Journal articles on the topic 'Stations de radio publiques – France'

AbstractTo advance from milli-arcsecond to micro-arcsecond astrometry, time keeping capability and its comparison among different stations need to be improved and enhanced. The T2L2 (Time transfer by laser link) experiment under development at OCA and CNES to be launched in 2008 on Jason-2, allows the synchronization of remote clocks on Earth. It is based on the propagation of light pulses in space which is better controlled than propagation of radio waves. In this paper, characteristics are presented for both a common view and non-common view T2L2 comparisons of clocks between China and France.

À l’automne 2004, la Société Radio-Canada remplaçait la Chaîne culturelle par une nouvelle chaîne radio vouée aux émissions musicales, Espace musique, dont le ton et le contenu allégés ont suscité de vives réactions dans le milieu musical québécois. La place accordée à la musique classique, mais aussi aux commentaires avertis axés sur les oeuvres musicales et sur la vie culturelle en général s’y révèle considérablement réduite. Quant aux musiques nouvelles et contemporaines, elles se voient reléguées à la périphérie d’une programmation ouvertement populiste, éclectique et multiculturelle. Sur les ondes d’Espace musique, les véritables spécialistes de la culture sont de moins en moins appelés à commenter les réalisations artistiques marquantes ou émergentes, et à situer dans leur contexte les diverses démarches créatrices, d’ici ou d’ailleurs. Cette modification en profondeur de la radio publique canadienne de langue française, naguère de haut calibre mais jugée trop élitiste par ses dirigeants, répondrait à une volonté d’élargir la clientèle et de mieux témoigner de la diversité culturelle canadienne. Les conséquences à plus long terme paraissent toutefois inquiétantes, de nombreuses sociétés de concerts éprouvant déjà des difficultés à recruter un nouveau public. La Société Radio-Canada aurait-elle pris le mauvais virage, alors que de nouveaux moyens de diffusion de la musique se développent, y compris des stations de radio spécialisées, privées et accessibles uniquement sur la Toile? Le soutien accordé durant plusieurs décennies aux créateurs et à leurs interprètes par les radios publiques, au Canada et ailleurs dans le monde occidental, aurait-il été en partie abandonné? La musique contemporaine pourrait être l’une des principales perdantes de ce paysage radiophonique en rapide transformation. À titre d’exemple, les entrevues avec les compositeurs ont pratiquement été éliminées des ondes de la radio publique canadienne. Cotes d’écoute, commentaires d’auditeurs et citations de spécialistes de l’histoire de la radio appuient ce texte volontairement polémique en faveur d’une plus grande responsabilisation des dirigeants de la radio d’État, notamment en ce qui concerne le répertoire moderne et contemporain.

Précis Depuis 1957, les émissions et journaux télévisés ainsi que les documentaires diffusés sur les chaînes et les radios publiques françaises sont devenus les relais de la mémoire du Vél d'Hiv en tentant, tant bien que mal, de mettre en images et en paroles cet événement-symbole de la Shoah en France. Le cadre temporel choisi pour notre étude marque l'évolution de cette médiatisation du Vél d'Hiv à la télévision et à la radio françaises bien avant la saturation mémorielle des années 2000. Dans le trop-plein d'images de ces vingt dernières années, il nous a semblé important et utile de revenir sur les programmes et segments télévisés d'avant 1995 trouvés dans les archives de l'INA car ils nous renseignent sur la manière de voir et d'entendre cet événement historique selon les époques. Since 1957 television shows and news broadcasts have become the vectors through which the Vél d'Hiv roundup has emerged and shaped the collective and individual memory of the Shoah in France. From the resistancialist narratives of the 1950s–1960s to the acknowledgment of France's responsibility in the Holocaust in 1995, the memory of this tragic event has left a lasting imprint on French television. A close analysis of the representation of the Vél d'Hiv roundup in news broadcasts and television shows in postwar France will illuminate the tensions and difficulties of dealing with the legacy of the Dark Years. It will also reevaluate the role of television in creating both a dynamic platform for debates and discussions about the Shoah and an interactive lieu de mémoire.

"Dans l’Union européenne (UE) la source principale de médicaments humains dans l’environnement est l’excrétion des patients. Ces médicaments n’ont pas été conçus en considération de leur devenir postutilisation et les stations de traitement des eaux usées (STEU) urbaines n’ont pas été conçues pour les éliminer. Face à cette situation a été développée une démarche en trois étapes. La première phase a consisté à identifier les acteurs du cycle de vie des médicaments et analyser les réglementations françaises et européennes applicables. La deuxième phase a permis de comparer les modes de gestion de cette pollution en Allemagne, Suède et Suisse pour identifier les solutions mises en place et les incitations qui ont conduit ces États à agir. La dernière phase consistera à regrouper les précédents résultats pour identifier les mesures coercitives et/ou incitatives transposables en France, voire à l’UE pour déployer ces solutions. Les deux premières phases ont permis de mettre en évidence les limites et évolutions des réglementations européennes et françaises en matière de rejet des médicaments humains dans l’eau. Il en ressort que la France n’a pas de cadre réglementaire approprié pour gérer cette pollution, et semble fortement attachée aux actions de réduction à la source. Une intervention sur l’ensemble du cycle de vie des médicaments serait pourtant nécessaire. Des actions de réduction à la source ne sont pas efficaces à court terme et les actions correctives sont coûteuses et insuffisantes seules. Les réglementations et politiques publiques doivent être décloisonnées pour aller vers des mesures transversales mettant tous les acteurs à contribution. Les évolutions européennes récentes (nationales et supranationales) laissent présager la demande de traitements avancés dans les STEU et un cadre plus contraignant pour le retour au sol des boues, mais se pose la question du financement."

Global soil moisture (SM) products are currently available thanks to microwave remote sensing techniques. Validation of these satellite-based SM products over different vegetation and climate conditions is a crucial step. INRA (National Institute of Agricultural Research) has set up the AQUI SM and soil temperature in situ network (composed of three main sites Bouron, Bilos, and Hermitage), over a flat area of dense pine forests, in South-Western France (the Bordeaux–Aquitaine region) to validate the Soil Moisture and Ocean salinity (SMOS) satellite SM products. SMOS was launched in 2009 by the European Space Agency (ESA). The aims of this study are to present the AQUI network and to evaluate the SMOS SM product (in the new SMOS-IC version) along with other microwave SM products such as the active ASCAT (Advanced Scatterometer) and the ESA combined (passive and active) CCI (Climate Change Initiative) SM retrievals. A first comparison, using Pearson correlation, Bias, RMSE (Root Mean Square Error), and Un biased RMSE (ubRMSE) scores, between the 0–5 cm AQUI network and ASCAT, CCI, and SMOS SM products was conducted. In general all the three products were able to reproduce the annual cycle of the AQUI in situ observations. CCI and ASCAT had best and similar correlations (R~0.72) over the Bouron and Bilos sites. All had comparable correlations over the Hermitage sites with overall average values of 0.74, 0.68, and 0.69 for CCI, SMOS-IC, and ASCAT, respectively. Considering anomalies, correlation values decreased for all products with best ability to capture day to day variations obtained by ASCAT. CCI (followed by SMOS-IC) had the best ubRMSE values (mostly < 0.04 m3/m3) over most of the stations. Although the region is highly impacted by radio frequency interferences, SMOS-IC followed correctly the in situ SM dynamics. All the three remotely-sensed SM products (except SMOS-IC over some stations) overestimated the AQUI in situ SM observations. These results demonstrate that the AQUI network is likely to be well-suited for satellite microwave remote sensing evaluations/validations.

One of the main goals of modern French cultural policy is to ensure that all citizens can access culture. There is also an encouragement of the development of a culture that accounts for the multiplicity of cultures that exist within France. Such a policy requires a keen focus on educational practices that can help disseminate and democratise the very culture it purports to grant access to. These aims have resulted in the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of National Education in France signing an agreement and implementing a project that is based on both working together. Examples of the product of this partnership can be found in the students of neighbouring schools observing cultural artefacts in museums and art galleries. There are countless other projects led by local governments and educational authorities that are related to arts and culture, including collaborations with theatres, citizen associations, cinemas, libraries, radio stations, arts and cultural institutions, such as orchestras and artists, and between educational institutions and diverse related parties. The is aim is to sow the seeds of appreciation for art and culture from an early age. Associate Professor Dr Sumiko Kobayashi is a researcher who is taking a different approach, she is instead focussing on using a sociological approach to educational matters in order to enrich children's cultural and artistic experience. The ultimate objective of Kobayashi's research is to contribute to the development of children's arts and cultural activities for a diverse and inclusive society by clarifying the actual situation of the existing programmes.

Abstract. On February 1996, a receiver able to measure the electric field strength of LF radio broadcastings, with a sampling frequency of ten minutes, was put into operation in a site (AS) located in central Italy. One of the broadcasting stations selected is MCO (f=216 kHz), located in southeast France, 518 km far from the receiver. The MCO data collected since February 1996 up to September 2004 were examined and, at first, the night time data and the day time data (in winter and summer) were separated. Then, the wavelet analysis on the night and day time data was applied. The main result of the analysis was the appearance of a very clear anomaly during summer (July–August) 1998, at day time and at night time. The anomaly is a strong exaltation of the signal components with period in the 25–40 days range. Theoretical calculations of electric field strength were made and the only way to justify this anomaly seems to be the occurrence of an increase of the ground wave propagation mode of the radio signal. Such an increase could have been produced by an increase of the ground conductivity and by modifications of some parameter of the troposphere, mainly the refractive index. On 15 August 1998 a seismic sequence started with 17 earthquakes (M=2.2–4.6) on the Reatini mountains, a seismogenic zone located 30 km far from the AS receiver along the path MCO-AS. In this paper, the possibility that the previous radio anomaly can be a precursor of this seismic sequence is proposed.

Abstract. Among radio signals, low frequency (LF) radio signals lie in the band between 30–300 kHz. Monitoring equipment with the ability to measure the electric strength of such signals at field sites, were designed and assembled in Italy. From 1993 onwards, the electric field strength of the MCO (216 kHz, France) broadcasting station has been collecting measurements at two sites in central Italy that were chosen according to very low noise levels. At the end of 1996, radio signals from the CLT (189 kHz, Italy) and CZE (270 kHz, Czech Republic) broadcasting stations were included in the measurements. Meteorological data from central Italy were also collected over the same time period in order to study the influence of weather conditions on the experimental measurements. During the monitoring period, we observed some evident attenuation of the electric field strength in some of the radio signals at some of the receivers. The duration of the attenuation observed was several days, so it could possibly be related to particular meteorological conditions. On the other hand, this phenomenon might represent precursors of moderate (3.0 < M < 3.5) earthquakes that occurred near the receivers (within 50 km) along the transmitter-receiver path. In this case, it is possible that the pre-seismic processes could have produced irregularities in the troposphere, such as ducts, reflecting layers and scattering zones, so that some local troposphere defocusing of the radio signals might have occurred. These observations were related only to moderate earthquakes and in these cases, suitable meteorological conditions were probably needed to observe the effect. Between February – March 1998, we observed at one measuring site, a significant increase in the CZE electric field strength. Unfortunately, we could not use the data of the other receiver in this case, due to frequent interruptions in the data set. The increase might have been a precursor of the strong seismic sequence (M = 5.0–6.0) that occurred during March – May 1998 in Slovenia at a location over 400 km from the receiver, but lying in the middle of the transmitter-receiver path. In this case, it is possible that an ionospheric disturbance, produced by the pre-seismic processes, might have occurred.

We present an analysis of decadal in situ and remote sensing observations of water vapor over the Cézeaux and puy de Dôme, located in central France (45° N, 3° E), in order to document the variability, cycles and trends of surface and tropospheric water vapor at different time scales and the geophysical processes responsible for the water vapor distributions. We use meteorological stations, GPS (Global Positioning System), and lidar datasets, supplemented with three remote sources of water vapor (COSMIC-radio-occultation, ERA-interim-ECMWF numerical model, and AIRS-satellite). The annual cycle of water vapor is clearly established for the two sites of different altitudes and for all types of measurement. Cezeaux and puy de Dôme present almost no diurnal cycle, suggesting that the variability of surface water vapor at this site is more influenced by a sporadic meteorological system than by regular diurnal variations. The lidar dataset shows a greater monthly variability of the vertical distribution than the COSMIC and AIRS satellite products. The Cézeaux site presents a positive trend for the GPS water vapor total column (0.42 ± 0.45 g·kg−1/decade during 2006–2017) and a significant negative trend for the surface water vapor mixing ratio (−0.16 ± 0.09 mm/decade during 2002–2017). The multi-linear regression analysis shows that continental forcings (East Atlantic Pattern and East Atlantic-West Russia Pattern) have a greater influence than oceanic forcing (North Atlantic Oscillation) on the water vapor variations.

En 2006, plusieurs mesures ont été mises en place par le Conseil supérieur de l’audiovisuel afin de combattre les discriminations dans les médias. Les groupes médiatiques (France Télévisions et Radio France) s’engagent dans la lutte pour l’intégration et la construction des chaînes publiques « de tous les français ». L’article envisage interroger l’application de ces politiques et les contraintes liées à la reconnaissance des différentes composantes de la société française. L’article porte une attention particulière à la mobilisation des habitants du quartier populaire de la Villeneuve, à Grenoble, vis-à-vis d’un reportage diffusé sur France 2 sur les « violences urbaines » qui y ont eu lieu en 2010. Jugeant le reportage « partiel » et « discriminatoire », les habitants décident de porter plainte contre France Télévision. L’article s’intéresse ainsi aux formes d’expression diversifiées qui affectent le fonctionnement de la sphère publique contemporaine.

En 2006, plusieurs mesures ont été mises en place par le Conseil supérieur de l’audiovisuel afin de combattre les discriminations dans les médias. Les groupes médiatiques (France Télévisions et Radio France) s’engagent dans la lutte pour l’intégration et la construction des chaînes publiques « de tous les français ». L’article envisage interroger l’application de ces politiques et les contraintes liées à la reconnaissance des différentes composantes de la société française. L’article porte une attention particulière à la mobilisation des habitants du quartier populaire de la Villeneuve, à Grenoble, vis-à-vis d’un reportage diffusé sur France 2 sur les « violences urbaines » qui y ont eu lieu en 2010. Jugeant le reportage « partiel » et « discriminatoire », les habitants décident de porter plainte contre France Télévision. L’article s’intéresse ainsi aux formes d’expression diversifiées qui affectent le fonctionnement de la sphère publique contemporaine.

Abstract The Low Frequency Array (LOFAR) is an international radio telescope array, consisting of 38 stations in the Netherlands and 14 international stations spread over Europe. Here we present an observation method to study the jovian decametric radio emissions from several LOFAR stations (here Birr Castle in Ireland, Nançay in France and Postdam in Germany), at high temporal and spectral resolution. This method is based on prediction tools, such as radio emission simulations and probability maps, and data processing. We report an observation of Io-induced decametric emission from June 2021, and a first case study of the substructures that compose the macroscopic emissions (called millisecond bursts). The study of these bursts make it possible to determine the electron populations at the origin of these emissions. We then present several possible future avenues for study based on these observations. The methodology and study perspectives described in this paper can be applied to new observations of jovian radio emissions induced by Io, but also by Ganymede or Europa, or jovian auroral radio emissions.

Locating the Format What is format radio? At a glance, the answer might seem simple. In common parlance, the concept is often presented as a pejorative counterpart to non-commercial broadcasting. However, to render the concept synonymous with commercial broadcasting neglects its historical specificity. Previous research has demonstrated the nuanced factors at stake in the selection of music at specific broadcasting stations (Ahlkvist and Fisher 301-325). Beyond economic structures and conditions, however, remains the matter of whether we can posit an aesthetic expression that epitomises format radio. Previous research has focussed predominantly on semantic source materials and theoretical propositions to hone in on the question. However, my wager is that the signal content itself can help us reveal something about the nature of formats. To pursue such a task, the Swedish case offers a promising possibility. Swedish media archives provide the opportunity to study how, and if, formatting tendencies can be detected beyond the realm of commercial broadcasting. Unlike many of its global counterparts, Sweden maintained a public service radio monopoly until the late twentieth century. Throughout the 1980s, experiments were done with regional radio, and by 1993 full commercial licencing was permitted. The result is a rare situation where the entire flow of daily Public Service Broadcasting (PSB) can be studied from the 1980s onwards, which in turn allows for large-scale analysis of the relationship between organisation structure and content stylistics before and after the introduction of commercial broadcasting. Broadcasting in Sweden was during this time maintained by the company Sveriges Radio (SR), and had been in more or less the same form since the early 1920s. The organisation was not directly owned by the state, but financed through the so-called broadcasting licence, which in turn depended upon governmentally decided goals. The overall ambition was similar to the usual PSB objectives: the guiding documents for broadcasting would thus be inclined to emphasise values like objectivity and diversity – yet little is said about aesthetics (Banerjee and Seneviratne 10). This arrangement was the setting for regular conflicts throughout Swedish radio history, in which the demand of the audience squared off with the ideals of broadcasters. Yet in the last decade of the century, the media environment was about to change in a precedented way. During these years, conceptual and economic tension between commercial and public service radio reached new heights, in turn forcing the matter of formats on the agenda. Research by Stjernstedt and Forsman, while not exclusively focussed on radio formats, addresses the theme within the broader framework of commercial Swedish radio. Their findings, along with those of Hedman and Jauert, suggest the influence of commercial formats on Swedish radio prior to the formal introduction of commercial broadcasting. This allows for an interesting epistemic possibly: if their propositions are correct, it would allow us to study the character of radio formats, without being intermixed with the scope of commercial broadcasting. The following analysis thus attempts to track the actual changes in the content, which could reveal the influence of format radio on PSB. For critics like David Hendy and Wolfgang Hagen, the format comes down to a question of self-similarity, “Programmierung von Selbstverständlichkeit” as Hagen critically dubs it (333), supposedly induces a certain superficial uniqueness of music stations, despite a fundamental sameness in their content. For this reason, the analysis is focussed on repeated similarities in the musical content. Methodological Approach Given the significant role ascribed to music in the theorisation of radio formatting, this aspect appears to be a potentially apt focus for constructing an experimental analysis. This is also practical as it allows for the translation and application of established spectral analysis methods from the realm of music analysis. In the context of audio data, spectral analysis refers to a process where the frequency components of a sound signal are decomposed and examined as numerical values. This method is crucial in audio engineering to understand the underlying structure and composition of sound and can assist in identifying specific patterns or anomalies in audio data. The analysis uses a sampling approach, concentrating on full-day broadcasts from music channels P2 and P3 in order to capture the general channel characteristics. These were the two formal music channels of SR during the time, with P3, the popular music channel, being directed at a younger audience, and P2 offering a more diverse mixture of classic and world music. The data, selected randomly from five weekdays across each of the years 1988, 1991, 1994, and 1999, are examined for indicators of self-similarity and format structuring. The hypothesis guiding this study suggests that format radio, shaped by technical standards and theoretical principles, exhibits a degree of radiophonic self-similarity. This proposition is explored quantitatively, applying statistical methods to the spectral data to assess similarities. The analysis itself is executed in combining a set of Python libraries. Initially, a segmentation model from The National Audiovisual Institute of France is used to isolate the musical content from the broadcasts. Then, the audio analysis library librosa converts these segments into spectral data, providing insights into timbre, key, and tempo. The results are presented using Principal Component Analysis (PCA) visualisations. These visualisations employ dimension reduction to represent the relationships between audio segments in a Euclidean space, with the proximity of nodes indicating similarity between data points. Even though the PCA method has limitations, well-discussed in the methodological literature, it grants certain insight into the structure of the dataset (Jolliffe and Cadima). In essence the method uses two-dimensional space to plot the relationship between n-dimensional data objects. The implication is that the distance between each entry entails something about the general similarity between the features of these data points. Critical scholarship, like that of Johanna Drucker, has brought attention to the epistemological tendencies inherent in these standardised statistical methods. The PCA method was also at the centre of discussions concerning the general credibility of computational literary studies in 2019, and I here follow Andrew Piper’s conclusion that the limitations are less a reason to abandon ship, and more an encouragement to remain “skeptical” (11). Thus, it is a call for complementary and comparative approaches. In order to do this, my analysis also employs audio recognition tools to compare the feature elements of the data set. By comparing both these different levels of analysis, across yearly samples from the decade, the study traces the evolution of musical styles and formats, potentially relating them to wider technological, cultural, or sociopolitical shifts. Results Fig. 1: The distribution of observations from the years 1988, 1991, 1994, and 1999, arranged from the top right to the bottom left. For each year, around 1,000 songs from each channel were studied. Data from 1988 indicate that the popular music channel P3 had a somewhat broader distribution spectrum in its content than its more eclectic counterpart. Initially, this may seem counterintuitive, as one might expect the expanding range of classic and world music of P2 to exhibit greater sonic variety than a channel playing mainstream and popular music. A possible explanation for these results can be found in prior research. Musicologist Alf Björnberg has provided a detailed account of the musical content of Sveriges Radio. His narrative emphasises that P3 underwent a significant content shift during the 1980s. Throughout this decade, the channel began to accommodate artists and genres that had been marginalised in the expanding landscape of broadcast media for decades (320). While P2 was not without variation during this era, P3 experienced a more notable change, moving towards avant-garde rock and experimental electronic music. This shift reflects a broader trend in the radio landscape, where traditional boundaries of genre and style were increasingly blurred, allowing for more diverse and experimental sounds to emerge in mainstream channels. The visualisation of these data not only highlights these historical shifts but also provides a quantitative basis for understanding the evolution of musical trends and preferences within the radio broadcasting domain. Björnberg’s study, predominantly centred on playlists and textual documents, mainly focusses on the period up to the end of the 1980s. Shortly summarising the 1990s, Björnberg concludes that 'the effects of commercial competition were most noticeable for P3' (326), especially during the early years of this competition. The data reveal a surprising trend in this regard too. At first glance, it might appear that P3 is reducing its musical variety, which could be interpreted as a response to the new, more rigidly formatted radio landscape. However, this perception is an illusion created by the rescaling of graphs to accommodate P2's possibly drastic content expansion. When calculating the average distance between points in P3's data, it becomes evident that the variation remains within the same range, with a fluctuation of only 0.4. This figure contrasts with P2's distance, which increases from 34.2 to 46.7 between 1988 and 1994. Instead of P3 reducing its musical variety, it is P2 that broadens its musical offerings. This can be seen as a response to the identified issue. Sveriges Radio addressed the new competitive situation with two seemingly contradictory initiatives: seeking a unique sonic identity while emphasising "diversity with a quality signifier" (Björnberg). The developments in P2's data can be viewed as a concrete expression of this ambition to counter the entry of format radio with increased variation. These findings underscore the complexities and adaptive strategies in the broadcasting landscape, demonstrating how public broadcasters like Sveriges Radio navigated the challenges posed by commercial competition. By expanding and diversifying their musical content, channels like P2 showed a commitment to maintaining their relevance and appeal in a rapidly changing media environment. This study not only sheds light on the historical trajectory of Swedish radio but also offers broader insights into the dynamics of cultural adaptation and change within the media industry. However, it is crucial to understand what the analysis actually signifies – it is not an absolute statement about the variation in music, but rather an analysis based on a number of specific measures. The assessment of the musical content, as mentioned earlier, is based on the combined factors of tempo, key, and a simplified measure of timbre. These metrics are analytically recognised methods for categorising musical content and have been used in previous research to address genre variation (Bogdanov et al.). However, this does not necessarily mean that they provide a comprehensive understanding of how the music actually sounded. In the graphs above, the timbre data is represented by a median value. To more accurately capture the variation in the sound profile, it might be more appropriate to analyse a broader spectrum of frequency values. In the following graphs, values are compared over time across 13 different frequency bands, based on the first 30 seconds of each song. This refined approach allows for a more nuanced understanding of the sonic domain. By examining a wider range of frequency values, the analysis can potentially reveal subtler shifts in the musical characteristics of the radio channels over time. This method acknowledges that while tempo, key, and timbre are significant, they are only part of a more complex auditory picture. By broadening the scope of analysis to include more detailed frequency data, a richer and more textured picture of the evolution of musical content on these radio stations emerges. This approach offers deeper insights into the intricate ways in which radio programming responds to and reflects broader musical trends and listener preferences. Fig. 2: The distribution of observations from 1988, 1991, 1994, and 1999, from the top right to the bottom left. This approach to measuring audio content results in a less dramatic visualisation, with no longer a clear dominance in the pace of development; instead, both channels undergo a similar process of differentiation. What we observe here is a form of channel profiling, where both channels progressively establish a more distinct sound profile. According to the definition by Hendy and Hagen, this type of channel characterisation can be considered in terms of formatting. What is revealed is an increase in channel self-similarity. However, this empirical examination of audio material suggests a nuanced understanding of formatting. On one hand, both channels, particularly P2, expand certain aspects of their music. Simultaneously, the sound profile becomes more distinctly framed for each channel. Understanding this stylistic evolution compels us to reflect on what self-similarity means on a perceptual level. While self-similarity as a mathematical concept does not require comparative data points from another source, this value means little for the listener's perceptual experience. The content coherence of a channel, in terms of experience, depends on a contrasting example. This contrast is precisely what the two music channels within Sveriges Radio offered during this period. Their musical profiles became clearer by sonically contrasting with each other. Under this broader channel similarity, certain characteristics, such as tempo and key, appear to have been able to vary more freely. Nonetheless, this profiling represents a type of complexity reduction – an increased predictability within the format's constraints. These conclusions offer an indication on how radio channels adapt and refine their identities over time, responding to both internal objectives and external competitive pressures. It underscores the dynamic nature of radio broadcasting, where channels continually evolve their formats to maintain relevance and listener engagement. The nuanced understanding of formatting and self-similarity provides valuable insights into the strategic decisions made by broadcasters in shaping their auditory content. Björnberg echoes Hagen and Hendy’s tendency to primarily criticise the lack of creativity in radio formats. However, his focus is specifically on a certain format – the 'adult contemporary' (Björnberg). Against this backdrop, a comparative study of the audio content of commercial alternatives would indeed be interesting. Unfortunately, due to the scarcity of preserved material, compiling a proportionate dataset for such a study is challenging. However, we can still contemplate the general content of 'adult contemporary' music. One speculative approach to addressing this question is to examine the instruments used in the music to see if they align with specific format descriptions. Such an analysis could provide further insight into how the PSB style is changing under the stakes of commercial competition. Fig. 3: Percentage distribution of instruments in sub-segments from the music content of P2 and P3 in the sample data from 1988. The results offer a potential explanation for the questions raised by the initial graphs in this study. While P2 shows some variation, there remains a, perhaps expected, focus on string instruments and the piano. P3, on the other hand, displays a wide mix of content. Notably, there is a relatively high presence of the accordion – an instrument that is as lauded as it is loved within the Swedish context. The instrument belongs to a longer tradition of popular music, encapsulating both certain folk music traditions, as well as ‘dansband’ tunes. Already by the onset of broadcasting, the accordion split the audiences right down the middle (Hadenius 76), and by the late 1960s, it was proclaimed a “dead” instrument (Björnberg 257). Here, my results highlight a certain perseverance of the instrument, speaking to the resilience of this sound. While the accordion may seem peripheral to the 1990s debates about radio formats, this example serves both as a reminder of the persistence of stylistic questions and their emotional charge. Therefore, it is instructive to study the instrument distribution in the final year of the sample data. Fig. 4: Percentage distribution of instruments in sub-segments from the music content of P2 and P3 in the sample data from 1999. The historical development has several interesting tendencies. Whilst the general distribution of instruments on P2 remains similar, P3 has witnessed significant changes. The previous sample displayed a wide variety of sounds with high distribution, albeit with guitar at the top. The data from 1999 have developed in a more guitar-centred direction. While this provides certain analytical depth to the previous stages of analysis, it might also give a clue into the more general question of format radio. The results demonstrate a tendency towards a clearer channel identity, with a more unified sound. Extending the interpretation, we can also consider the results in a scope of international research. Eric Weisbard, alongside other researchers like Saesha Senger, has extensively mapped the content of the top charts during the final decades of the twentieth century, revealing a clear direction towards synth music and guitar-driven rock during the 80s and 90s. Since we cannot study the actual content of commercial broadcasting in Sweden during this time, such historical references remain a promising second-degree comparison. In this perspective, P3 partly mirrors global trends, illustrating the station's responsiveness to changing listener preferences and the dynamic nature of music consumption. We are here engaged in classical historical work, piecing together fragments of data from different types of sources. Nevertheless, the results indicate how old traditions and global trends intermingle in the construction of a national format: a soundscape where accordions and guitars reverberate in parallel. Summary The investigation into SR’s channels P2 and P3 during the 1980s and 1990s reveals a nuanced understanding of radio formatting and its implications. Both channels exhibit idiosyncratic approaches that blend various musical styles to develop distinct channel identities within the context of format radio. While the channels have moved towards more predictable and structured formats, reminiscent of commercial radio, this has not led to an overall homogenisation of content. Instead, each channel has developed a unique version of formatting, and maintained its distinct identity while incorporating elements of structure and predictability. Finally, this matter runs up against an epistemological question which has fascinated sound scholars for some time. To create format radio is to create a sound in time that feels uniform. Philosophers and psychologists have long debated whether sounds can at all be understood as continuous perceptual phenomena, and what it means for a sound to be 'the same' over time (for example, Moles). If sonic uniformity is a scientific challenge already on the time scale of the second, then radiophonic flows introduce whole new complications and questions. Here it is no longer the similarity between two tones in flow, but day-long broadcast products to be understood under the same channel identity. This requires a shaping of sound at completely different scale. The empirical study of such challenges has only begun. References Ahlkvist, Jarl A., and Gene Fisher. "And the Hits Just Keep on Coming: Music Programming Standardization in Commercial Radio." Poetics 27.5-6 (2000): 301–325. Banerjee, Indrajit, and Kalinga Seneviratne. Public Service Broadcasting: A Best Practices Sourcebook. Asian Media Information and Communication Centre, 2005. Björnberg, Alf. Skval och harmoni: musik i radio och TV 1925-1995. Stockholm: Etermedierna i Sverige, 1998. Bogdanov, D., J. Serr, N. Wack, and P. Herrera. "From Low-Level to High-Level: Comparative Study of Music Similarity Measures." Proceedings of the IEEE International Symposium on Multimedia (ISM'09), International Workshop on Advances in Music Information Research (AdMIRe'09). 2009. 453-458. Doukhan, David, et al. "An Open-Source Speaker Gender Detection Framework for Monitoring Gender Equality." 2018 IEEE International Conference on Acoustics, Speech and Signal Processing (ICASSP). IEEE, 2018. Drucker, Johanna. Visualization and Interpretation: Humanistic Approaches to Display, Cambridge: MIT P, 2020. Forsman, Michael. Lokalradio och kommersiell radio 1975-2010: en mediehistorisk studie av produktion och konkurrens. Diss. Stockholms Universitet, 2011. Hadenius, Stig. Kampen om monopolet: Sveriges radio och TV under 1900-talet. Stockholm: Prisma 1998. Hagen, Wolfgang. Das Radio: Zur Geschichte und Theorie des Hörfunks – Deutschland/USA. Das Radio. Paderborn: Brill Fink, 2005. Hedman, L. "Radio." In Mediesverige 2003, ed. U. Carlsson. Gothenburg: Nordicom, 2002. Hendy, David. Radio in the Global Age. Cambridge: Polity, 2003. Jolliffe, Ian T., and Jorge Cadima. "Principal Component Analysis: A Review and Recent Developments." Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A 374 (2016). Juaert, Per. "Policy Development in Danish Radio Broadcasting 1980-2002: Layers, Scenarios and the Public Service Remit." In New Articulations of the Public Service Remit, eds. Gregory Ferrell Lowe and Taisto Hujanen. Gothenburg: Nordicom, 2003. McFee, B. et al. “Librosa: Audio and Music Signal Analysis in Python.” Proceedings of the 14th Python in Science Conference. 2015. 18-25. Moles, Abraham. Information Theory and Esthetic Perception. Trans. Joel E. Cohen. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 1966. Piper, Andrew. “Do We Know What We Are Doing?” Journal of Cultural Analytics 5.1 (2019). <https://doi.org/10.22148/001c.11826>. Stjernstedt, Fredrik. Från radiofabrik till mediehus: medieförändring och medieproduktion på MTG-radio. Örebro Universitet, 2013. Weisbard, Eric. Top 40 Democracy: The Rival Mainstreams of American music. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2014.

"If people don't trust their information, it's not much better than a Marxist-Leninist society." -- Orville Schell Dean, Graduate School of Journalism, UC Berkeley "Most people aren't very discerning. Maybe they need good financial information, but I don't think people know what good information is when you get into culture, society, and politics." -- Steven Brill,Chairman and Editor-in-chief, Brill's Content Once upon a time, not very long ago, advertisements were easy to recognise. They had simple personalities with goals not much more complicated than selling you a bar of soap or a box of cereal. And they possessed the reassuring familiarity of old friends or relatives you've known all your life. They were Pilgrims who smiled at you from Quaker Oats boxes or little tablets named "Speedy" who joyfully danced into a glass of water with the sole purpose of giving up their short life to help lessen your indigestion from overindulgence. Yes, sometimes they could be a little obnoxious but, hey, it was a predictable annoyance. And once, not very long ago, advertisements also knew their place in the landscape of popular culture, their boundaries were the ad space of magazines or the commercial time of television programs. When the ads got too annoying, you could toss the magazine aside or change the TV channel. The ease and quickness of their dispatch had the abruptness of slamming your front door in the face of an old door-to-door salesman. This all began to change around the 1950s when advertisements acquired a more complex and subtle personality and began straying outside of their familiar media neighborhoods. The social observer Vance Packard wrote a best-selling book in the late 50s called The Hidden Persuaders which identified this change in advertising's personality as coming from hanging around Professor Freud's psychoanalysis and learning his hidden, subliminal methods of trickery. Ice cubes in a glass for a liquor ad were no longer seen as simple props to help sell a brand of whiskey but were now subliminal suggestions of female anatomy. The curved fronts of automobiles were more than aesthetic streamlined design features but rather suggestive of a particular feature of the male anatomy. Forgotten by the new subliminal types of ads was the simple salesmanship preached by founders of the ad industry like David Ogilvy and John Caples. The word "sales" became a dirty word and was replaced with modern psychological buzzwords like subliminal persuasion. The Evolution of Subliminal Techniques The book Hidden Persuaders made quite a stir at the time, bringing about congressional hearings and even the introduction of legislation. Prominent motivation researchers Louis Cheskin and Ernest Dichter utilised the new ad methods and were publicly admonished as traitors to their profession. The life of the new subliminal advertising seemed short indeed. Even Vance Packard predicted its coming demise. "Eventually, say by A.D. 2000," he wrote in the preface to the paperback edition of his book, "all this depth manipulation of the psychological variety will seem amusingly old- fashioned". Yet, 40 years later, any half-awake observer of popular culture knows that things haven't exactly worked out the way Packard predicted. In fact what seems old-fashioned today is the belief that ads are those simpletons they once were before the 50s and that products are sold for features and benefits rather than for images. Even Vance Packard expresses an amazement at the evolution of advertising since the 50s, noting that today ads for watches have nothing to do with watches or that ads for shoes scarcely mention shoes. Packard remarks "it used to be the brand identified the product. In today's advertising the brand is the product". Modern advertising, he notes, has an almost total obsession with images and feelings and an almost total lack of any concrete claims about the product and why anyone should buy it. Packard admits puzzlement. "Commercials seem totally unrelated to selling any product at all". Jeff DeJoseph of the J. Walter Thompson firm underlines Packard's comments. "We are just trying to convey a sensory impression of the brand, and we're out of there". Subliminal advertising techniques have today infiltrated the heart of corporate America. As Ruth Shalit notes in her article "The Return of the Hidden Persuaders" from the 27 September 1999 issue of Salon magazine, "far from being consigned to the maverick fringe, the new psycho- persuaders of corporate America have colonized the marketing departments of mainstream conglomerates. At companies like Kraft, Coca-Cola, Proctor & Gamble and Daimler-Chrysler, the most sought-after consultants hail not from McKinsey & Company, but from brand consultancies with names like Archetype Discoveries, PsychoLogics and Semiotic Solutions". Shalit notes a growing number of CEOs have become convinced they cannot sell their brands until they first explore the "Jungian substrata of four- wheel drive; unlock the discourse codes of female power sweating; or deconstruct the sexual politics of bologna". The result, as Shalit observes, is a "charmingly retro school of brand psychoanalysis, which holds that all advertising is simply a variation on the themes of the Oedipus complex, the death instinct, or toilet training, and that the goal of effective communications should be to compensate the consumer for the fact that he was insufficiently nursed as an infant, has taken corporate America by storm". The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising Yet pervasive as the subliminal techniques of advertising have become, the emerging power of modern advertising ultimately centres around "where" it is rather than "what" it is or "how" it works. The power of modern advertising is within this growing ubiquity or "everywhereness" of advertising rather than the technology and methodology of advertising. The ultimate power of advertising will be arrived at when ads cannot be distinguished from their background environment. When this happens, the environment will become a great continuous ad. In the process, ads have wandered away from their well-known hangouts in magazines and TV shows. Like alien-infected pod-people of early science fiction movies, they have stumbled out of these familiar media playgrounds and suddenly sprouted up everywhere. The ubiquity of advertising is not being driven by corporations searching for new ways to sell products but by media searching for new ways to make money. Traditionally, media made money by selling subscriptions and advertising space. But these two key income sources are quickly drying up in the new world of online media. Journalist Mike France wisely takes notice of this change in an important article "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap" from the 11 October 1999 issue of Business Week. France notes that subscription fees have not worked because "Web surfers are used to getting content for free, and they have been reluctant to shell out any money for it". Advertising sales and their Internet incarnation in banner ads have also been a failure so far, France observes, because companies don't like paying a flat fee for online advertising since it's difficult to track the effectiveness of their marketing dollars. Instead, they only want to pay for actual sales leads, which can be easily monitored on the Web as readers' click from site to site. Faced with the above situation, media companies have gone on the prowl for new ways to make money. This search underpins the emerging ubiquity of advertising: the fact that it is increasingly appearing everywhere. In the process, traditional boundaries between advertising and other societal institutions are being overrun by these media forces on the prowl for new "territory" to exploit. That time when advertisements knew their place in the landscape of popular culture and confined themselves to just magazines or TV commercials is a fading memory. And today, as each of us is bombarded by thousands of ads each day, it is impossible to "slam" the door and keep them out of our house as we could once slam the door in the face of the old door-to-door salesmen. Of course you can find them on the matchbook cover of your favorite bar, on t-shirts sold at some roadside tourist trap or on those logo baseball caps you always pick up at trade shows. But now they have got a little more personal and stare at you over urinals in the men's room. They have even wedged themselves onto the narrow little bars at the check-out counter conveyer belts of supermarkets or onto the handles of gasoline pumps at filling stations. The list goes on and on. (No, this article is not an ad.) Advertising and Entertainment In advertising's march to ubiquity, two major boundaries have been crossed. They are crucial boundaries which greatly enhance advertising's search for the invisibility of ubiquity. Yet they are also largely invisible themselves. These are the boundaries separating advertising from entertainment and those separating advertising from journalism. The incursion of advertising into entertainment is a result of the increasing merger of business and entertainment, a phenomenon pointed out in best-selling business books like Michael Wolf's Entertainment Economy and Joseph Pine's The Experience Economy. Wolf, a consultant for Viacom, Newscorp, and other media heavy-weights, argues business is becoming synonymous with entertainment: "we have come to expect that we will be entertained all the time. Products and brands that deliver on this expectation are succeeding. Products that do not will disappear". And, in The Experience Economy, Pine notes the increasing need for businesses to provide entertaining experiences. "Those businesses that relegate themselves to the diminishing world of goods and services will be rendered irrelevant. To avoid this fate, you must learn to stage a rich, compelling experience". Yet entertainment, whether provided by businesses or the traditional entertainment industry, is increasingly weighted down with the "baggage" of advertising. In a large sense, entertainment is a form of new media that carries ads. Increasingly, this seems to be the overriding purpose of entertainment. Once, not long ago, when ads were simple and confined, entertainment was also simple and its purpose was to entertain rather than to sell. There was money enough in packed movie houses or full theme parks to make a healthy profit. But all this has changed with advertising's ubiquity. Like media corporations searching for new revenue streams, the entertainment industry has responded to flat growth by finding new ways to squeeze money out of entertainment content. Films now feature products in paid for scenes and most forms of entertainment use product tie-ins to other areas such as retail stores or fast-food restaurants. Also popular with the entertainment industry is what might be termed the "versioning" of entertainment products into various sub-species where entertainment content is transformed into other media so it can be sold more than once. A film may not make a profit on just the theatrical release but there is a good chance it doesn't matter because it stands to make a profit in video rentals. Advertising and Journalism The merger of advertising and entertainment goes a long way towards a world of ubiquitous advertising. Yet the merger of advertising and journalism is the real "promised land" in the evolution of ubiquitous advertising. This fundamental shift in the way news media make money provides the final frontier to be conquered by advertising, a final "promised land" for advertising. As Mike France observes in Business Week, this merger "could potentially change the way they cover the news. The more the press gets in the business of hawking products, the harder it will be to criticize those goods -- and the companies making them". Of course, there is that persistent myth, perpetuated by news organisations that they attempt to preserve editorial independence by keeping the institutions they cover and their advertisers at arm's length. But this is proving more and more difficult, particularly for online media. Observers like France have pointed out a number of reasons for this. One is the growth of ads in news media that look more like editorial content than ads. While long-standing ethical rules bar magazines and newspapers from printing advertisements that look like editorial copy, these rules become fuzzy for many online publications. Another reason making it difficult to separate advertising from journalism is the growing merger and consolidation of media corporations. Fewer and fewer corporations control more and more entertainment, news and ultimately advertising. It becomes difficult for a journalist to criticise a product when it has a connection to the large media conglomerate the journalist works for. Traditionally, it has been rare for media corporations to make direct investments in the corporations they cover. However, as Mike France notes, CNBC crossed this line when it acquired a stake in Archipelago in September 1999. CNBC, which runs a business-news Website, acquired a 12.4% stake in Archipelago Holdings, an electronic communications network for trading stock. Long-term plans are likely to include allowing visitors to cnbc.com to link directly to Archipelago. That means CNBC could be in the awkward position of both providing coverage of online trading and profiting from it. France adds that other business news outlets, such as Dow Jones (DJ), Reuters, and Bloomberg, already have indirect ties to their own electronic stock-trading networks. And, in news organisations, a popular method of cutting down on the expense of paying journalists for content is the growing practice of accepting advertiser written content or "sponsored edit" stories. The confusion to readers violates the spirit of a long-standing American Society of Magazine Editors (ASME) rule prohibiting advertisements with "an editorial appearance". But as France notes, this practice is thriving online. This change happens in ever so subtle ways. "A bit of puffery inserted here," notes France, "a negative adjective deleted there -- it doesn't take a lot to turn a review or story about, say, smart phones, into something approaching highbrow ad copy". He offers an example in forbes.com whose Microsoft ads could easily be mistaken for staff-written articles. Media critic James Fallows points out that consumers have been swift to discipline sites that are caught acting unethically and using "sponsored edits". He notes that when it was revealed that amazon.com was taking fees of up to $10,000 for books that it labelled as "destined for greatness", its customers were outraged, and the company quickly agreed to disclose future promotional payments. Unfortunately, though, the lesson episodes like these teach online companies like Amazon centres around more effective ways to be less "revealing" rather than abstention from the practice of "sponsored edits". France reminds us that journalism is built on trust. In the age of the Internet, though, trust is quickly becoming an elusive quality. He writes "as magazines, newspapers, radio stations, and television networks rush to colonize the Internet, the Great Wall between content and commerce is beginning to erode". In the end, he ponders whether there is an irrevocable conflict between e-commerce and ethical journalism. When you can't trust journalists to be ethical, just who can you trust? Transaction Fees & Affiliate Programs - Advertising's Final Promised Land? The engine driving the growing ubiquity of advertising, though, is not the increasing merger of advertising with other industries (like entertainment and journalism) but rather a new business model of online commerce and Internet technology called transaction fees. This emerging and potentially dominant Internet e-commerce technology provides for the ability to track transactions electronically on Websites and to garner transaction fees. Through these fees, many media Websites take a percentage of payment through online product sales. In effect, a media site becomes one pervasive direct mail ad for every product mentioned on its site. This of course puts them in a much closer economic partnership with advertisers than is the case with traditional fixed-rate ads where there is little connection between product sales and the advertising media carrying them. Transaction fees are the new online version of direct marketing, the emerging Internet technology for their application is one of the great economic driving forces of the entire Internet commerce apparatus. The promise of transaction fees is that a number of people, besides product manufacturers and advertisers, might gain a percentage of profit from selling products via hypertext links. Once upon a time, the manufacturer of a product was the one that gained (or lost) from marketing it. Now, however, there is the possibility that journalists, news organisations and entertainment companies might also gain from marketing via transaction fees. The spread of transaction fees outside media into the general population provides an even greater boost to the growing ubiquity of advertising. This is done through the handmaiden of media transaction fees: "affiliate programs" for the general populace. Through the growing magic of Internet technology, it becomes possible for all of us to earn money through affiliate program links to products and transaction fee percentages in the sale of these products. Given this scenario, it is not surprising that advertisers are most likely to increasingly pressure media Websites to support themselves with e-commerce transaction fees. Charles Li, Senior Analyst for New Media at Forrester Research, estimates that by the year 2003, media sites will receive $25 billion in revenue from transaction fees, compared with $17 billion from ads and $5 billion from subscriptions. The possibility is great that all media will become like great direct response advertisements taking a transaction fee percentage for anything sold on their sites. And there is the more dangerous possibility that all of us will become the new "promised land" for a ubiquitous advertising. All of us will have some cut in selling somebody else's product. When this happens and there is a direct economic incentive for all of us to say nice things about products, what is the need and importance of subliminal techniques and methods creating advertising based on images which try to trick us into buying things? A Society Without Critics? It is for these reasons that criticism and straight news are becoming an increasingly endangered species. Everyone has to eat but what happens when one can no longer make meal money by criticising current culture? Cultural critics become a dying breed. There is no money in criticism because it is based around disconnection rather than connection to products. No links to products or Websites are involved here. Critics are becoming lonely icebergs floating in the middle of a cyber-sea of transaction fees, watching everyone else (except themselves) make money on transaction fees. The subliminal focus of the current consultancies is little more than a repackaging of an old theme discovered long ago by Vance Packard. But the growing "everywhereness" and "everyoneness" of modern advertising through transaction fees may mark the beginning of a revolutionary new era. Everyone might become their own "brand", a point well made in Tim Peters's article "A Brand Called You". Media critic James Fallows is somewhat optimistic that there still may remain "niche" markets for truthful information and honest cultural criticism. He suggests that surely people looking for mortgages, voting for a politician, or trying to decide what movie to see will continue to need unbiased information to help them make decisions. But one must ask what happens when a number of people have some "affiliate" relationship with suggesting particular movies, politicians or mortgages? Orville Schell, dean of the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California at Berkeley, has summarised this growing ubiquity of advertising in a rather simple and elegant manner saying "at a certain point, people won't be able to differentiate between what's trustworthy and what isn't". Over the long run, this loss of credibility could have a corrosive effect on society in general -- especially given the media's importance as a political, cultural, and economic watchdog. Schell warns, "if people don't trust their information, it's not much better than a Marxist-Leninist society". Yet, will we be able to realise this simple fact when we all become types of Marxists and Leninists? Still, there is the great challenge to America to learn how to utilise transaction fees in a democratic manner. In effect, a combination of the technological promise of the new economy with that old promise, and perhaps even myth, of a democratic America. America stands on the verge of a great threshold and challenge in the growing ubiquity of advertising. In a way, as with most great opportunities or threats, this challenge centres on a peculiar paradox. On the one hand, there is the promise of the emerging Internet business model and its centre around the technology of transaction fees. At the same time, there is the threat posed by transaction fees to America's democratic society in the early years of the new millennium. Yes, once upon a time, not very long ago, advertisements were easy to recognise and also knew their place in the landscape of popular culture. Their greatest, yet silent, evolution (especially in the age of the Internet) has really been in their spread into all areas of culture rather than in methods of trickery and deceit. Now, it is more difficult to slam that front door in the face of that old door-to-door salesman. Or toss that magazine and its ad aside, or switch off commercials on television. We have become that door-to-door salesman, that magazine ad, that television commercial. The current cultural landscape takes on some of the characteristics of the theme of that old science fiction movie The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. A current advertising campaign from RJ Reynolds has a humorous take on the current zeitgeist fad of alien abduction with copy reading "if aliens are smart enough to travel through space then why do they keep abducting the dumbest people on earth?" One might add that when Americans allow advertising to travel through all our space, perhaps we all become the dumbest people on earth, abducted by a new alien culture so far away from a simplistic nostalgia of yesterday. (Please press below for your links to a world of fantastic products which can make a new you.) References Brill, Steven. Quoted by Mike France in "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap." Business Week 11 Oct. 1999. France, Mike. "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap." Business Week 11 Oct. 1999. <http://www.businessweek.com/1999/99_41/b3650163.htm>. Packard, Vance. The Hidden Persuaders. Out of Print, 1957. Pine, Joseph, and James Gilmore. The Experience Economy. Harvard Business School P, 1999. Shalit, Ruth. "The Return of the Hidden Persuaders." Salon Magazine 27 Sep. 1999. <http://www.salon.com/media/col/shal/1999/09/27/persuaders/index.php>. Schell, Orville. Quoted by Mike France in "Journalism's Online Credibility Gap." Business Week 11 Oct. 1999. Wolf, Michael. Entertainment Economy. Times Books, 1999. Citation reference for this article MLA style: John Fraim. "Friendly Persuasion: The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising, or What Happens When Everyone Becomes an Ad?." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.1 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/ads.php>. Chicago style: John Fraim, "Friendly Persuasion: The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising, or What Happens When Everyone Becomes an Ad?," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 1 (2000), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/ads.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: John Fraim. (2000) Friendly Persuasion: The Growing Ubiquity of Advertising, or What Happens When Everyone Becomes an Ad?. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(1). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/0003/ads.php> ([your date of access]).

Introduction The academic area known as food studies—incorporating elements from disciplines including anthropology, folklore, history, sociology, gastronomy, and cultural studies as well as a range of multi-disciplinary approaches—asserts that cooking and eating practices are less a matter of nutrition (maintaining life by absorbing nutrients from food) and more a personal or group expression of various social and/or cultural actions, values or positions. The French philosopher, Michel de Certeau agrees, arguing, moreover, that there is an urgency to name and unpick (what he identifies as) the “minor” practices, the “multifarious and silent reserve of procedures” of everyday life. Such practices are of crucial importance to all of us, as although seemingly ordinary, and even banal, they have the ability to “organise” our lives (48). Within such a context, the following aims to consider the influence and significance of an important (although largely unstudied) professional figure in rural and regional economic life: the country food preparer variously known as the local chef or cook. Such an approach is obviously framed by the concept of “cultural economy”. This term recognises the convergence, and interdependence, of the spheres of the cultural and the economic (see Scott 335, for an influential discussion on how “the cultural geography of space and the economic geography of production are intertwined”). Utilising this concept in relation to chefs and cooks seeks to highlight how the ways these figures organise (to use de Certeau’s term) the social and cultural lives of those in their communities are embedded in economic practices and also how, in turn, their economic contributions are dependent upon social and cultural practices. This initial mapping of the influence and significance of the rural and regional chef in one rural and regional area, therefore, although necessarily different in approach and content, continues the application of such converged conceptualisations of the cultural and economic as Teema Tairu’s discussion of the social, recreational and spiritual importance of food preparation and consumption by the unemployed in Finland, Guy Redden’s exploration of how supermarket products reflect shared values, and a series of analyses of the cultural significance of individual food products, such as Richard White’s study of vegemite. While Australians, both urban and rural, currently enjoy access to an internationally renowned food culture, it is remarkable to consider that it has only been during the years following the Second World War that these sophisticated and now much emulated ways of eating and cooking have developed. It is, indeed, only during the last half century that Australian eating habits have shifted from largely Anglo-Saxon influenced foods and meals that were prepared and eaten in the home, to the consumption of a wider range of more international and sophisticated foods and meals that are, increasingly, prepared by others and eaten outside the consumer’s residence. While a range of commonly cited influences has prompted this relatively recent revolution in culinary practice—including post-war migration, increasing levels of prosperity, widespread international travel, and the forces of globalisation—some of this change owes a debt to a series of influential individual figures. These tastemakers have included food writers and celebrity chefs; with early exponents including Margaret Fulton, Graham Kerr and Charmaine Solomon (see Brien). The findings of this study suggests that many restaurant chefs, and other cooks, have similarly played, and continue to take, a key role in the lives of not only the, necessarily, limited numbers of individuals who dine in a particular eatery or the other chefs and/or cooks trained in that establishment (Ruhlman, Reach), but also the communities in which they work on a much broader scale. Considering Chefs In his groundbreaking study, A History of Cooks and Cooking, Australian food historian Michael Symons proposes that those who prepare food are worthy of serious consideration because “if ‘we are what we eat’, cooks have not just made our meals, but have also made us. They have shaped our social networks, our technologies, arts and religions” (xi). Writing that cooks “deserve to have their stories told often and well,” and that, moreover, there is a “need to invent ways to think about them, and to revise our views about ourselves in their light” (xi), Symons’s is a clarion call to investigate the role and influence of cooks. Charles-Allen Baker-Clark has explicitly begun to address this lacunae in his Profiles from the Kitchen: What Great Cooks Have Taught Us About Ourselves and Our Food (2006), positing not only how these figures have shaped our relationships with food and eating, but also how these relationships impact on identities, culture and a range of social issues including those of social justice, spirituality and environmental sustainability. With the growing public interest in celebrities, it is perhaps not surprising that, while such research on chefs and/or cooks is still in its infancy, most of the existing detailed studies on individuals focus on famed international figures such as Marie-Antoine Carême (Bernier; Kelly), Escoffier (James; Rachleff; Sanger), and Alexis Soyer (Brandon; Morris; Ray). Despite an increasing number of tabloid “tell-all” surveys of contemporary celebrity chefs, which are largely based on mass media sources and which display little concern for historical or biographical accuracy (Bowyer; Hildred and Ewbank; Simpson; Smith), there have been to date only a handful of “serious” researched biographies of contemporary international chefs such as Julia Child, Alice Waters (Reardon; Riley), and Bernard Loiseux (Chelminski)—the last perhaps precipitated by an increased interest in this chef following his suicide after his restaurant lost one of its Michelin stars. Despite a handful of collective biographical studies of Australian chefs from the later-1980s on (Jenkins; O’Donnell and Knox; Brien), there are even fewer sustained biographical studies of Australian chefs or cooks (Clifford-Smith’s 2004 study of “the supermarket chef,” Bernard King, is a notable exception). Throughout such investigations, as well as in other popular food writing in magazines and cookbooks, there is some recognition that influential chefs and cooks have worked, and continue to work, outside such renowned urban culinary centres as Paris, London, New York, and Sydney. The Michelin starred restaurants of rural France, the so-called “gastropubs” of rural Britain and the advent of the “star-chef”-led country bed and breakfast establishment in Australia and New Zealand, together with the proliferation of farmer’s markets and a public desire to consume locally sourced, and ecologically sustainable, produce (Nabhan), has focused fresh attention on what could be called “the rural/regional chef”. However, despite the above, little attention has focused on the Australian non-urban chef/cook outside of the pages of a small number of key food writing magazines such as Australian Gourmet Traveller and Vogue Entertaining + Travel. Setting the Scene with an Australian Country Example: Armidale and Guyra In 2004, the Armidale-Dumaresq Council (of the New England region, New South Wales, Australia) adopted the slogan “Foodies thrive in Armidale” to market its main city for the next three years. With a population of some 20,000, Armidale’s main industry (in economic terms) is actually education and related services, but the latest Tourist Information Centre’s Dining Out in Armidale (c. 2006) brochure lists some 25 restaurants, 9 bistros and brasseries, 19 cafés and 5 fast food outlets featuring Australian, French, Italian, Mediterranean, Chinese, Thai, Indian and “international” cuisines. The local Yellow Pages telephone listings swell the estimation of the total number of food-providing businesses in the city to 60. Alongside the range of cuisines cited above, a large number of these eateries foreground the use of fresh, local foods with such phrases as “local and regional produce,” “fresh locally grown produce,” “the finest New England ingredients” and locally sourced “New England steaks, lamb and fresh seafood” repeatedly utilised in advertising and other promotional material. Some thirty kilometres to the north along the New England highway, the country town of Guyra, proclaimed a town in 1885, is the administrative and retail centre for a shire of some 2,200 people. Situated at 1,325 metres above sea level, the town is one of the highest in Australia with its main industries those of fine wool and lamb, beef cattle, potatoes and tomatoes. Until 1996, Guyra had been home to a large regional abattoir that employed some 400 staff at the height of its productivity, but rationalisation of the meat processing industry closed the facility, together with its associated pet food processor, causing a downturn in employment, local retail business, and real estate values. Since 2004, Guyra’s economy has, however, begun to recover after the town was identified by the Costa Group as the perfect site for glasshouse grown tomatoes. Perfect, due to its rare combination of cool summers (with an average of less than two days per year with temperatures over 30 degrees celsius), high winter light levels and proximity to transport routes. The result: 3.3 million kilograms of truss, vine harvested, hydroponic “Top of the Range” tomatoes currently produced per annum, all year round, in Guyra’s 5-hectare glasshouse: Australia’s largest, opened in December 2005. What residents (of whom I am one) call the “tomato-led recovery” has generated some 60 new local jobs directly related to the business, and significant flow on effects in terms of the demand for local services and retail business. This has led to substantial rates of renovation and building of new residential and retail properties, and a noticeably higher level of trade flowing into the town. Guyra’s main street retail sector is currently burgeoning and stories of its renewal have appeared in the national press. Unlike many similar sized inland towns, there are only a handful of empty shops (and most of these are in the process of being renovated), and new commercial premises have recently been constructed and opened for business. Although a small town, even in Australian country town terms, Guyra now has 10 restaurants, hotel bistros and cafés. A number of these feature local foods, with one pub’s bistro regularly featuring the trout that is farmed just kilometres away. Assessing the Contribution of Local Chefs and Cooks In mid-2007, a pilot survey to begin to explore the contribution of the regional chef in these two close, but quite distinct, rural and regional areas was sent to the chefs/cooks of the 70 food-serving businesses in Armidale and Guyra that I could identify. Taking into account the 6 returns that revealed a business had closed, moved or changed its name, the 42 replies received represented a response rate of 65.5per cent (or two thirds), representatively spread across the two towns. Answers indicated that the businesses comprised 18 restaurants, 13 cafés, 6 bistro/brasseries, 1 roadhouse, 1 takeaway/fast food and 3 bed and breakfast establishments. These businesses employed 394 staff, of whom 102 were chefs and/cooks, or 25.9 per cent of the total number of staff then employed by these establishments. In answer to a series of questions designed to ascertain the roles played by these chefs/cooks in their local communities, as well as more widely, I found a wide range of inputs. These chefs had, for instance, made a considerable contribution to their local economies in the area of fostering local jobs and a work culture: 40 (95 per cent) had worked with/for another local business including but not exclusively food businesses; 30 (71.4 per cent) had provided work experience opportunities for those aspiring to work in the culinary field; and 22 (more than half) had provided at least one apprenticeship position. A large number had brought outside expertise and knowledge with them to these local areas, with 29 (69 per cent) having worked in another food business outside Armidale or Guyra. In terms of community building and sustainability, 10 (or almost a quarter) had assisted or advised the local Council; 20 (or almost half) had worked with local school children in a food-related way; 28 (two thirds) had helped at least one charity or other local fundraising group. An extra 7 (bringing the cumulative total to 83.3 per cent) specifically mentioned that they had worked with/for the local gallery, museum and/or local history group. 23 (more than half) had been involved with and/or contributed to a local festival. The question of whether they had “contributed anything else important, helpful or interesting to the community” elicited the following responses: writing a food or wine column for the local paper (3 respondents), delivering TAFE teacher workshops (2 respondents), holding food demonstrations for Rotary and Lions Clubs and school fetes (5 respondents), informing the public about healthy food (3 respondents), educating the public about environmental issues (2 respondents) and working regularly with Meals on Wheels or a similar organisation (6 respondents, or 14.3 per cent). One respondent added his/her work as a volunteer driver for the local ambulance transport service, the only non-food related response to this question. Interestingly, in line with the activity of well-known celebrity chefs, in addition to the 3 chefs/cooks who had written a food or wine column for the local newspaper, 11 respondents (more than a quarter of the sample) had written or contributed to a cookbook or recipe collection. One of these chefs/cooks, moreover, reported that he/she produced a weblog that was “widely read”, and also contributed to international food-related weblogs and websites. In turn, the responses indicated that the (local) communities—including their governing bodies—also offer some support of these chefs and cooks. Many respondents reported they had been featured in, or interviewed and/or photographed for, a range of media. This media comprised the following: the local newspapers (22 respondents, 52.4 per cent), local radio stations (19 respondents, 45.2 per cent), regional television stations (11 respondents, 26.2 per cent) and local websites (8 respondents, 19 per cent). A number had also attracted other media exposure. This was in the local, regional area, especially through local Council publications (31 respondents, 75 per cent), as well as state-wide (2 respondents, 4.8 per cent) and nationally (6 respondents, 14.3 per cent). Two of these local chefs/cooks (or 4.8 per cent) had attracted international media coverage of their activities. It is clear from the above that, in the small area surveyed, rural and regional chefs/cooks make a considerable contribution to their local communities, with all the chefs/cooks who replied making some, and a number a major, contribution to those communities, well beyond the requirements of their paid positions in the field of food preparation and service. The responses tendered indicate that these chefs and cooks contributed regularly to local public events, institutions and charities (with a high rate of contribution to local festivals, school programs and local charitable activities), and were also making an input into public education programs, local cultural institutions, political and social debates of local importance, as well as the profitability of other local businesses. They were also actively supporting not only the future of the food industry as a whole, but also the viability of their local communities, by providing work experience opportunities and taking on local apprentices for training and mentorship. Much more than merely food providers, as a group, these chefs and cooks were, it appears, also operating as food historians, public intellectuals, teachers, activists and environmentalists. They were, moreover, operating as content producers for local media while, at the same time, acting as media producers and publishers. Conclusion The terms “chef” and “cook” can be diversely defined. All definitions, however, commonly involve a sense of professionalism in food preparation reflecting some specialist knowledge and skill in the culinary arts, as well as various levels of creativity, experience and responsibility. In terms of the specific duties that chefs and professional cooks undertake every day, almost all publications on the subject deal specifically with workplace related activities such as food and other supply ordering, staff management, menu planning and food preparation and serving. This is constant across culinary textbooks (see, for instance, Culinary Institute of America 2002) and more discursive narratives about the professional chef such as the bestselling autobiographical musings of Anthony Bourdain, and Michael Ruhlman’s journalistic/biographical investigations of US chefs (Soul; Reach). An alternative preliminary examination, and categorisation, of the roles these professionals play outside their kitchens reveals, however, a much wider range of community based activities and inputs than such texts suggest. It is without doubt that the chefs and cooks who responded to the survey discussed above have made, and are making, a considerable contribution to their local New England communities. It is also without doubt that these contributions are of considerable value, and valued by, those country communities. Further research will have to consider to what extent these contributions, and the significance and influence of these chefs and cooks in those communities are mirrored, or not, by other country (as well as urban) chefs and cooks, and their communities. Acknowledgements An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Engaging Histories: Australian Historical Association Regional Conference, at the University of New England, September 2007. I would like to thank the session’s participants for their insightful comments on that presentation. A sincere thank you, too, to the reviewers of this article, whose suggestions assisted my thinking on this piece. Research to complete this article was carried out whilst a Visiting Fellow with the Research School of Humanities, the Australian National University. References Armidale Tourist Information Centre. Dining Out in Armidale [brochure]. Armidale: Armidale-Dumaresq Council, c. 2006. Baker-Clark, C. A. 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IntroductionNordic mythology, also known as Norse mythology, is a term used to describe Medieval creation myths and tales of Gods and otherworldly realms, told and retold by Northern Germanic and Scandinavian tribes of the ninth century AD (see for example Gaiman).I discuss a new type of Nordic mythology that is being created through popular culture, social media, books, and television shows. I am interested in how contemporary portrayals of the Nordic countries has created a kind of mythological place called Scandinavia, where things, people, and ideas are better than in other places.Whereas the old myths portray a fierce warrior race, the new myths create a utopian Scandinavia as a place that is inherently good; a place that is progressive and harmonious. In the creation of these new myths the underbelly of the North is often neglected, producing a homogenised representation of a group of countries that are in actuality diverse and inevitably imperfect.ScandimaniaGenerally the term Scandinavia always refers to Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. When including Finland and Iceland, it is more accurate to refer to the five as the Nordic countries. I was born and grew up in Denmark. My observations are skewed towards a focus on Denmark, rather than Scandinavia as a whole. Though I will use the term Nordic and Scandinavia throughout the article, it is worth noting that these definitions describe a group of countries that despite some commonalities are also quite different in geography, and culture.Whether we are speaking strictly of Scandinavia or of the Nordic countries as a whole, one thing is certain: in recent years there has been a surge of popularity in all things Nordic. Scandinavian design has been popular since the 1950s, known for its functionality and simplistic beauty, and globalised through the Swedish furniture chain IKEA. Consequently, Nordic interior design has become a style widely praised and emulated, as has Nordic fashion, architecture, and innovation.The fact that Scandinavian people are often represented as being intelligent and beautiful adds to the notion of stylish and aesthetically pleasing ideals. This is partly why sperm from Danish sperm donors is the most sought after and widely distributed in the world: perhaps prospective parents find the idea of having a baby of Viking stock appealing (Kale). Nordic countries are also known for their egalitarian societies, which are described as “the holy grail of a healthy economy and society” (Cleary). These are countries where the collective good is cherished. Tax rates are high (in Denmark between 55 per cent and 60 per cent of income), which leads to excellent welfare systems.In recent years other terms have entered the collective Western vocabulary. New Nordic Cuisine describes a trend that has taken the culinary world by storm. This term refers to food that is created with seasonal, local, and foraged ingredients. The emphasis being a renewed connection to nature and old ways. In 2016 the Danish word hygge was shortlisted by the Oxford Dictionary as word of the year. A word, which has no direct English translation, it means “a quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture)”. Countless books were published in the United Kingdom, and elsewhere, explaining the art of hygge. Other Scandinavian words are now becoming popular, such as the Swedish lagom, meaning “just enough”.In the past two years, the United Nations’ World Happiness Report listed Denmark and Norway as the happiest places on earth. Other surveys similarly put the Nordic countries on top as the most prosperous places on earth (Anderson).Mythologies and Discursive FormationsThe standard definition of myth is a “traditional story, especially one concerning the early history of a people or explaining a natural or social phenomenon, and typically involving supernatural beings or events.” Or “A widely held but false belief or idea” (Oxford Dictionaries, Myth).During what became known as the “discursive turn”, both Barthes and Foucault expanded the conception of myth by placing it within a wider socio-political and historical contexts of power and truth. “Discursive formations” became a commonly accepted way of describing a cluster of ideas, images, and practices that define particular “truths” within a given cultural context (Hall 6). In other words, myths serve specific purposes within given socio-cultural constructions.I argue that the current idolisation of Scandinavia is creating a common global narrative of a superior society. A mythical place that has “figured it out”, and found the key to happiness. The mythologised North is based on an array of media stories, statistics, reports, articles, advertising, political rhetoric, books, films, TV series, exhibitions, and social media activity. These perpetuate a “truth” of the Nordic countries as being especially benign, cultured, and distinguished. The Smiling PolicemanIn his well-known essay Myth Today, Barthes analyses an image of a North African boy in uniform saluting the French flag on the front cover of a magazine. Barthes argues that by analysing the semiotic meaning of the image in two stages, one can identify the “myth”.The first level is the signifiers (what we see), a dark skinned boy, a uniform, a raised arm, a flag. The signified is our recognition of these as a North African boy raising his arm to the French flag. The second level of interpretation is the wider context in which we understand what we see: the greatness of France is signified in the depiction of one of her colonial subjects submitting to and glorifying the flag. That is to say, the myth generated by the image is the story of France as a great colonial and military nation.Now take a look at this image, which was distributed the world over in newspapers, online media, and in turn social media (Warren; Kolff). This image is interesting because it epitomises much of what is believed about Scandinavia (the new myths). If we approach the image through the semiotic lens of Barthes, we firstly describe what is seen in the picture (signifiers): a blonde policeman, a girl of dark complexion, a road in the countryside, a van in the distance, and some other people with backpacks on the side of the road. When we put these elements together in context, we understand that the image to be depicting a Danish policeman, blonde, smiling and handsome, playing with a Syrian refugee girl on an empty Danish highway, with her fellow refugees behind her.The second level of interpretation (the myth) is created by combining the elements into a story: A friendly police officer is playing with a refugee girl, which is unusual because policemen are commonly seen as authoritarian and unfriendly to illegal immigrants. This policeman is smiling. He is happy in his job. He is healthy, good-looking, and compassionate.This fits the image of Scandinavian men as good fathers (they have paternity leave, and often help equally with child rearing). The image confirms that the happiest people on earth would of course also have happy, friendly policemen. The belief that the Scandinavian social model is one to admire would appear to be endorsed.The fact that this is in a rural setting with green landscapes adds further to the notion of Nordic freshness, naturalness, environmentalism, and food that comes from the wild. The fact that the policeman is well-groomed, stylish, well-built, and handsome reinforces the notion that Scandinavia is a place of style and taste, where the good Viking gene pool produces fit and beautiful people.It makes sense that in a place with a focus on togetherness and the common good, refugees are also treated well. Just as the French image of a dark-skinned boy saluting the French flag sent out messages of French superiority, this image sends out messages of inherent Nordic goodness in a time where positive images of the European refugee crisis are few and far between.In a discursive discussion, one asks not only what meanings does this image convey, but why is this image chosen, distributed, shared, tweeted, and promoted over other images? What purpose does its proliferation serve? What is the historical context in which it is popularised? What is the cultural imagination/narrative that is served? In the current often depressing socio-political situation in Europe, people like to know that there is a place where compassion and play exists.Among other news stories of death, despair, and border protection, depictions of an idealised North can help calm anxieties by implying the existence of a place that is free of conflict. Jakob Stougaard-Nielsen writes:The flood of journalistic and popular ethnographic explorations of the Nordic region in the UK is an expression, perhaps, of a search for a lost sense of identity, a nostalgic longing for an imagined past society more in tune with pre-Thatcherite welfarist values, by way of consuming, appropriating and exoticising proximate cultural identities such as the now much hyped Danish or Nordic utopias. (Nordic Noir, 6)In The Almost Nearly Perfect People, British writer Michael Booth wonders: “one thing in particular about this new-found love of all things Scandinavian … which struck me as particularly odd: considering all this positive PR, and with awareness of the so-called Nordic miracle at an all-time high, why wasn’t everyone flocking to live here [in Denmark]?” (7).In actuality not many people in the West are interested in living in the Nordic countries. Rather, as Barbara Goodwin writes: “utopias hold up a mirror to the fears and aspirations of the time in which they were written” (2). In other words, in an age of anxiety, where traditional norms and stabilities are shifting, to believe that there is a place where contemporary societies have found a way of living in happiness and togetherness provides a sense of hope. People are not flocking to live in Scandinavia because it is not in their interests to have their utopian ideals shattered by the reality that, though the North has a lot to offer, it is inevitably not a utopia (Sougaard-Nielsen, The Truth Is).UnderbellyParadoxically, in recent years, Scandinavia has become well known for its “Nordic Noir” crime fiction and television. In the documentary TV series Scandimania, British TV personality Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall travels through Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, exploring the culture, scenery, and food. He finds it curious that Denmark has become so famous for its sombre crime series, such as The Killing and The Bridge, because it seems so far removed from the Denmark he experiences riding around the streets of Copenhagen on his bike.Fearnley-Whittingstall ponders that one has to look hard to find the dark side of Denmark, and that perhaps it does not actually exist at all. This observation points to something essential. Even though millions of viewers worldwide have seen shows such as The Killing, which are known for their dark story lines, bleak urban settings, complex but realistic characters, progressive gender equality, and social commentary, the positive mythologising of Scandinavia remains so strong that it engenders a belief that the underbelly shown in Nordic Noir is perhaps entirely fictional.Stougaard-Nielsen (see also Pitcher, Consuming Race) argues that perhaps the British obsession with Nordic Noir (and this could be applied to other western countries) can be attributed to “a more appropriate white cosmopolitan desire to imagine rooted identities in an age of globalisation steeped in complex identity politics” (Nordic Noir, 8). That is to say that, for a segment of society which feels overwhelmed by contemporary multiculturalism, there may be a pleasure in watching a show that is predominantly populated by white Nordic protagonists, where the homes and people are stylish, and where the Nordic model of welfare and progressive thinking provides a rich identity source for white people as a symbolic point of origin.The watching/reading of Nordic Noir, as well as other preoccupations with all things Nordic, help build upon a mythological sense of whiteness that sets itself apart from our usual notions of race politics, by being an accepted form of longing for the North of bygone ages: a place that is progressive, moral, stylish, and imbued with aspirational ways of living, thinking, and being (Pitcher, Racial Politics).The image of the Danish police officer and the refugee girl fits this ideal of a progressive society where race relations are uncomplicated. The policeman who epitomises the Nordic ideal is in a position of power, but this is an authority which is benevolent. The girl is non-threatening in her otherness, because she is a child and female, and therefore does not fit the culturally dreaded Muslim/terrorist stereotype. In this constellation the two can meet beautifully.The reality, of course, is that the race relations and issues surrounding immigration in Denmark, and in other Nordic countries, are as complicated and often messy and hateful as they are in other countries. In Sweden, as Fearnley-Whittingstall touches upon in Scandimania, there are escalating problems with integration of the many new Swedes and growing inequalities in wealth. In Norway, the underlying race tensions became acutely topical in the aftermath of the 2011 massacre, where right-wing extremist Anders Breivik killed 77 people. Denmark has one of the harshest anti-immigration laws in Europe, laws that are continuously being tightened (Boserup); and whenever visiting Denmark I have been surprised to see how much space and time discussions about immigration and integration take up in the news and current affairs.If we contrast the previous image with the image above, taken within a similar timeframe on the same Danish highway, we can see the reality of Danish immigration policies. Here we are exposed to a different story. The scene and the location is the same, but the power dynamics have shifted from benign, peaceful, and playful to aggressive, authoritarian, and conflict ridden. A desperate father carries his daughter, determined to march on towards their destination of Sweden. The policeman is pulling his arm, attempting to detain the refugees so that they cannot go further, the goal being to deport the Syrians back to their previous place of detention, just over the border in Germany (Harticollis). While the previous image reflects the humanity of the refugee crisis, this image reflects the politics, policies, and to a large extent public opinion in Denmark, which is not refugee-friendly. This image, however, was not widely distributed, partly because it feeds into the same depressing narrative of an unsolvable refugee crisis seen so often elsewhere, and partly because it does not fit into the narrative of the infallible North. It could not be tweeted with the hashtag #Humanity, nor shared on Facebook with a smiley face and liked with an emoji heart.Another image from Denmark, in the form of a politically funded billboard, shows that there are deep-seated tendencies within Danish society that want to promote and retain a Denmark which adheres to its traditional values and ethnic whiteness. The image was displayed all over the country, at train stations, bus stops, and other public spaces when I visited in 2016. It was issued by Dansk Folkeparti (the Danish People’s Party); a party which is anti-immigration and which was until recently the country’s second largest party. The title says “Our Denmark”, while the byline cleverly plays with the double meaning of passe på: it can mean “there is so much we need to take care of”, but also “there is so much we need to beware of.” In other words, the white working-class family needs to take care of their Denmark, and beware of anyone who does not fit into this norm. Though hugely contested and criticised (Cremer; see a counter-reaction designed by opponents below), the fact that thinly veiled anti-immigration propaganda can be so readily distributed speaks of an underbelly in Danish society that is not made of the dark murder mysteries in The Killing, but rather of a quietly brewing distain for the foreigner that reigns within stylishly designed living rooms. ConclusionMyths are stories cultures tell and retell until they form a belief system that becomes a natural part of our collective narrative. For Barthes, these stories were intrinsically connected to our understanding of language and our ability to read images, films, artifacts, and popular culture more generally. To later cultural theorists, the notion of discursive formations expands this understanding, to see myth within a broader network of socio-political discourses placed within a certain place and time in history. When connected, small narratives (images, advertising, film, music, news stories, social media sharing, scientific evidence, etc.) come together to form a common narrative (the myth) about how things are and should be in relation to a particular topic. The culminating popularity of numerous Nordic themes (Nordic television/film, interior design, fashion, cuisine, architecture, lifestyle, sustainability, welfare system, school system, gender equality, etc.) has created a grand narrative of the Nordic countries as a type of utopia: one that shows the rest of the world that an egalitarian society of togetherness and progressive innovation is possible. This mythologisation serves to quell anxieties about the flux and uncertainty of contemporary times, and may also serve to legitimise a yearning for a simple, benign, and progressive whiteness, where we imagine Nordic families sitting peacefully at their beechwood dining tables, candles lit, playing board games. 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Channel 4, 2014.Sougaard-Nielsen, Jacob. “Nordic Noir in the UK: The Allure of Accessible Difference.” Journal of Aesthetics & Culture 8.1 (2016). 1 Oct. 2017 <http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.3402/jac.v8.32704>.———. “The Truth Is, Scandinavia Is Neither Heaven nor Hell.” The Conversation, 19 Aug. 2014. <https://theconversation.com/the-truth-is-scandinavia-is-neither-heaven-nor-hell-30641>.Warren, Rossalyn. “The Touching Moment a Policeman Sat Down to Play with a Syrian Refugee.” BuzzFeed News, 15 Sep. 2015. <https://www.buzzfeed.com/rossalynwarren/the-adorable-moment-a-policeman-sat-down-to-play-with-a-syri?utm_term=.qjzl2WEk7#.kgZXOp76M>.

From elephants to ABBA fans, silicon to hormone, the following discussion uses a new research method to look at printed text, motion pictures and a teenage rebel icon. If by ‘print’ we mean a mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium, then printing has been with us since before microdot security prints were painted onto cars, before voice prints, laser prints, network servers, record pressings, motion picture prints, photo prints, colour woodblock prints, before books, textile prints, and footprints. If we accept that higher mammals such as elephants have a learnt culture, then it is possible to extend a definition of printing beyond Homo sapiens. Poole reports that elephants mechanically trumpet reproductions of human car horns into the air surrounding their society. If nothing else, this cross-species, cross-cultural reproduction, this ‘ability to mimic’ is ‘another sign of their intelligence’. Observation of child development suggests that the first significant meaningful ‘impression’ made on the human mind is that of the face of the child’s nurturer – usually its mother. The baby’s mind forms an ‘impression’, a mental print, a reproducible memory data set, of the nurturer’s face, voice, smell, touch, etc. That face is itself a cultural construct: hair style, makeup, piercings, tattoos, ornaments, nutrition-influenced skin and smell, perfume, temperature and voice. A mentally reproducible pattern of a unique face is formed in the mind, and we use that pattern to distinguish ‘familiar and strange’ in our expanding social orbit. The social relations of patterned memory – of imprinting – determine the extent to which we explore our world (armed with research aids such as text print) or whether we turn to violence or self-harm (Bretherton). While our cultural artifacts (such as vellum maps or networked voice message servers) bravely extend our significant patterns into the social world and the traversed environment, it is useful to remember that such artifacts, including print, are themselves understood by our original pattern-reproduction and impression system – the human mind, developed in childhood. The ‘print’ is brought to mind differently in different discourses. For a reader, a ‘print’ is a book, a memo or a broadsheet, whether it is the Indian Buddhist Sanskrit texts ordered to be printed in 593 AD by the Chinese emperor Sui Wen-ti (Silk Road) or the US Defense Department memo authorizing lower ranks to torture the prisoners taken by the Bush administration (Sanchez, cited in ABC). Other fields see prints differently. For a musician, a ‘print’ may be the sheet music which spread classical and popular music around the world; it may be a ‘record’ (as in a ‘recording’ session), where sound is impressed to wax, vinyl, charged silicon particles, or the alloys (Smith, “Elpida”) of an mp3 file. For the fine artist, a ‘print’ may be any mechanically reproduced two-dimensional (or embossed) impression of a significant image in media from paper to metal, textile to ceramics. ‘Print’ embraces the Japanese Ukiyo-e colour prints of Utamaro, the company logos that wink from credit card holographs, the early photographs of Talbot, and the textured patterns printed into neolithic ceramics. Computer hardware engineers print computational circuits. Homicide detectives investigate both sweaty finger prints and the repeated, mechanical gaits of suspects, which are imprinted into the earthy medium of a crime scene. For film makers, the ‘print’ may refer to a photochemical polyester reproduction of a motion picture artifact (the reel of ‘celluloid’), or a DVD laser disc impression of the same film. Textualist discourse has borrowed the word ‘print’ to mean ‘text’, so ‘print’ may also refer to the text elements within the vision track of a motion picture: the film’s opening titles, or texts photographed inside the motion picture story such as the sword-cut ‘Z’ in Zorro (Niblo). Before the invention of writing, the main mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium was the humble footprint in the sand. The footprints of tribes – and neighbouring animals – cut tracks in the vegetation and the soil. Printed tracks led towards food, water, shelter, enemies and friends. Having learnt to pattern certain faces into their mental world, children grew older and were educated in the footprints of family and clan, enemies and food. The continuous impression of significant foot traffic in the medium of the earth produced the lines between significant nodes of prewriting and pre-wheeled cultures. These tracks were married to audio tracks, such as the song lines of the Australian Aborigines, or the ballads of tramping culture everywhere. A typical tramping song has the line, ‘There’s a track winding back to an old-fashion shack along the road to Gundagai,’ (O’Hagan), although this colonial-style song was actually written for radio and became an international hit on the airwaves, rather than the tramping trails. The printed tracks impressed by these cultural flows are highly contested and diverse, and their foot prints are woven into our very language. The names for printed tracks have entered our shared memory from the intersection of many cultures: ‘Track’ is a Germanic word entering English usage comparatively late (1470) and now used mainly in audio visual cultural reproduction, as in ‘soundtrack’. ‘Trek’ is a Dutch word for ‘track’ now used mainly by ecotourists and science fiction fans. ‘Learn’ is a Proto-Indo-European word: the verb ‘learn’ originally meant ‘to find a track’ back in the days when ‘learn’ had a noun form which meant ‘the sole of the foot’. ‘Tract’ and ‘trace’ are Latin words entering English print usage before 1374 and now used mainly in religious, and electronic surveillance, cultural reproduction. ‘Trench’ in 1386 was a French path cut through a forest. ‘Sagacity’ in English print in 1548 was originally the ability to track or hunt, in Proto-Indo-European cultures. ‘Career’ (in English before 1534) was the print made by chariots in ancient Rome. ‘Sleuth’ (1200) was a Norse noun for a track. ‘Investigation’ (1436) was Latin for studying a footprint (Harper). The arrival of symbolic writing scratched on caves, hearth stones, and trees (the original meaning of ‘book’ is tree), brought extremely limited text education close to home. Then, with baked clay tablets, incised boards, slate, bamboo, tortoise shell, cast metal, bark cloth, textiles, vellum, and – later – paper, a portability came to text that allowed any culture to venture away from known ‘foot’ paths with a reduction in the risk of becoming lost and perishing. So began the world of maps, memos, bills of sale, philosophic treatises and epic mythologies. Some of this was printed, such as the mechanical reproduction of coins, but the fine handwriting required of long, extended, portable texts could not be printed until the invention of paper in China about 2000 years ago. Compared to lithic architecture and genes, portable text is a fragile medium, and little survives from the millennia of its innovators. The printing of large non-text designs onto bark-paper and textiles began in neolithic times, but Sui Wen-ti’s imperial memo of 593 AD gives us the earliest written date for printed books, although we can assume they had been published for many years previously. The printed book was a combination of Indian philosophic thought, wood carving, ink chemistry and Chinese paper. The earliest surviving fragment of paper-print technology is ‘Mantras of the Dharani Sutra’, a Buddhist scripture written in the Sanskrit language of the Indian subcontinent, unearthed at an early Tang Dynasty site in Xian, China – making the fragment a veteran piece of printing, in the sense that Sanskrit books had been in print for at least a century by the early Tang Dynasty (Chinese Graphic Arts Net). At first, paper books were printed with page-size carved wooden boards. Five hundred years later, Pi Sheng (c.1041) baked individual reusable ceramic characters in a fire and invented the durable moveable type of modern printing (Silk Road 2000). Abandoning carved wooden tablets, the ‘digitizing’ of Chinese moveable type sped up the production of printed texts. In turn, Pi Sheng’s flexible, rapid, sustainable printing process expanded the political-cultural impact of the literati in Asian society. Digitized block text on paper produced a bureaucratic, literate elite so powerful in Asia that Louis XVI of France copied China’s print-based Confucian system of political authority for his own empire, and so began the rise of the examined public university systems, and the civil service systems, of most European states (Watson, Visions). By reason of its durability, its rapid mechanical reproduction, its culturally agreed signs, literate readership, revered authorship, shared ideology, and distributed portability, a ‘print’ can be a powerful cultural network which builds and expands empires. But print also attacks and destroys empires. A case in point is the Spanish conquest of Aztec America: The Aztecs had immense libraries of American literature on bark-cloth scrolls, a technology which predated paper. These libraries were wiped out by the invading Spanish, who carried a different book before them (Ewins). In the industrial age, the printing press and the gun were seen as the weapons of rebellions everywhere. In 1776, American rebels staffed their ‘Homeland Security’ units with paper makers, knowing that defeating the English would be based on printed and written documents (Hahn). Mao Zedong was a book librarian; Mao said political power came out of the barrel of a gun, but Mao himself came out of a library. With the spread of wireless networked servers, political ferment comes out of the barrel of the cell phone and the internet chat room these days. Witness the cell phone displays of a plane hitting a tower that appear immediately after 9/11 in the Middle East, or witness the show trials of a few US and UK lower ranks who published prints of their torturing activities onto the internet: only lower ranks who published prints were arrested or tried. The control of secure servers and satellites is the new press. These days, we live in a global library of burning books – ‘burning’ in the sense that ‘print’ is now a charged silicon medium (Smith, “Intel”) which is usually made readable by connecting the chip to nuclear reactors and petrochemically-fired power stations. World resources burn as we read our screens. Men, women, children burn too, as we watch our infotainment news in comfort while ‘their’ flickering dead faces are printed in our broadcast hearths. The print we watch is not the living; it is the voodoo of the living in the blackout behind the camera, engaging the blood sacrifice of the tormented and the unfortunate. Internet texts are also ‘on fire’ in the third sense of their fragility and instability as a medium: data bases regularly ‘print’ fail-safe copies in an attempt to postpone the inevitable mechanical, chemical and electrical failure that awaits all electronic media in time. Print defines a moral position for everyone. In reporting conflict, in deciding to go to press or censor, any ‘print’ cannot avoid an ethical context, starting with the fact that there is a difference in power between print maker, armed perpetrators, the weak, the peaceful, the publisher, and the viewer. So many human factors attend a text, video or voice ‘print’: its very existence as an aesthetic object, even before publication and reception, speaks of unbalanced, and therefore dynamic, power relationships. For example, Graham Greene departed unscathed from all the highly dangerous battlefields he entered as a novelist: Riot-torn Germany, London Blitz, Belgian Congo, Voodoo Haiti, Vietnam, Panama, Reagan’s Washington, and mafia Europe. His texts are peopled with the injustices of the less fortunate of the twentieth century, while he himself was a member of the fortunate (if not happy) elite, as is anyone today who has the luxury of time to read Greene’s works for pleasure. Ethically a member of London and Paris’ colonizers, Greene’s best writing still electrifies, perhaps partly because he was in the same line of fire as the victims he shared bread with. In fact, Greene hoped daily that he would escape from the dreadful conflicts he fictionalized via a body bag or an urn of ashes (see Sherry). In reading an author’s biography we have one window on the ethical dimensions of authority and print. If a print’s aesthetics are sometimes enduring, its ethical relationships are always mutable. Take the stylized logo of a running athlete: four limbs bent in a rotation of action. This dynamic icon has symbolized ‘good health’ in Hindu and Buddhist culture, from Madras to Tokyo, for thousands of years. The cross of bent limbs was borrowed for the militarized health programs of 1930s Germany, and, because of what was only a brief, recent, isolated yet monstrously horrific segment of its history in print, the bent-limbed swastika is now a vilified symbol in the West. The sign remains ‘impressed’ differently on traditional Eastern culture, and without the taint of Nazism. Dramatic prints are emotionally charged because, in depicting Homo sapiens in danger, or passionately in love, they elicit a hormonal reaction from the reader, the viewer, or the audience. The type of emotions triggered by a print vary across the whole gamut of human chemistry. A recent study of three genres of motion picture prints shows a marked differences in the hormonal responses of men compared to women when viewing a romance, an actioner, and a documentary (see Schultheiss, Wirth, and Stanton). Society is biochemically diverse in its engagement with printed culture, which raises questions about equality in the arts. Motion picture prints probably comprise around one third of internet traffic, in the form of stolen digitized movie files pirated across the globe via peer-to-peer file transfer networks (p2p), and burnt as DVD laser prints (BBC). There is also a US 40 billion dollar per annum legitimate commerce in DVD laser pressings (Grassl), which would suggest an US 80 billion per annum world total in legitimate laser disc print culture. The actively screen literate, or the ‘sliterati’ as I prefer to call them, research this world of motion picture prints via their peers, their internet information channels, their television programming, and their web forums. Most of this activity occurs outside the ambit of universities and schools. One large site of sliterate (screen literate) practice outside most schooling and official research is the net of online forums at imdb.com (International Movie Data Base). Imdb.com ‘prints’ about 25,000,000 top pages per month to client browsers. Hundreds of sliterati forums are located at imdb, including a forum for the Australian movie, Muriel’s Wedding (Hogan). Ten years after the release of Muriel’s Wedding, young people who are concerned with victimization and bullying still log on to http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0110598/board/> and put their thoughts into print: I still feel so bad for Muriel in the beginning of the movie, when the girls ‘dump’ her, and how much the poor girl cried and cried! Those girls were such biartches…I love how they got their comeuppance! bunniesormaybemidgets’s comment is typical of the current discussion. Muriel’s Wedding was a very popular film in its first cinema edition in Australia and elsewhere. About 30% of the entire over-14 Australian population went to see this photochemical polyester print in the cinemas on its first release. A decade on, the distributors printed a DVD laser disc edition. The story concerns Muriel (played by Toni Collette), the unemployed daughter of a corrupt, ‘police state’ politician. Muriel is bullied by her peers and she withdraws into a fantasy world, deluding herself that a white wedding will rescue her from the torments of her blighted life. Through theft and deceit (the modus operandi of her father) Muriel escapes to the entertainment industry and finds a ‘wicked’ girlfriend mentor. From a rebellious position of stubborn independence, Muriel plays out her fantasy. She gets her white wedding, before seeing both her father and her new married life as hollow shams which have goaded her abandoned mother to suicide. Redefining her life as a ‘game’ and assuming responsibility for her independence, Muriel turns her back on the mainstream, image-conscious, female gang of her oppressed youth. Muriel leaves the story, having rekindled her friendship with her rebel mentor. My methodological approach to viewing the laser disc print was to first make a more accessible, coded record of the entire movie. I was able to code and record the print in real time, using a new metalanguage (Watson, “Eyes”). The advantage of Coding is that ‘thinks’ the same way as film making, it does not sidetrack the analyst into prose. The Code splits the movie print into Vision Action [vision graphic elements, including text] (sound) The Coding splits the vision track into normal action and graphic elements, such as text, so this Coding is an ideal method for extracting all the text elements of a film in real time. After playing the film once, I had four and a half tightly packed pages of the coded story, including all its text elements in square brackets. Being a unique, indexed hard copy, the Coded copy allowed me immediate access to any point of the Muriel’s Wedding saga without having to search the DVD laser print. How are ‘print’ elements used in Muriel’s Wedding? Firstly, a rose-coloured monoprint of Muriel Heslop’s smiling face stares enigmatically from the plastic surface of the DVD picture disc. The print is a still photo captured from her smile as she walked down the aisle of her white wedding. In this print, Toni Collette is the Mona Lisa of Australian culture, except that fans of Muriel’s Wedding know the meaning of that smile is a magical combination of the actor’s art: the smile is both the flush of dreams come true and the frightening self deception that will kill her mother. Inserting and playing the disc, the text-dominant menu appears, and the film commences with the text-dominant opening titles. Text and titles confer a legitimacy on a work, whether it is a trade mark of the laser print owners, or the household names of stars. Text titles confer status relationships on both the presenters of the cultural artifact and the viewer who has entered into a legal license agreement with the owners of the movie. A title makes us comfortable, because the mind always seeks to name the unfamiliar, and a set of text titles does that job for us so that we can navigate the ‘tracks’ and settle into our engagement with the unfamiliar. The apparent ‘truth’ and ‘stability’ of printed text calms our fears and beguiles our uncertainties. Muriel attends the white wedding of a school bully bride, wearing a leopard print dress she has stolen. Muriel’s spotted wild animal print contrasts with the pure white handmade dress of the bride. In Muriel’s leopard textile print, we have the wild, rebellious, impoverished, inappropriate intrusion into the social ritual and fantasy of her high-status tormentor. An off-duty store detective recognizes the printed dress and calls the police. The police are themselves distinguished by their blue-and-white checked prints and other mechanically reproduced impressions of cultural symbols: in steel, brass, embroidery, leather and plastics. Muriel is driven in the police car past the stenciled town sign (‘Welcome To Porpoise Spit’ heads a paragraph of small print). She is delivered to her father, a politician who presides over the policing of his town. In a state where the judiciary, police and executive are hijacked by the same tyrant, Muriel’s father, Bill, pays off the police constables with a carton of legal drugs (beer) and Muriel must face her father’s wrath, which he proceeds to transfer to his detested wife. Like his daughter, the father also wears a spotted brown print costume, but his is a batik print from neighbouring Indonesia (incidentally, in a nation that takes the political status of its batik prints very seriously). Bill demands that Muriel find the receipt for the leopard print dress she claims she has purchased. The legitimate ownership of the object is enmeshed with a printed receipt, the printed evidence of trade. The law (and the paramilitary power behind the law) are legitimized, or contested, by the presence or absence of printed text. Muriel hides in her bedroom, surround by poster prints of the pop group ABBA. Torn-out prints of other people’s weddings adorn her mirror. Her face is embossed with the clown-like primary colours of the marionette as she lifts a bouquet to her chin and stares into the real time ‘print’ of her mirror image. Bill takes the opportunity of a business meeting with Japanese investors to feed his entire family at ‘Charlie Chan’’s restaurant. Muriel’s middle sister sloppily wears her father’s state election tee shirt, printed with the text: ‘Vote 1, Bill Heslop. You can’t stop progress.’ The text sets up two ironic gags that are paid off on the dialogue track: “He lost,’ we are told. ‘Progress’ turns out to be funding the concreting of a beach. Bill berates his daughter Muriel: she has no chance of becoming a printer’s apprentice and she has failed a typing course. Her dysfunction in printed text has been covered up by Bill: he has bribed the typing teacher to issue a printed diploma to his daughter. In the gambling saloon of the club, under the arrays of mechanically repeated cultural symbols lit above the poker machines (‘A’ for ace, ‘Q’ for queen, etc.), Bill’s secret girlfriend Diedre risks giving Muriel a cosmetics job. Another text icon in lights announces the surf nightclub ‘Breakers’. Tania, the newly married queen bitch who has made Muriel’s teenage years a living hell, breaks up with her husband, deciding to cash in his negotiable text documents – his Bali honeymoon tickets – and go on an island holiday with her girlfriends instead. Text documents are the enduring site of agreements between people and also the site of mutations to those agreements. Tania dumps Muriel, who sobs and sobs. Sobs are a mechanical, percussive reproduction impressed on the sound track. Returning home, we discover that Muriel’s older brother has failed a printed test and been rejected for police recruitment. There is a high incidence of print illiteracy in the Heslop family. Mrs Heslop (Jeannie Drynan), for instance, regularly has trouble at the post office. Muriel sees a chance to escape the oppression of her family by tricking her mother into giving her a blank cheque. Here is the confluence of the legitimacy of a bank’s printed negotiable document with the risk and freedom of a blank space for rebel Muriel’s handwriting. Unable to type, her handwriting has the power to steal every cent of her father’s savings. She leaves home and spends the family’s savings at an island resort. On the island, the text print-challenged Muriel dances to a recording (sound print) of ABBA, her hand gestures emphasizing her bewigged face, which is made up in an impression of her pop idol. Her imitation of her goddesses – the ABBA women, her only hope in a real world of people who hate or avoid her – is accompanied by her goddesses’ voices singing: ‘the mystery book on the shelf is always repeating itself.’ Before jpeg and gif image downloads, we had postcard prints and snail mail. Muriel sends a postcard to her family, lying about her ‘success’ in the cosmetics business. The printed missal is clutched by her father Bill (Bill Hunter), who proclaims about his daughter, ‘you can’t type but you really impress me’. Meanwhile, on Hibiscus Island, Muriel lies under a moonlit palm tree with her newly found mentor, ‘bad girl’ Ronda (Rachel Griffiths). In this critical scene, where foolish Muriel opens her heart’s yearnings to a confidante she can finally trust, the director and DP have chosen to shoot a flat, high contrast blue filtered image. The visual result is very much like the semiabstract Japanese Ukiyo-e woodblock prints by Utamaro. This Japanese printing style informed the rise of European modern painting (Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, etc., were all important collectors and students of Ukiyo-e prints). The above print and text elements in Muriel’s Wedding take us 27 minutes into her story, as recorded on a single page of real-time handwritten Coding. Although not discussed here, the Coding recorded the complete film – a total of 106 minutes of text elements and main graphic elements – as four pages of Code. Referring to this Coding some weeks after it was made, I looked up the final code on page four: taxi [food of the sea] bq. Translation: a shop sign whizzes past in the film’s background, as Muriel and Ronda leave Porpoise Spit in a taxi. Over their heads the text ‘Food Of The Sea’ flashes. We are reminded that Muriel and Ronda are mermaids, fantastic creatures sprung from the brow of author PJ Hogan, and illuminated even today in the pantheon of women’s coming-of-age art works. That the movie is relevant ten years on is evidenced by the current usage of the Muriel’s Wedding online forum, an intersection of wider discussions by sliterate women on imdb.com who, like Muriel, are observers (and in some cases victims) of horrific pressure from ambitious female gangs and bullies. Text is always a minor element in a motion picture (unless it is a subtitled foreign film) and text usually whizzes by subliminally while viewing a film. By Coding the work for [text], all the text nuances made by the film makers come to light. While I have viewed Muriel’s Wedding on many occasions, it has only been in Coding it specifically for text that I have noticed that Muriel is a representative of that vast class of talented youth who are discriminated against by print (as in text) educators who cannot offer her a life-affirming identity in the English classroom. Severely depressed at school, and failing to type or get a printer’s apprenticeship, Muriel finds paid work (and hence, freedom, life, identity, independence) working in her audio visual printed medium of choice: a video store in a new city. Muriel found a sliterate admirer at the video store but she later dumped him for her fantasy man, before leaving him too. One of the points of conjecture on the imdb Muriel’s Wedding site is, did Muriel (in the unwritten future) get back together with admirer Brice Nobes? That we will never know. While a print forms a track that tells us where culture has been, a print cannot be the future, a print is never animate reality. At the end of any trail of prints, one must lift one’s head from the last impression, and negotiate satisfaction in the happening world. References Australian Broadcasting Corporation. “Memo Shows US General Approved Interrogations.” 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. 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Muriel’s Wedding. Dir. PJ Hogan. Perf. Toni Collette, Rachel Griffiths, Bill Hunter, and Jeannie Drynan. Village Roadshow, 1994. O’Hagan, Jack. On The Road to Gundagai. 1922. 2 Apr. 2005 http://ingeb.org/songs/roadtogu.html>. Poole, J.H., P.L. Tyack, A.S. Stoeger-Horwath, and S. Watwood. “Animal Behaviour: Elephants Are Capable of Vocal Learning.” Nature 24 Mar. 2005. Sanchez, R. “Interrogation and Counter-Resistance Policy.” 14 Sept. 2003. 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. Schultheiss, O.C., M.M. Wirth, and S.J. Stanton. “Effects of Affiliation and Power Motivation Arousal on Salivary Progesterone and Testosterone.” Hormones and Behavior 46 (2005). Sherry, N. The Life of Graham Greene. 3 vols. London: Jonathan Cape 2004, 1994, 1989. Silk Road. Printing. 2000. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.silk-road.com/artl/printing.shtml>. Smith, T. “Elpida Licenses ‘DVD on a Chip’ Memory Tech.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. —. “Intel Boffins Build First Continuous Beam Silicon Laser.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. Watson, R. S. “Eyes And Ears: Dramatic Memory Slicing and Salable Media Content.” Innovation and Speculation, ed. Brad Haseman. Brisbane: QUT. [in press] Watson, R. S. Visions. Melbourne: Curriculum Corporation, 1994. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Watson, Robert. "E-Press and Oppress: Audio Visual Print Drama, Identity, Text and Motion Picture Rebellion." M/C Journal 8.2 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/08-watson.php>. APA Style Watson, R. (Jun. 2005) "E-Press and Oppress: Audio Visual Print Drama, Identity, Text and Motion Picture Rebellion," M/C Journal, 8(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/08-watson.php>.