragic perspective. Females and males moshed alongside one another, sharing the same spaces while experiencing and voicing their own response to grunge’s aggressive sound. Unlike the hypersexualised hair-metal bands of the 1980s whose aesthetic motifs often portrayed women as conquests or as powerless décor, the message of grunge rock avoided gender exploitation. As the ‘90s unfolded, underground feminist punk bands of the riot grrrl movement like Bikini Kill, L7, and Babes in Toyland expressed female empowerment with raging vocals and buzz-saw guitars that paved the way for Hole, Sleater-Kinney and other successful female-fronted grunge-era bands. The Decline of GrungeIn 1994, Kurt Cobain appeared on the cover of Newsweek magazine in memoriam after committing suicide in the greenhouse of his Seattle home. Mass media quickly spread the news of his passing internationally. Two days after his death, 7,000 fans gathered at Seattle Center to listen to a taped recording of Courtney Love, Cobain’s wife, a rock star in her own right, reading the suicide note he left behind.A few days after Cobain’s suicide, I found myself rolling down the highway with a carload of friends, one of my favorite Nirvana tunes, “Come As You Are” fighting through static. I fiddled with the radio to clear up the signal. The conversation turned to Cobain as we cobbled together the details of his death. I remember the chatter quieting down, Cobain’s voice fading as we gazed out the window at the empty terrain passing. In that reflective moment, I felt like I had experienced an intense, emotional relationship that came to an abrupt end. This “illusion of intimacy” (Horton and Wohl 217) between myself and Cobain elevated the loss I felt with his passing even though I had no intimate, personal ties to him. I counted this person as a friend (Giles 284) because I so closely identified with his words and music. I could not help but feel sad, even angry that he’d decided to end his life.Fueled by depression and a heroin addiction, Cobain’s death signaled an end to grunge’s collective appeal while shining a spotlight on one of the more dangerous aspects of its ethos. A 1992 Rolling Stone article mentioned that several of Seattle’s now-famous international musicians used heroin and “The feeling around town is, the drug is a disaster waiting to happen” (Azzerad). In 2002, eight years to the day of Cobain’s death, Layne Staley, lead singer of Alice In Chains, another seminal grunge outfit, was found dead of a suspected heroin overdose (Wiederhorn). When Cornell took his own life in 2017 after a long battle with depression, The Washington Post said, “The story of grunge is also one of death” (Andrews). The article included a Tweet from a grieving fan that read “The voices I grew up with: Andy Wood, Layne Staley, Chris Cornell, Kurt Cobain…only Eddie Vedder is left. Let that sink in” (@ThatEricAlper).ConclusionThe grunge movement of the early 1990s emerged out of musical friendships content to be on their own, on the outside, reflecting a sense of isolation and alienation in the music they made. As Cornell said, “We’ve always been fairly reclusive and damaged” (Foege). I felt much the same way in those days, sequestered in the desert, planting my grunge flag in the middle of country music territory, doing what I could to resist the status quo. Cobain, Cornell, Staley, and Vedder wrote about their own anxieties in a way that felt intimate and relatable, forging a bond with their fan base. Christopher Perricone suggests, “the relationship of an artist and audience is a collaborative one, a love relationship in the sense, a friendship” (200). In this way, grunge would become a shared memory among friends who rode the wave of this cultural phenomenon all the way through to its tragic consequences. But the music has survived. Along with my flannel shirts and Red Wing boots.References@ThatEricAlper (Eric Alper). “The voices I grew up with: Andy Wood, Layne Staley, Chris Cornell, Kurt Cobain…only Eddie Vedder is left. Let that sink in.” Twitter, 18 May 2017, 02:41. 15 Sep. 2018 <https://twitter.com/ThatEricAlper/status/865140400704675840?ref_src>.Andrews, Travis M. “After Chris Cornell’s Death: ‘Only Eddie Vedder Is Left. 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