Popular Media and Communication : Essays on Publics, Practices and Processes [1 ed.] 9781443810340, 9781847186263

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Popular Media and Communication

Popular Media and Communication: Essays on Publics, Practices and Processes

Edited by

Karen Ross and Stuart Price

Cambridge Scholars Publishing

Popular Media and Communication: Essays on Publics, Practices and Processes, Edited by Karen Ross and Stuart Price This book first published 2008 by Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2008 by Karen Ross and Stuart Price and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-84718-626-2, ISBN (13): 9781847186263

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Editors’ Introduction ................................................................................... 1 I – Media/Public Mobile Forms of Communication and the Transformation of Relations Between the Public and Private Spheres ..................................................... 5 Bob Jeffery Back to the Future: the Past and Present of Mobile TV ............................ 24 Gabriele Balbi and Benedetta Prario Rock Star Supernova: A Case Study in Producing Medium Metamorphosis and Creative Displacement through Convergent Media and Interactive Technologies ............................................................................................. 41 Deborah E. R. Hanan II – Media workers and professional identity The Professional Ideology of Campaign Journalism ................................. 60 Jen Birks Top Gear as a Bastion of Heterosexual Masculinity ................................. 82 Angela Smith III – Media industries and policy concerns The Creative Industries in Scotland: Flexible Friends or Foes? .............. 102 Rita Marcella, Lorraine Illingworth and Graeme Baxter The Politics of UK Television Policy: BBC Charter Renewal and the ‘Crisis’ of Public Service Broadcasting ...................................... 130 Paul Smith

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IV – Communicating politics ‘Yo Blair!’ Informality, Agency and Power: Tales of Subservience and National Identity ............................................................................... 152 Stuart Price Walking the Net: Smooth Space and Alternative Media Forms .............. 168 Pollyanna Ruiz Contributors............................................................................................. 191

EDITORS’ INTRODUCTION

This collection of essays has its origins in the MeCCSA 2007 conference held in Coventry in January that year. Like most edited volumes which emerge from conference contexts, this one comprises a richly diverse set of original papers which span the various themes and topics which together make up the fascinating field of media and communication. The book is broadly divided into four sections: media/public; media workers and professional identity; media industries and policy concerns; and political communication. The first section contains three essays. The first, by Bob Jeffery considers mobile forms of communication and the ways in which relations between the private and public spheres are being transformed by these new technologies. In his essay, he stresses contextual issues and considers, at a theoretical level, those aspects of ‘modern’ society which are working in conjunction with the mobile phone to alter the public/private dichotomy. Here, emphasis is placed on the themes of: emergent practices, community, authority, domestication and etiquette and notions of space. However, rather than focusing solely on perceived change the essay also considers continuities and adaptation in social action, drawing on a range of ethnographic research. The second essay, by Gabriele Balbi and Benedetta Prario is also concerned with mobile technologies, this time charting a historical path in terms of technological change in Italy, from the Telephone Herald to its current manifestation via mobile TV. Supported by theoretical works, the paper aims to illustrate two different aspects of technological change: the first is to ask whether and how Mobile TV could be considered a novelty or substantially as a 'return to the future' and the second questions the continuing utility of differentiating between point to point and multicast communication. The article is structured in three sections: the first describes the meaning of the Telephone Herald, its uses and benefits; the second part examines Mobile TV and its format in Italy; and the third part illustrates that these two technologies do have differences, but also have much in common. The last essay in this section is by Deborah Hanan and is focused on an American reality show, Rock Star: Supernova. It begins with a narrative and structural synopsis of the show, its production personnel, and a

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Editors’ Introduction

description of how its audition selection consumer-jury processes work. It then provides some background on the show’s creator, Mark Burnett, the programming genre to which Rock Star belongs, and an exploration of how this genre, and Rock Star: Supernova in particular, is being used to transform the creative relationships and processes while undermining the bargaining power of creative labour. This is followed by a discussion on medium and genre specificity, and the ways in which the show breaches specific conventions that make the assignations “music” and “rock” meaningful categories. The final section explores the aesthetic, political and economic implications of RSSn in the context of the current media environment, and offers suggestions for further research in the areas of doit-yourself culture, juried-creativity, and socio-political resistance. The second section is concerned with media workers and professional identity and comprises two essays. Jen Birks looks at the practices of campaign journalism in the Scottish press and compares it with the dominant conventions of responsibility and accountability. The journalistic norms of objectivity and balance emerged, arguably, in the liberal model of the press as a self-regulating sector which takes professional responsibility seriously so as to make accountability to an external body unnecessary and enable the press to retain their autonomy. If these norms are deliberately rejected in the practice of campaign journalism then such a lack of accountability is no longer defensible, and claims of public responsibility must be justified. Here, she uses her own data from interviews conducted with journalists in local and regional (quasi-national) newspapers in post-devolution Scotland, with particular reference to a central case study, and findings help illuminate how journalists see their role and account for their actions, and allow the implications for democratic function to be considered. An analysis of the TV show, Top Gear, in terms of its circulation of heteronormative renditions of rugged masculinity is the topic of Angela Smith’s essay. In her paper, she explores the construction of heterosexual masculinities in the BBC show, arguing that there has been little detailed analysis of broadcast masculinities, although much work has recently been carried out on the construction of the ‘new lad’ in lifestyle magazines. In particular, Bethan Benwell’s work has explored how the ‘new lad’ is constructed in men’s lifestyle magazines in Britain, and Smith draws on Benwell’s work in developing her arguments around broadcast masculinities. The ‘humour’ of the show is specifically discussed in relation to the observation that the new lad oscillates between heroic and anti-heroic stances. Traditional masculinity is seen as a new lad aspiration, but where anti-heroism becomes the default position when this ambition

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either fails or is deemed too narcissistic or insufficiently ironic. It also shows how the programme’s three co-presenters collaborate with guests and studio audience to construct a form of new lad masculinity that meets broadcasting constraints whilst courting controversy through the extensive use of irony and banter. The third section looks at media industries and policy concerns and begins with an essay by Rita Marcella, Lorraine Illingworth and Graeme Baxter which is based on a funded research project looking at women’s experiences in the creative industries in Scotland. Of particular interest in their study were the barriers, problems and difficulties encountered by women in terms of employment, career progression, work-life balance, training and income-generating opportunities. In particular, it explores equality policy and practice, from the perspective of both employers and employees, and identifies examples of good practice which could be adopted more widely across the sector. Paul Smith’s essay focuses on the debates around the BBC’s Charter Renewal and considers the politics of UK television policy in the context of a growing disquiet about the role and purpose of public service broadcasting. His paper briefly summarises how, during the early 1980s and 1990s public service broadcasting in Britain came under attack on three interconnected fronts: party political, technological and ideological. The remainder of the paper considers how, broadly speaking, during the current Charter Renewal process the BBC has come under attack on the same three fronts: first, the news management techniques pursued by New Labour have led, indirectly, if not directly, to unprecedented conflict between the government and the BBC; second, digitalisation has led to an explosion in the number of channels available to UK viewers and the possibility of new delivery platforms, such as Broadband; and thirdly, the principles of economic regulation, rather than public service broadcasting, have gained increased currency in the assessment and regulation of BBC services by policy makers and regulators. The last section looks specifically on political communication. The first of the two essays in this section is by Stuart Price and analyses the informal exchanges between George Bush and Tony Blair on the subject of Lebanon which were carried by the world’s media on July 17th and July 18th 2006. In this exemplary case study, the process of ‘cutting a deal’ is itself subject to scrutiny, with all the hesitations, vagueness and selfcorrections one expects to encounter in ‘everyday’ conversation. After an initial comparison of formal and informal communication styles, the chapter goes on to plot the themes and perspectives animated within British newspaper coverage. The paper contends that the casual

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Editors’ Introduction

masculinist discourse of Bush, including the production of straightforward directives, highlights his role as the public functionary of a ruthless executive, while the clear implicature that he opposes Blair’s trip to the Middle East, punctures the latter’s habitual displays of his own ‘heroic’ agency. The larger political context of the episode reveals how difficult it is to identify the process of transition from collective will to effective activity, yet also throws into relief flaws in notions of a mediated democracy. The last essay in the collection is by Pollyanna Ruiz and considers the ways in which the internet has assisted in the development of the antiglobalisation movement where she argues that the movement’s desire to create a non-hierarchical networked means of communication preceded the means of satisfying it. In order to illustrate this contention, her paper maps a route through four alternative media publications; the Socialist Worker, the Greenham Factor, Circus Free (an anti-criminal justice bill newssheet) and Indymedia. It examines the political strengths and limitations of ‘striated’ formats such as the Socialist Worker and explores the ways in which small-scale publications such as the Greenham Factor and Circus Free created ‘smooth spaces’ within the boundaries of paper-based formats. It highlights the ways in which internet-based media forms, such as Indymedia, have both furthered and formalised the anti-globalisation movement’s escape from traditionally ‘arborescent’, print-based systems. In conclusion, we believe that, within the wide-ranging subject matter our authors have considered, a common theme emerges. This is the way in which contemporary communication acts are structured by a number of closely related forces; capital, technology, social norms, resistive practices and gendered subjectivity all contribute to the production of public meaning. As the editors of this volume, we are indebted to our contributors for helping to generate this important insight into the composition of a diverse and challenging media landscape.

Karen Ross and Stuart Price Editors 2008

MOBILE FORMS OF COMMUNICATION AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF RELATIONS BETWEEN THE PUBLIC AND PRIVATE SPHERES BOB JEFFERY

Mobile communications have transformed the way people interact in those countries where technology, economics and policy have intersected to foster its profusion. That much would appear self-evident. Anecdotally we can call up a host of archetypal instances of mobile communications impacting upon our everyday lives in ways which less than two decades ago (in an age of fixed-line telephony) would seem peculiar to say the least. For example; debating the relative merits of brands at the supermarket with your partner over the telephone, an unintended consequence of the call you made to check whether the house is ‘ok for milk’, your manager calling you ‘out of hours’ to verify the details of next Tuesday’s meeting, the slowly festering annoyance of being held up on a commuter train while your fellow passengers bring their private lives to your inescapable attention, the anecdotes go on and on. However what may have been termed ‘peculiar’ in the recent past is quickly being absorbed into the ‘common sense’ of everyday, taken-for-granted, rituals and practices. The classic rationale for mobile phone purchase, ‘just in case of emergencies’ appears to be in the process of being subsumed by a new generation of teenagers for whom ‘ambient co-presence’ (or telepresence) and instant reach-ability are quite ordinary features of their social interactivity. This would appear to suggest that the mobile phone – the form of mobile communications on which this study will focus - has like all technological and cultural artifacts (See Spigel, 1990) been subjected to a process of domestication. At this stage I will not enter into further detail as all of these issues will be unpacked in due course. However, suffice to say, that as this process of domestication has occurred relatively recently, the emergent communications practices of the past few years are thrown into relief when compared to the very recent past, and so helpfully highlight many of the social transformations which may be in evidence.

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Mobile Forms of Communication and the Transformation of Relations Between the Public and Private Spheres

In the course of researching this piece I have encountered many examples of instances in which the mobile phone can be thought to have had an impact on social relations and issues of space, each with their own sociological, cultural, and philosophical accounts and explanations. For the sake of simplicity I have attempted to treat these thematically under the headings: emergent practices, community, ‘authority’, domestication and etiquette, and space. All that cannot be dealt with under these headings will be reviewed at the end of this piece. Before we move onto a consideration of these themes however, I would like to consider the philosophical, sociological and political underpinnings of our conceptions of: the public/private dichotomy, the rhetoric of the ‘network society’ or ‘Information Age’, the postmodern ‘individualistic’ self, and the theoretical issues of time/space compression and ‘mobile privitisation’ (Williams, 1983: 187-9). Slater’s paper on the public/private in Jenks’ (1998) ‘Core Sociological Dichotomies’ provides us with a useful introduction into how space is organized around these two poles. Slater demonstrates the cultural contingency within concepts of space as he traces the category’s evolution and transformation from the Hellenistic-Roman period where the res publica – the public sphere – was considered the realm of free association for free citizens in contrast to the household (the site of the domestic economy) from which it maintained a rigid separation (Slater, 1998: 138). Slater then pinpoints modernity as marking an epistemological shift in human understanding whereby the public sphere was transformed into a site of danger, competition, public scrutiny and interference (Hobbes: ‘Man is a wolf to men’). Slater states: ‘[…] the private world of the individual, family and intimacy is now commonly regarded as the primary source of authentic values’ (Slater, 1998: 139). This conception of the private sphere, dominated by the household, the ‘nuclear family’ of modernity, as the site of intimacy may be seen as critical for this investigation as it is this intimate world’s penetration by mobile telephony that is considered by some as a socially destabalising force and provides a rich vein of value judgements for critics of the technology to deploy. I would like at this point to draw the reader’s attention to the contradictory, irrational and somewhat arbitrary nature of the categories public/private, as when Slater argues: When we think of privacy as the domestic, intimate and familial world, we associate it with (for example) emotion rather than reason, affection rather than competition, nurture rather than manufacture, substantive values rather than monetary or material bonds. (ibid: 144)

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Slater goes on to suggest that these categories are anchored in the ‘naturalness’ of women as opposed to the reason of man. This demonstrates that these categories (like all) are not value-free but contain within them (in the form of binary oppositions) embedded assumptions about power relations, gender roles and the maintenance of a certain social order - we should thus be skeptical about their deployment within a given argument. The other points of relevance from Slater’s arguments are the idealisation of youth in the modern period, which came to be represented in terms of transcendent innocence (as we shall see, the privatising nature of the mobile is creating new spaces for adolescents in particular which are outside the regulatory regime of their parents). In the postmodern period Slater draws our attention to the ‘injunction to authenticity’ over the private individual in the public sphere (Sennett, 1977) which can also be seen in terms of a culture of self-promotion, and seondly, the ascendance of ‘bio-politics’ is cited as a factor which further problematises our understandings of privacy: ‘[…] the rising therapeutic and counseling professions, consultancies, publications and businesses transform a vast range of private concerns into matters of public contractual relations, expertise, social institutions’ (Slater, 1998: 149). What I hope this rather lengthy diversion has demonstrated is the contingency of the categories we are dealing with, but also, that if mobile phones can be seen to be ‘muddying the waters’ of the public/private divide, then these waters are also being muddied by a variety of other processes. The second theoretical backdrop to the rise of mobile telephony is what I would term the rhetoric of the Information Age, which has received widespread treatment and debate within cultural studies in recent years, from the prophets (see Wark, 2004; Lash, 2002) to the skeptics (Robins & Webster, 1999; Morley, 2003). The widespread reorganisation of capital – the ‘fluidity’ of global finance - in the developed West, the ascendance of global communications and digital technology, has transformed aspects of work life, leisure activity and travel. However, I would follow the skeptics in resisting the ‘Information Age’ as a totalising meta-narrative: […] much recent social-scientific investigation of new information and communications technologies (ICTs) has an implicitly critical orientation to totalizing theoretical terms such as the ‘information age’ or ‘virtual society’. (Cooper et al., 2003)

While social and technological developments allow certain classes to transcend national boundaries in an era of ‘liquid modernity’ (see Bauman, 2000), others remain rooted in locality, and while the Internet and other

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Mobile Forms of Communication and the Transformation of Relations Between the Public and Private Spheres

technologies allow for new opportunities to acquire knowledge, build businesses and develop new forms of community, such technologies are by no means either universally available or universally taken up. Indeed, in the course of this piece there is much continuity I would wish to stress between pre- and post-mobile social action. These continuities challenge the assertion that this ‘new’ techno-culture represents a complete rupture in methods of thought and action. These technological-discourses will be returned to later in reference to our shifting conceptions of geography. The third theoretical point that needs to be considered in relation to mobile use is the rise of the ‘individualistic self’. I have already made reference to a culture of self-promotion within advanced capitalist nations; this point is elaborated by Bauman (2000: 74): There are so many areas in which we need to be more competent, and each calls for ‘shopping around’. We ‘shop’ for the skills needed to earn our living and for the means to convince would-be employers that we have them; for the kind of image it would be nice to wear and ways to make others believe that we are what we wear […]

This culture of individualism/self-promotion (of which I am only scratching the surface) disputes our understanding of the mobile phone as penetrating the private sphere, when it would seem that within certain capitalist cultures there is an injunction to put yourself (your private sphere) ‘out-there’, to hold yourself up for scrutiny, to be available at all times of the day, to prove your connections (Nardi, et al, 2000), to engage in self-improvement, to multi-task. In this case we need to be wary of the discourses of techno-determinism which posit the mobile as an alien force contaminating the hallowed space of the private, and think instead about the ways in which we adopt this device in keeping with our own agency and value systems (even traditions) and those which are determined by the wider society or culture. To conclude this introduction, I would like to address a few additional theoretical conceptions around which the ethnographic studies I will use as my examples may be interrogated. The first is that of time-space compression, alluded to above in my discussion of the Information Age, which focuses on how time can be managed and space ‘transcended’ (to an extent) through the use of technologies as diverse as cars, trains, planes, VCR’s, microwave meals, to name but a few. It is suggested by various authors that these technologies foster certain attitudes and obligations to the treatment of time and space within society: […] we argue that the mobile phone is a tool that enables one to be efficient by working through a capitalist conceptualization of time as

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malleable – spendable, wasteable, stretchable and contractible. (Nafus & Tracey, 2002: 215)

Following from time-space compression we have the interrelated concept of mobile privatisation, first posited by Williams (1983), who argues that a variety of technologies have the inherent capacity to withdraw individuals into private worlds, for example, the walkman, the motor car, the PDA and the Ipod, while at the same time allowing those persons freedom of movement, thus bringing the private into the public. Again it is suggested that this may be a useful schema for understanding the implications of mobile telephony: Following the ideas of contemporary philosopher Jean Baudrillard (1991), we may say that mobile phone users become immersed in the rhythm of the device, closing themselves off into a ‘soliatry’ contact with their telepartner (Kopomaa, 2000: 39). One of the most striking aspects of mobiles is that […] they are almost always construed as under the ownership of a single person, whereas fixed-line phones are considered a public ‘utility’, even if the ‘publicness’ is with respect to the ‘private’ home (Nafus & Tracey, 2002: 212).

So, in the second item, whereas the fixed line telephone is conceived of as a social resource (shared between the members of a family), the mobile is privatised to the ownership of one, in effect becoming that person’s virtual address, on the presupposition that only ‘this’ individual and not ‘that’ individual will answer a call.

Emergent Practices I will now begin an analysis of the aforementioned thematic topics, beginning wiyh what I have termed ‘emergent practices’, although I acknowledge that many of these emergent practices have their roots within quite familiar social processes. The first phenomena I wish to examine in reference to our poles of public and private, is that of hyper-coordination. This refers to the capacity of the mobile phone to allow individuals and groups to coordinate themselves more efficiently than in the era of fixed-line telephony. The relevance to our question is in to what extent may a new regime of hypercoordination impact upon traditional notions of privacy. To give an example of hyper-coordination: ‘[…] sitting in a traffic jam and calling ahead to the meeting to let them know you will be late’ (Ling & Yttri, 2002: 143). Indeed, due to these developments Kopomaa (2000) has

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Mobile Forms of Communication and the Transformation of Relations Between the Public and Private Spheres

commented that we may have reached the end of punctuality as a moral obligation. This is driven by an expectation that in giving a reason for being late, you are excusing yourself of any recrimination and, indeed, you are relieving the person who is expecting you of the ‘anxiety of uncertainty’. The reason I highlight this example is it represents the expectation of reciprocity in communication without particular reference to where you may be (public or private sphere). That is to say that you may be carrying out some aspect of your private life (dropping the kids off at school) yet be expected to maintain contact with your public life (work) if the former should make you late for the latter. The next point I would like to consider is that of ambient co-presence (Kopomaa, 2000) - or telepresence – which refers to an emerging practice of social interactivity, a ‘virtual’ aspect of a relationship which reinforces a sense of ‘closeness’ (even intimacy) between the individuals involved: The mobile phone network allows users to maintain the feeling of closeness in the form of telepresence, without actual physical proximity: because of the continuous accessibility offered by the phone, other people are always present. (Kopomaa, 2000: 46)

The establishment of intimacy and the transference of pre-mobile communicative behaviours into the space created by mobile telephony have been noted by various authors; Mizuko Ito describes how her interviewees likened a text message to establish if a friend was awake (before initiating a voice call) to a ‘[…] long distance tap on the shoulder’ (Ito, 2001: 8). She also suggests that text messages about ‘trivial stuff’, which does not seek a response (such as ‘I’m sleepy’), are strategies for entering someone’s ‘peripheral vision’. The metaphors of ‘real’ presence that we find are striking. Perhaps we can then postulate that these actions are developments from strategies of communication in real presence to those of telepresence. At this point I would like to say a few words about Georg Simmel and his theories concerning the city (see Bridge & Watson, 2002; Cooper et al, 2003). Simmel argued that the city is fundamentally alienating in the way that individuals are drawn together while existing as strangers to each other (we will return to this concept in our later discussion of etiquette). We may also argue that in the ‘city’ familial and friendship networks are stretched across the city, and that individual ‘nodes’ within the network may be seen as isolated within a sea of unfamiliarity. I don’t want to stretch this point too far as I am certain that large numbers of individuals are perfectly familiar with their locales and neighbours, but as a general statement I think it holds ground. In this situation, the social actions of a

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tap on the shoulder or entering someone’s peripheral vision (facilitated by the technology of the mobile phone) may be seen as ‘normal’ socialising actions (albeit carried out from afar) transformed to suit this new media. I now want to think about how these emerging practices are impacting on the social aspects of work. Plant has argued that while the conversations of fixed-line telephony are ‘[…] entirely integrated into the scripts and procedures of working life, the mobile makes it likely that even important business calls will be received in very different contexts’ (Plant, 2002: 50). This may be seen as one example where the boundaries of public/private are blurring, but again needs to be seen in the wider context, namely, the restructuring of work life - especially for the professional classes -characteristic of advanced capitalism. In their paper ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know: work in the Information Age’, Nardi et al. (2000), drawing on the work of Castells (1996) and Latour (1996), stress the requirement to network in certain professions. They argue that collaborative workers are no longer as likely as they once were to be colocated (in the same building or the same company), and that the rise of businesses which outsource, sub-contract, collaborate or deal with dispersed media and government agencies means that the maintenance of social/professional networks assumes a key role, for example: We found that workers experience stresses such as remembering who is in the network, knowing what people in the network are currently doing and where they are located, making careful choices from among many media to communicate effectively with people, and being mindful to ‘keep in touch’ with contacts who may prove useful in the near or distant future. (Nardi et al., 2000: 4)

While only being one of various media utilised by these workers (including email and fax), the mobile had a clear role in the management of these professional relationships. The use of the mobile as something which transgresses the boundaries of the public and private is also accounted for by some of these workers (domestication), as with this respondent who explains her strategies for negotiating this liminal zone: Rachel (respondent): I talk to them. I realize that they are in their home setting. I don’t call them up and talk business right away. […] For example, one of my programmers off site is working on fixing up his house. I’ll call him up and say, ‘Hey! How’s your floor going? or ‘Your windows!’ and kind of get into his world. [...] It’s just sometimes invasive or intrusive [the business call], and you need to walk a fine line whereby you have that kind of intermediary language. (Nardi et al., 2000: 20)

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Mobile Forms of Communication and the Transformation of Relations Between the Public and Private Spheres

While clearly, this is only representative of a certain limited sector within the workforce, it illustrates how the less-clearly-defined borders of public/private spheres are being organised to take account of mobile telephony and other mobile communications. Another example of the impact of mobile telephony within social networks is offered by Ling and Yttri (2002) who describe the practices of school children in Norway who utilise the mobile to maintain contact during lessons. Ling and Yttri suggest that in this situation the mobile phone is taking the place of the ‘passing of notes’ as a way in which children communicate illicitly. One of their respondents, ‘Erika’, explains how a boy who is interested in her will not speak to her face-to-face but ‘dares’ to send her a message. Again, the continuity between the old practice, of passing notes, and the new practice, of sending texts is striking. Ling and Yttri also highlight the potential for reflexivity embodied in this technological form: An SMS message allows one to compose the text deliberately and perhaps confer with a jury of friends about the content. The message goes directly to the individual, meaning that there is no need to broadcast one’s interest to the other person’s parents by using the family telephone. (Ling and Yttri, 2002: 161)

Issues around the ‘concealment’ that this technology affords are a recurring theme, but are expressed in a multitude of practices. Plant (2002) observed in the course of her research that 60% of lone women identified in cafés, bars and other public spaces displayed their mobile at the table at which they were sat. When asked the reasoning for this action, many responded that it was a valuable means of keeping unwanted attentions at bay ‘[…] and can even legitimise solitude: I’m not alone, I’m with my mobile phone’ (Plant, 2002: 42). In another study, Cooper et al., (2003) describe an event in which a girl (on a train) receives an upsetting phone call, begins to cry, and then plays with some function of her phone to avoid the gaze of her fellow passengers. The researchers suggest that a potentially embarrassing display of emotion is handled by a ‘systematic avoidance of engagement with co-present others’ (Cooper et al., 2003: 293). The point is that these actions, avoiding attention/concealing embarrassment are not ‘new’ social phenomena, rather, that the mobile has been enlisted and adapted to suit these purposes, and secondly, that the mobile phone can be an instrument to create privacy (mobile privitisation) rather than simply being a device which shatters it. In other areas related to this topic of ‘concealment’ we find people reporting that it is much easier to lie to others through their mobile phone

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(especially with SMS messages) - which conceals the physical aspects of communication - with some individuals reporting that they had two selves; a real self, and an SMS persona (Kasensiemi and Rautianen, 2002: 179182). We even find a respondent who was suspicious of her husband getting a second mobile (even though she had two herself) as this mobile would constitute a second address through which an illicit affair might be conducted (anecdotally, I once worked with a man who maintained three mobiles for this very purpose). I will return to these issues below when I consider the theme; ‘authority’, for the moment it is sufficient to note that these concealments may be facilitated by the absence of a socially disciplining public sphere.

Community I would now like to take a brief look at the implications of mobile use on community. While in countries such as the UK, few functions beyond text messaging, taking pictures (but not sharing them to any great degree) and WAP phones have been widely adopted, whereas in Japan, the established Imode internet service offers the full range of internet options (see Rheingold, 2003), with the advent of 3G, the recent introduction of the Imode service to the UK and the possibility of television on your mobile, the full range of social uses of these features may be considered in tandem with the more traditional uses of the mobile phone. However I would like to keep my observations at a general level, as too little ethnographic research exists for these emerging functions. Community is a useful lens through which to consider our primary issue of the public/private (as this is the site where the two spheres intersect). To the extent that mobile phones ‘privitise’ individuals from one another they could be held to be damaging to the public sphere (in contrast to the argument that they penetrate the private sphere). On the other hand, if through their various uses they can be utilised to foster community, the mobile could be seen as strengthening and/or preserving public sphere (though perhaps not in its current format). The fluctuating form of the public sphere is illustrated in Gitlin’s paper ‘Public Sphere or Public Sphericules’ which argues that a unitary public sphere is weakening in response to audience fragmentation, but that ‘[…] distinct communities of information and participation are multiplying, robust and brimming with self confidence’ (Gitlin, 1998: 170). Gitlin’s arguments relate primarily to the Internet as a meeting place for virtual communities, but as we shall see there are many potentially socializing functions to the mobile as well. Rheingold (2003) reports that the use of mobile dating agencies is

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Mobile Forms of Communication and the Transformation of Relations Between the Public and Private Spheres

widespread among Tokyo’s youth and young adults, and argues that the text function was adapted to social ends in the same as was the ‘chat’ option on the Minitel (which was not anticipated to be a major function), France’s early precursor to the Internet. Elsewhere, Plant (2002: 75) discusses the role of texting in the overthrow of President Estrada of the Philippines and the anti-globalisation protests of Seattle and Genoa. More recently we may look to the rioting in the Parisian banlieue, as an example where texting has been deployed to organise protests. Before I illustrate the issue of community with more prosaic, lessexceptional accounts of mobile community, I would like to address two more theoretical issues. The first is again raised by Gitlin (1998), who describes the emerging gap between the ‘information rich’ political classes, and the ‘information poor’. The second raised by Slater who stresses the need for ‘“[...] publicity” – in the sense that some actions be carried out under the cold scrutiny of the collective citizenry – is crucial to democracy’ (Slater, 1998: 141). We may thus suggest that the penetration of the private sphere by an increasingly multi-functional mobile technology could in fact be advantageous to certain groups, others (who for instance may be able to afford a phone, but not monthly Internet subscription) would fall behind, and while the realm of the private may be left untouched by the intrusion of mobile-Internet, their access to public life (political participation, employment) may be impeded by dint of their status as ‘information poor’. To give examples of this, the London congestion charge can now be paid by text message, and government policy reviews in recent years have favoured the increased use of ICT’s to deliver services (see Van Winden, 2001). This point demonstrates that the public/private dichotomy is by no means clear cut, and should not be treated as such. To return to our examples of ‘mobile community’, Ling and Yttri (2002: 162) describe the use of idiomatic slang within texting groups in Norway: The use of slang, that is newly created words used by a limited group, denotes the group as unique and separate from other social groupings. It provides the group with a sense of intimacy and in-group solidarity.

Again, I would like to stress the normal, everyday use of slang, in particular by school children, and suggest that the use of collective messaging in this way represents a form of continuity in terms of social actions. As for the issue of disturbing lessons, we will return to this theme in our discussion of etiquette.

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Finally in this section, I want to consider what I have termed ‘mobile media events’, derived and inspired by Dayan and Katz’s work on televisual ‘Media Events’ (1992). In this work they suggest the unitary influence of mass communication’s ‘high holidays’, events such as the burial of President Kennedy, the wedding of Charles and Diana. The unifying impact of more everyday national broadcasting can also be seen in the work of Scannell (1990) and Silverstone (1997). In terms of live mobile events, the format can barely be described as being its infancy, to date there have been a few small concerts transmitted by 3G. However, with the recent purchase of Greenwich’s Millennium Dome by entertainments group AEG and mobile provider O21, plans are in the process to broadcast large scale events to mobiles. Again, I do not wish to speculate too much on events yet to take place but I would say this has the potential to challenge the some of the concepts found in Dayan and Katz: ‘Media events privilege the home. This is where the ‘historic’ version of the event is on view, the one that will be entered into collective memory’ (1992: 22). Rather than just thinking about how the mobile may penetrate the home, we might also like to think of the ways in which it is disembedding some of the established functions of the home and allowing them to be performed ‘outside’ in ‘non-traditional’ settings.

‘Authority’ Following on from my earlier reference to ‘concealment’, in this section I will be taking a deeper look into the ways in which mobile telephony can be seen to open up or create new spaces outside of traditional systems of authority or regulation. However, it is crucial to understand that these systems are subject to change regardless of the impact of the mobile phone. For example, the restructuring of social housing in many British cities during the 20th century could be cited as an example of the ‘scattering’ and displacement of disciplining familial networks, as Cohen argued in his ‘Rethinking the Youth Question’ (1985, especially, chapter 2). The crucial point to make is that a variety of contextual factors influence the potential uses of mobiles (or for that matter any technology), and that its uses should not be seen in a vacuum. The first example I offer concerns adolescents, adolescence being a time when children are perhaps less concerned with their family and more concerned with building peer relationships: ‘The mobile […] taps into that in that it provides adolescents with their own personal communication channel’ (Ling and Yttri, 2002: 162). The example of Japanese youth (eg

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Ito, 2001: Rheingold, 2003) illustrates cultural specificity in the power relations of public/private: The Japanese urban home is tiny by middle-class American standards, and teens and children generally share a room with a sibling or parent. Most college students in Tokyo live with their parents, often even after they begin work, as the costs of renting an apartment in an urban area are prohibitively high. (Ito, 2001: 4)

In these circumstances it is easy to understand why mobile take-up amongst Japan’s youth has been so high; it is deployed to create spaces of privacy between peers beyond the regulating ‘gaze’ of the parent, as with this respondent: Student1: We don’t [visit each other’s homes]. It’s not that we are uncomfortable, or our parents get on our case, but it’s like they are too sweet and caring, and you worry about saying something rude. You can’t be rowdy. So we don’t meet in our homes (Ito, 2001: 5).

Ito then deploys Massey’s (1994) notion of the ‘power geometries of space’ to suggest that the mobile phone is used as a tool to overcome the limitations of: being able to do what you like at home, but having no access to your friends, and of being at school, having access to your friends but not being able to do what you like. The enlistment of any tool which allows adolescents to overcome their deficiency of power in relation to their parents and the wider society is neither a new nor surprising phenomenon, I would argue. If we try to see the continuity in the way in which the familiar form of ‘teenage rebellion’ (for want of a better word) is adapted to the options facilitated by mobile telephony, we should be able to resist any simple notions of technological determinism. Incidentally the inverse of this use of the mobile phone is suggested by Nafus and Tracey (2002: 212), namely, the mobile as a ‘digital leash’ with which parents can monitor their children. Nafus and Tracey further cite the suggestion by Hirsh and Silverstone (1992: 15-31) that the household forms the center of a ‘moral economy’, and I would suggest that this a useful frame for us to use when contemplating the fear or anxiety expressed in relation to intrusions into this hallowed space. I would like to continue with a few more examples of mobile telephony’s circumvention of authority. The first is taken from Rheingold (2003: 32) who describes the collaboration of ‘fare-dodgers’ on Stockholm’s public transport, who exchange SMS texts to alert one another to the presence of ticket inspectors. Here we could suggest that a ‘private’ network is established to circumvent the regulatory regime of the

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public sphere. Perhaps more interestingly, Plant (2002: 56) highlights the case of a woman in Dubai who was able to contact her fiancé through her mobile (sometimes while watching him across the street) though she was unable to meet him face-to-face due to restrictions imposed by traditional custom. In this scenario, we may hypothesize that in circumventing traditional customs, the uses of mobile telephony may have the ability to enact cultural change (indeed Plant explains that mobile use is strictly forbidden amongst young girls in parts of Afghanistan for this very reason). And finally no discussion of mobile telephony, illicit behaviour and authority would be complete without reference to the phenomena of ‘happy slapping’. At its inception around the beginning of 2005, it was seen as a singularly British experience, the conjunction of camera phones and traditional British ‘thuggery’; however, this is no longer the case, and incidences have been reported across Europe2. The point I would like to make is that this deviant use must be seen in the context of the social conditions in which it arises, and of the agency of the individuals who commit such acts, not as an inherent feature of the technology itself. However, having said this, writers such as Sontag (1977) have argued forcefully for the role of images, and the investments humans make in them, to be acknowledged; following this philosophy, it should be possible to conduct research into the uses of cameraphone images as psychological investments. Indeed my original desire with this piece was to focus on the advent of the camera-phone in an age where the injunction is, as noted by Bauman (2000), to self-express. However, while some research exists on this topic (see Van House et al., 2005, 2005a; Okabe, 2004), it is still early days. Furthermore a lack of agreement between developers over a single file sharing format and the high cost of picture messaging has prevented this form of communication from becoming as ubiquitous as text messaging. To return to our discussion of ‘happy slapping’ I would argue that the space in which the most violent attacks occur are often private, in the sense of being hidden from the view of the public, but that through their cameraphone recording they can enter the public realm, and even be used as evidence against the attackers3. But no simple causal connections between the technology and social action can be drawn here.

Domestication and etiquette I would now like to take a brief look at the way the mobile’s disruption of the traditional public/private divide is accounted for by individuals in their everyday life. In Cooper’s article: ‘Mobile Society: Technology, Distance, Presence’ (2003) we find the invocation of Goffman’s (1959) concept of

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‘civil inattention’, that is, the systematic avoidance of ‘other’s’ gaze when in public scenarios (such as public transport). This is due to the fact that eye contact constitutes the realm of the private and intimacy and is considered inappropriate with strangers in that it penetrates their private sphere. What we find in mobile use in public, is that people adapt their bodily movements and gestures to maintain the barrier between their private phone call and the etiquette which is demanded in public situations. For example, on a confined space such as a train, individuals are observed moving to a window seat, looking downward or away from their fellow passengers, or using their hands to shield their faces from view (Cooper et al., 2003: 291). In more public areas such as the ‘high street’ we find space managed in other ways, people retreat into corners, or with their back against a wall facing out, to create the illusion of privacy (Kopomaa, 2000: 43-5). Elsewhere Plant (2002: 38) describes ethnographic research which concluded that the diners in restaurants around London’s Covent Garden were more likely to have their mobile on the table at which they were sititng if that restaurant did not have table cloths or waiters in attendance, suggesting that people are adapting their mobile use to the perceived degree of etiquette required in varying social situations. Aside from averting the gaze, Cooper also argues that it can be used as a method of disciplining co-present others whose conversation is intruding into one’s space: ‘[…] the management of gaze and gesture in public becomes one of the ways in which the boundary between public and private is negotiated […]’ (2003: 294). It has been suggested elsewhere that this ability of being able to switch ‘in and out’ of public and private space is fundamentally alienating to those in your company: Cell phone conversation typically establishes an ‘inside space’ (‘we who are conversing’) vs. an ‘outside space’ constituted by those within earshot but prevented from participating. The fact that ‘it doesn’t matter whether you [the co-present other] listen or not underscores the insignificance of the outsider’. (Gergen, 2002: 238)

This could certainly be a factor in the irritation experienced by co-present others, even those who are known to the person on the mobile (see Ling and Yttri, 2002; Plant, 2002). This said, increasingly we are seeing normative behaviour patterns established in sites as diverse as the workplace, the cinema, the school, the hospital, public transport and many other areas of public life. Indeed accepting a call in these situations is most often met by embarrassment on the part of the recipient and disciplining stares on the part of the co-present others.

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Space Much of what I have discussed so far has been implicitly related to concepts of space, management of space and the regulatory regimes of different spaces. However in this segment I would like to address space explicitly and in the wider sense by relating mobile use to a putative ‘end of geography’. Meyrowitz (1997: 42-50) in particular has argued that electronic media permeate and ‘soften’ what were ‘hard’ physical boundaries, bypassing ‘passage’, that is, the movement across liminal zones which previously may have been a time to re-adjust ourselves from one regulatory system to another, from a public mode to a private one for example. Nevertheless, I would resist Meyrowitz’s somewhat moralistic tone: ‘[…] electronic media invades places […]’ (1997: 49) as an oversimplification. A similar line of inquiry is suggested by Gergen, whose specific argument is that the advent of printing created a situation in which, for the first time, ‘absent voices were now present and, as they are absorbed, the claims of local community are diminished’ (Gergen, 2002: 228). His argument follows that this situation is exacerbated by the rise of television, radio, the internet and mobile. In any case, I would suggest that the alienation from locale also be seen in the context of densely populated urban living, and increased mobility. On the other side of this argument, we find the reassertion of geography; Morley for instance notes the continuing pertinence of the question ‘where are you’ (Morley, 2003: 44). This allows the participants to adjust language to match their understandings of given contexts and situations; furthermore it perhaps also provides some form of reassurance against the ‘place-less-ness’ of the co-present other. Perhaps the most appropriate suggestion is that of Cooper’s: The logic of this argument would suggest that a reconfiguration of space and time is taking place, a reconfiguration that implies that the form and purpose of the communication is what comes to describe ‘public’ and ‘private’, rather than the space in which that communication is carried out. (Cooper et al., 2003: 291)

We can thus argue that rather than place disappearing (Meyrowitz), it is being reconstituted in forms more appropriate to the organisational and technological structure of society; an epistemological shift. Interestingly, the camera-phone offers a possibility to constitute space in an entirely different way again; however as noted earlier, the form is still in its infancy.

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I would now like to consider two more theoretical points relevant to this debate. First, that of intergenerational difference; the rapid development of technology often creates a situation in which the attitudes of older generations are at odds with newer generations who have ‘grown up’ with a certain technology (see Ling and Yttri , 2002). This may be one way of interrogating discourses of technology which posit an explicitly moral argument. Secondly, we may find it useful to consider the mobile as a totemic object: ‘[f]etish-object rather than medium, the mobile phone has the ability to fulfill all fantasies of power and exclusive possession of the person close to one, such as one’s mother’ (de Gournay, 2002: 201; see also Leal, 1990). This concept is a constructive way of thinking through the ‘need’ felt by individuals to be in possession of their mobile, and its consequent extension into situations previously considered private. To conclude I would like to identify some of the core themes of this work and attempt to make some general statements about the notions of public and private in the age of mobile telephony. First, that society, seen from the perspective of bi-politics, changes in Capital, or Simmel’s urban alienation, has been subject to immense changes in our conceptions of the public, the private, and of human liberty. Any theoretical explanations of mobile use must address these contextual issues. Secondly, that much continuity (‘long-distance tap on the shoulder’) exists in terms of social actions, alongside adaptation (‘hyper-coordination’), and domestication. Thirdly, that we can identify fields where mobile communications appear to be facilitating new actions, in terms of; community organisation, the possibility of contributing to cultural change (the women conversing with her fiancée in Dubai), of creating new divisions (‘info. rich and info. poor’), of privatising individuals, which could be seen as contributing to a weakening of the ‘traditional’ public sphere, and of reconfiguring our notions (but not weakening the importance) of geography. These last points can arguably be seen as forms of technological determinism in that the technology allows certain possibilities; however, any social determinants should never be viewed in isolation, and one should resist either a totalising or moralising approach which fails to take account of socio-cultural specificities. Finally I would like to echo the sentiments of Agamben in relation to proposed explorations of the public/private divide: When you take a classical distinction of the political-philosophical tradition such as public/private, then I find it much less interesting to insist on the distinction and bemoan the diminution of one of the terms, than to question it’s interweaving. I want to understand how the system operates. […] in order to understand what is really at stake here, we must learn to

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see these oppositions not as ‘di-chotomies’ but as ‘di-polarities’, not substantial, but tensional (Agamben, 2004: 612).

References Agamben, G. (2004) An Interview with Agamben by Ulrich Raulff. German Law Journal 5(5). Available at http://www.germanlawjournal.com/article.php?id=437) Bauman, Z (2000) Liquid Modernity Cambridge: Polity. Bridge, G. & Watson, S. (2002) The Blackwell City Reader Malden, MA: Blackwell. Castells, M. (1996) The Rise of the Network Society Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. Cohen, P. (1997) Rethinking the Youth Question: Education, Labour and Cultural Studies. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Cooper, G. (2002) The Mobile Society. London: Berg. Dayan, D. & Katz, E. (1992) Media Events: the live broadcasting of history Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press. De Gourney, C. (2002) Pretense of intimacy in France in Katz, J. E. and Aakhus, M. A. Perpetual Contact: mobile communication, private talk, public performance Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 193205 Gergen, K. (2002) The challenge of absent presence in Katz, J. E. and Aakhus, M. A. Perpetual Contact: mobile communication, private talk, public performance Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 227241 Gitlin, T (1998) Publics sphere or public sphericules in Liebes, T. and Curran, J. (eds) Media, Ritual, and Identity London: Routledge. pp. 168-174 Goffman, E. (1969) The Presentation of the Self in Everyday Life. London: Allen Lane. Ito, M. (2001) Mobile Phones, Japanese Youth, and the Re-placement of social contact. Available at www.itofisher.com/mito/archives/mobileyouth.pdf) Jenks, C., ed. (1998) Core Sociological Dichotomies London: Sage. Kasensiemi, E. and Rautianen, P. (2002) Mobile culture of children and teenagers in Finland in Katz, J. E. and Aakhus, M. A. Perpetual Contact: mobile communication, private talk, public performance Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 170-192

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Katz, J. & Aakhus, M., eds. (2002) Perpetual Contact: mobile communication, private talk, public performance Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kopomaa, T. (2000) The City in Your Pocket: Birth of the mobile information society Helsinki: Gaudamus. Latour, B. (1996) Aramis, or, the Love of Technology Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Leal, O. F. (1990) Popular Taste and Erudite Repertoire: The Place and Space of Television. Cultural studies, 4(1) pp. 19-29 Liebes, T. and Curran, J., eds. (1998) Media, Ritual, and Identity London: Routledge. Ling, R. and Yittri, B. (2002) Hyper-coordination via mobile phones in Norway in Katz, J. E. and Aakhus, M. A. Perpetual Contact: mobile communication, private talk, public performance Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 139-169 Massey, D. (1994) Space, Place and Gender Cambridge: Polity Meyrowitz, J. (1985) No Sense of Place: the impact of electronic media on social behavior. New York: Oxford University Press. —. (1997) The Seperation of Social Space from Physical Place in O’Sullivan, T. & Jewkes, Y. eds., (1997) Media Studies Reader London: Arnold. pp. 42-51 Morley, D. (2000) Home Territories: Media, Mobility, and Identity London: Routledge. —. (2003) What's Home Got To Do With It? : Contradictory dynamics in the domestication of technology and the dislocation of domesticity. European Journal of Cultural Studies 6(4): 435 458. Nafus, D. and Tracey, K. (2002) Mobile phone consumption and concepts of personhood in Katz, J. E. and Aakhus, M. A. Perpetual Contact: mobile communication, private talk, public performance Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. pp. 206-222 Nardi, B. A., Whittaker, S., Schwarz, H. (2000) It’s not what you know, its who you know, work in the information age. Available at http://www.firstmonday.org/issues/issue5_5/nardi/) O’Sullivan, T. & Jewkes, Y. eds., (1997) Media Studies Reader Arnold. Okabe, D. (2004) Emergent Social Practices, Situations and Relations through Everyday Camera Phone Use. Available at http://www.itofisher.com/mito/archives/okabe_seoul.pdf) Plant, S. (2002) On the Mobile: the effect of mobile telephones on social and individual life. Available at http://www.motorola.com/mot/doc/0/234_MotDoc.pdf)

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Rheingold, H. (2002) Smart Mobs: the next social revolution Cambridge, MA: Perseus. Sennett, R. (1977) The Fall of Public Man. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Silverstone, R. and Hirsh, E.(1992) Consuming Technologies: Media and Information in Domestic Spaces. London: Routledge. Silverstone, R., eds (1997) Visions of Suburbia London: Routledge. Sontag, S. (2002) On Photography London: Penguin. Spigel, L. (1990) Television in the Family Circle: The popular Reception of a New in P. Mellencamp (ed.) Logics of Television: essays in cultural criticism. London: BFI Books. Van House, N., Davis, M., Ames, M., Finn, M., Viswanathan, V. (2005) The Uses of Personal Networked Digital Imaging: An Empirical Study of Cameraphone Photos and Sharing. Available at http://www.sims.berkeley.edu/~vanhouse/van_house_chi_short.pdf) Van House, N., Davis, M., Ames, M., Finn, M., Viswanathan, V.. (2005a) The Social Life of Cameraphone Images. Available at http://www.sims.berkeley.edu/~vanhouse/Van%20House,%20Davis%2 0-%20The%20Social%20Life%20of%20Cameraphone%20Images.pdf) Van Winden, W. (2001) The End of Social Exclusion? On Information Technology Policy as a Key to Social Inclusion in Large Cities. Regional Studies, 35(9): 861-877. Webster, F. & Robbins, K.(1999) Times of the Technoculture: From the Information Society to the Virtual Life London: Routledge.

Notes 1

see http://www.techdigest.tv/ January 25, 2006. Accessed 13 March 2006. ‘Happy Slapping Hits Germany’ at http://www.textually.org/picturephoning/archives/2006/03/011816.htm. Accessed 17 April 2006. 3 See the case of David Morley ‘Happy slapper denies killing’ at http://icsouthlondon.icnetwork.co.uk/0100news/0400lambeth/tm_objectid=163858 76&method=full&siteid=50100&headline=happy-slapper-denies-killingname_page.html#story_continue (accessed 15/04/06) 2

BACK TO THE FUTURE: THE PAST AND PRESENT OF MOBILE TV GABRIELE BALBI AND BENEDETTA PRARIO

Between me, you and us: circular telephony in Italy The telephone was conceived as both a point-to-point and as a broadcast medium. Philippe Reis, the creator of the term ‘telephone’ in the 1850s, did not however envisage its use as a tool of personal communication, but experimented with large audiences that listened to music in a sealed room (Civita 1895: 6). Similarly, Alexander Graham Bell thought of the telephone not only as a medium for 'establishing direct communication between any two places in the city', but also as an electrical toy, for ‘broadcasting music’ (Aronson, 1977: 22). Thus, since its invention, the telephone has not been solely regarded as a medium for person-to-person communication, but also as a means of broadcasting, including the diffusion of news, entertainment shows, and other kinds of ‘editorial’ content. From the beginning of its history, inventors and users assumed both concepts to be valid. This assumption could be validated with reference to many countries, but this chapter concentrates on the Italian context. In Italy, the telephone was in use at the beginning of the 1880s, but already at the end of the 1870s some experiments had been conducted in which the medium was employed for transmitting entertainment shows. For example, the Telegraphy Statistic Report for 1878 described the first official experiment of long-distance telephony in Italy: a cable linking the telegraphic office of Tivoli and the Quirinale public palace in Rome transmitted a programme of music, which ‘began with the royal anthem, played on a piano in the Tivoli office’, followed by ‘some pieces by Prati, a tenor romanza, flute and violin sonatas’, and which ended with a poem (Ministero dei Lavori Pubblici, 1879: 36). So, in this first example, point-to-point communication (which probably interested politicians most, because they had in mind the example of telegraphy) was used to convey a programme of music and poetry. This feature also emerged in an article which appeared in the

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popular Italian newspaper L’Illustrazione italiana on January 29, 1882, which recalled a peculiar experiment carried out by the Gerosa brothers, pioneers of telephony in Milan: from time to time, they played an accordion in the switching room and connected it to all their subscribers, who could thus hear a sonata (L’illustrazione italiana, 29-1-1882: 86). If the Gerosa brothers’ sporadic interventions can be considered the first steps of Italian broadcasting, beginning in the 1880s, these uses of the telephone were institutionalized within the practice of so-called 'circular telephony' in other European countries and in the U.S.A. During the first twenty years, however, the person-to-person uses of telephone became more popular than the collective ones, despite the fact that the idea of a few inventors was ‘to make the telephone […] a properly masscommunication medium’ (Ortoleva & Scaramucci, 2003: 869). The first experiment using this novelty took place in Paris in 1881 during the International Electric Exhibition, but the most popular example of the Théâtrophone was launched and developed in the metropolitan area of Budapest by Theodor Puskas in 1893: this was the so-called Telephone Hirmondò, with over 6,000 subscribers. The system’s implementation was quite straightforward. Through dedicated electrical circuits, similar to those of the telephone, all the subscribers could receive a single channel with daily news and shows from a transmitter. When a new 'telephone hearing' was organized, the telephone’s ringtone was different from the standard: a few seconds later the show could begin, following a set agenda already known to those who paid for the service. Today, this would be known as a schedule. The audience could listen to their favourite programmes at the first time in history in which premade entertainment shows were directly diffused to the home. The Hirmondò model was copied in many countries (Marvin, 1988), from the English Electrophone to the American Telephone Herald, from the longlived Soviet example to the Italian Araldo Telefonico (Herald and Araldo were simply translations of the Hungarian Hirmondò). In Italy a previous attempt to formalize entertainment transmissions through the telephone lines was made in 1887, as recalled by Il telegrafista, a famous technical journal of that time written for and read by electrical engineers: Last June some ‘telephonic concert’ experiments, the so-called ‘musical hearings’ by telephone, were carried out in Rome. The microphones were set up at the national dramatic theatre; the receiver telephones in a room in the central telephonic bureau. As far as telephonic hearings are concerned, the result cannot be considered a real improvement in telephone applications; the telephonic hearing is certainly an unusual application of the telephone but, at a more

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Back to the Future: The Past and Present of Mobile TV practical level, it does not deliver the results its name seems to promise. I noticed that in general one can stand no more than 10 minutes, because the experience is very uncomfortable and incomplete. We look like deaf-anddumb people with that telephone placed to our ears and our facial muscles immobilized. (Il Telegrafista, n. 5, anno 1887: 127).

According to this article, ‘telephonic hearings’ provoked ambiguous and sceptical reactions. Perhaps because of the very slow increase in national telephony, maybe because of a general apathy about new technologies, a regular telephone broadcasting service appeared only around 1910 in Italy. With the Ministerial Ordinance of May 22, 1909, an Italian engineer, Luigi Ranieri, obtained a grant for creating a 'speaking journal' in Rome: thus, the Araldo Telefonico was born, inspired by the Hungarian model. Until the first years of the war, in fact, the Italian Herald simply copied the model used in the Hirmondò schedule: news, various shows and emissions especially from theatres in Rome, required programmes such as weather forecasting, foreign languages lessons and especially the timesignal, that eventually constituted a genre in Italian early radiobroadcasting (Ortoleva, 1986). Apart from these function modalities, an advertising brochure from the first part of the 20th century underlined the critical distinction between the 'speaking journal' service and the telephonic one; in fact, the two networks were completely independent and could be subscribed to as individual services. There could be many reasons for this. First to consider is the limited diffusion of the telephone network in Italy. If perhaps telephone subscribers had been allowed to receive programmes, there could have been a larger number of people that, interested in this service, might be able to pay for the subscription (Araldo was much cheaper than traditional telephony). It might also be the case that the Araldo Telefonico managers did not want to relate their technologies to a rival system, one that seemed to have diffusion troubles and was used only by the richest people. Secondly, there was a technical reason; the Araldo’s network had to be distinguished from the ‘telephonic’ because telephone networks are built for person to person communication, unlike Araldo’s broadcast model. Before the First World War, service costs were basically of three types. The most expensive one was for subscription, at 60 lire per year (5 lire per month), for a system installed within a kilometre of the Colonna Square central bureau. Then, there were two una tantum costs; the first one was 16.50 lire for setting up the system, and the second of 20 lire for guaranteeing the technologies (Business Manuscript, 1913-1914). It

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seemed that in 1914, there were 1,315 Araldo subscribers in Rome. After the First World War, the Milan and Bologna offices opened and in Rome the Araldo Telefonico, now directed by Luigi Ranieri’s son, slowly transformed into a radio broadcasting system from 1923-1924. In order to corroborate this hypothesis, we should return to the seminal judicial proceedings in which Luigi Ranieri was involved. Mr. Ranieri, the director of Araldo, was a long-term debtor whose case reveals a peculiarity of early 20th century communicative mentality: the seemingly fixed distinction between point-to-point and multicast communication. In an article which appeared in the Rivista delle Comunicazioni in June 1917, a Rome law court judgment delivered on April 11, 1917, said: ‘Araldo does not represent telephonic conversation’. This pronouncement ended a very long quarrel between the father of circular telephony and the Government. For various personal and financial reasons, Luigi Ranieri could not pay the first three months of the fees for 1911-1912, so the Ministry revoked his grant with an Ordinance made on February 20, 1914. Before the announcement of the Ordinance, the Minister in charge had appealed to the Country Council and actually obtained much more favourable conditions fo Ranieri, such as a decrease in fees. However, he did not pay the arrears and on August 27, 1915, and again on September 22, the Ministry ordered him to stop all transmissions. In an action repeated by the Italian private TV networks 60 years later (Bartolomei and Bernabei, 1983), Ranieri did not interrupt his transmissions and as a result, was reported to the Compartmental Direction of the telephone on September 27, 1915. However, despite the revocation of the grant and the various injunctions, the Araldo telefonico carried on transmitting. On six occasions, the administrative employees interrupted the Araldo service but ‘every time Mr. Ranieri restored it’ (Rivista delle comunicazioni, June, 1917: 166). On June 5, 1916, the first Praetor in Rome found against Ranieri, but he appealed because of 'the absence of the misdemeanour' (ibid). On May 18, 1916, the Country Council acknowledged ‘the peculiarity of the service and the substantially different aim from that of the normal telephone grantees' (ibid: 167), a point of view already obvious from the Ordinance grant of 1909. From the perspective of our argument, it is useful to recall the motive for this decision, as it becomes quite clear that telephonic laws and rules could not be applied to the Araldo. For the first time, the distinction between point-to-point and mass communication emerges in law and tout court, and begins to reflect a change in contemporary mentality:

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Back to the Future: The Past and Present of Mobile TV Communicating, actually, is different from transmitting, because it implies the possibility of responding: this is what the Araldo, due to its technology, could not do. It transmitted every day, at fixed times, political news and music collected by Ranieri; it resembled the newspaper rather than the telephone. Mr. Ranieri broadcast the news not through the press, but using technology founded on the principles of telephony: such a system did not resemble the ‘telephone’ in the common sense of the word. So, neither communication nor telephone […] the appellant must be absolved from this infringement because his action cannot be considered a crime. In fact, it lacks one of the essential characteristics for being punishable: the objective nature of telephone communication, that in the Araldo does not appear (ibid: 168).

The Araldo telefonico did not follow the principles of traditional telephone communication use, so it could not follow the laws that governed it. The perception of this distinction appeared in the period 1910-1920, a very important moment: until this point, in fact, the dissimilarity between interpersonal and broadcasting media could not be truly imagined. This is what an Italian historian, Peppino Ortoleva, emphasises in discussing the idea of television. Until the 1920s, this notion had fluctuated between two different concepts too: that of video-telephony (peer-to-peer) and TV in the common sense (broadcasting): Only after 1920, video telephony could be thought of as a technology in its own right, distinct from television. In fact, a conceptual distinction had to be imposed, obvious for us but not at that time: the distinction between point-to-point and mass communication. In the years 1880-1920 audiovisual communication was a confused area, but basically unified: the radio was point-to-point and mass; the telephone too […], telephotography too. It could be presumed that television would be too (Ortoleva, 1998:160).

As with Ranieri’s legal case, the distinction perceived between personal and broadcast communication could probably be attributed to the period 1915-1920. Ortoleva’s theory about a confusion of these two concepts (for ‘television’) is corroborated by the case of fixed telephony. It must be remembered that the era of the ‘pleasure telephone’, as the historian Asa Briggs (1977) defined this early period of the technology, ended with the advent of radio. In fact, from the 1920s, a hiatus appeared in the media system: on one side, some media (eg the telephone) were definitely associated with point-to-point communication, while on the other, new media like the radio and then TV adopted a mass diffusion model, so-called ‘broadcasting’. That distinction was appropriate until the advent and commercialization of a new medium: mobileTV.

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The meaning of mobile TV: its adoption and supply Over the last ten years, digital technology has encouraged rapid growth in the personal consumption of media. The advent of personal video recorders (PVRs), video-on-demand and the multiplication of programme offerings have enabled viewers to personalize the content that they want to watch. And with interactivity (Digitag, 2005), viewers can directly express their preferences to broadcasters. As part of this trend, and alongside the growth of mobile telephony, ‘the place of viewing is no longer limited to the television receiver at home, or in a vehicle, but is widened to allow personalized viewing of television by individuals wherever they are located’ (Digitag, 2005: 5). Mobile television means the opportunity to view traditional television and interactive programs directly on one’s own mobile. The interactivity is an essential feature of 'broadcasting on the move', because this new model of TV is closely related to the history of the telephone, a pre-eminently interactive communication medium. Mobile television can be defined as the possibility of watching television programmes on a handheld device and 'on the move', while travelling on public transport, waiting for an appointment or while at work. The idea of watching television while on the move is not new. As Trefzger (2005) illustrates, Sony introduced its first portable television, the Watchman, in 1982, but unlike its music peer, (the Walkman) it did not have much commercial success. The failure of the Watchman could be traced back to several reasons, for example, its dimension (nearly 20 cm high and 9 cm wide), its screen (tiny) and the low battery power (Günthör, 2005). Today, however, the story seems to have changed. Consumers are using their mobile phones for multimedia – not just for communication, but also for entertainment (with streamed video, music and games), and for news and information services. With a mobile, the individual can do a whole range of things: calling, sending and receiving messages and emails, managing appointments and addresses, taking photos, listening to music, listening to the radio, playing games and watching short video clips. Now it seems to be the turn of television. Today, television and the mobile are technologies that most people cannot imagine living without. As reported by many studies on media consumption in different countries, more than any other medium, television determines the daily life of many people and is the most consumed medium (AGF/GfK Fernsehforschung, 2005; Censis, 2005). As the mobile phone is not used solely for communication via voice or SMS anymore, but also for entertainment and information, it appears feasible also to use it to receive TV while not at

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home or in front of a large TV screen. Hence, mobile television will extend the hours of television watching to parts of the day when viewers are not at home. As shown by experience with innovation, often affected by the more or less advanced implementation of new technology, technology alone is not the only determining factor for the success of a product. However, particularly for products and services developed for consumers, user acceptance is a critical success factor (Trefzger, 2005). The first studies relating to how families adopt new products and/or innovative services were conducted by Rogers (1962) and Bass (1969), but in recent years, many case studies have appeared in the literature on the adoption of specific mass media, like colour television and the video recorder, with the aim of defining a model. In the field of mobile applications, user acceptance is high, too (Amberg, Wehrmann, 2003:5). Similar to Roger’s Diffusion Theory, Forrester Research (2004) segmented European mobile phone users into three clusters: Fanatics, Followers and Fugitives. ‘Fanatics’ always adopt up-to-date technology and own the newest handsets. They are keen on trying out new products and services and also interested in the technology behind them. Sixteen per cent of mobile users belong to this cluster. ‘Followers’ represent the next segment of the population, with 42% of users. They appreciate technology according to its practical usefulness and they adopt it when they believe it has reached maturity. ‘Fugitives’ prefer easy usability and represent the remaining 42% of users. They do not adopt new technologies until it is absolutely necessary: ‘for them it is only important that the technology works, and not how it works’ (Trefzger, 2005). With regard to mobile TV, one can see that it is important for the adoption process initially to target the segment of innovators and early adopters (referring to Rogers) or, following the segmentation model from Forrester Research, the Fanatics. They are the first to try out new services and they need to be persuaded that the new service gives them added value. If they are convinced and accept the new service, other market segments will follow as a result of the diffusion process. From several studies conducted throughout Europe, it emerges that viewers have indicated their interest in watching television from a handheld device (Bmco; Nokia; IPDC). In particular, the quality and range of content offered by mobile TV is vitally important for user acceptance. Participants in different trials carried out by some telecom operators in many European countries (Germany, France, Great Britain, Italy and Finland) expect that all content from conventional television would also be available on the mobile, even if it was not suited for mobile viewing. The

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viewers were not familiar with the idea of content specially designed for the mobile and just expected regular TV channels. Indeed, they want to receive: good picture and sound quality; value for money; good selection of channels; a single device to carry the material (their phone); simplicity of use; and finally, service availability. Analysts believe that simply showing existing broadcast channels on mobiles would not create value in the long term, but is also not well suited for the intended user ‘behaviour’ of mobile TV. Television content specifically designed for mobile reception needs to be developed (Betti, 2004:4, visiongain, 2004:156-157). Yet the formula, ‘content is king’, in the mobile environment has a provocative nature. It is widely recognized that an increased choice of channels and content alone would not be sufficient for determining the success or failure of mobile television. For example, consumers need sophisticated but easily used tools to enable them to make the best use of the available content. What mobile television does, is to enable content to be presented in even more compelling formats with increasing quality and convenience of access; therefore content remains one of the primary drivers for the adoption of digital TV services. Booz, Allen & Hamilton (2005) estimate that people prefer to use the mobile phone as a television set for watching short programmes such as news and current affairs, first of all because of technical limitations (picture quality and battery power) and then because of consumers’ viewing habits. Nowadays most consumers are likely to use mobile TV when away from home to kill time, eg when waiting for a bus or a train to arrive or just to keep informed when they are on the go, eg to get a quick news update. They will not spend hours continuously in front of their mobile phone watching TV (Södergard, 2003: 167). Therefore, the consumption of mobile television is not similar to the traditional use of television. In fact people want to have the possibility of watching TV anywhere and anytime. Next to offering live broadcasting, mobile TV services must include video-on-demand services. Another two criteria for general acceptance emerge from many recent studies on mobile TV: the usability of mobile TV services (Mobile Handset Interfaces, 2002:3), which depends on the design of the interface, the way of navigating within the service, and the pricing of the whole package. To summarize, the earliest evidence indicates that a certain willingness to pay for mobile TV content does exist. For example, in the bmco study (2004), viewers indicated a willingness to pay between 8-12 euros per month to access 6-8 different television channels. Having described the meaning of mobile TV, its opportunities and its acceptance

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by the population, the following section examines the commercial supplies of mobile TV in Italy.

The supply of Mobile TV in Italy and its operators The penetration of the mobile telecommunications service in Italy is above the Western European average at approximately 123.5 lines per 100 inhabitants at the end of 2005, up from a penetration rate of 109 lines per 100 inhabitants at the end of 2004. Growth rates have been substantially higher than the European average. The increase is due to innovative services and an increase in customers with multiple lines and the number of operators. At the end of 2005, 15% of Italian users owned a 3G handheld, and three operators - 3 Italia, TIM and Vodafone - had launched mobile TV services. According to Forrester, the mobile TV industry is valued at 1.5 billion Euros in the world and in Italy 7 million clients and a turnover of 3 billion Euros are expected in 2011. Since 2004, the main Italian TLC operators, namely 3Italia, TIM and Vodafone, have conducted different trials with the collaboration of the public service broadcaster RAI and the commercial company, Mediaset. The results are encouraging, because Italian people are interested in mobile TV services, in particular in the opportunity to watch football matches and ‘adult’ contents. In Italy the main distribution platform for mobile TV services is UMTS (Universal Mobile Telecommunication System). All the above-mentioned mobile operators offer three main types of video contents: 1. TV channels in live streaming (RAI, RAI News 24, CNN, Coming Soon, Cartoon Network); 2. pay per view or video on demand, including goals scored during football matches, video news, reality shows, videoclips; 3. other content like video MMS, games, and chat. Without elaborating what each operator provides in detail, which can be observed in the list below, it is interesting to observe that consumers can receive interactive services, as well as the broadcast services (like those mentioned above). The different trials and commercial offers of Mobile TV launched in Italy, used to test the technology and obtain some indications about the consumption of content, have produced some interesting results. More precisely, it emerges that in Italy there is willingness to spend time and money on Mobile TV services. The mean consumption is 3.5 minutes a day and the reproduction of traditional TV content is not sufficiently appealing for the UMTS platform. Otherwise,

Gabriele Balbi and Benedetta Prario

Operator

4,5 million 3G users

0,6 million 3G users

1,2 million 3G users

Streaming

VoD/PPV

33 Others

Content Price Sky TG Up 0,30 24 euros for 5Fox minute link mobile Concerti 3 3 Sport TV Cartoon Network Soap TV

Content Price Content Price News 0,09 € for Backgrounds 0,09 € Entertainment access to Ring tones for Concerts the portal Games access Football Music to the matches 0,09 € for Traffic news portal every page Ticket one Soap operas visited cinema 0,09 € Adult content Chat, dating for … from 0,60 € Videofiction every to 4 € for page downloaded visited video 0,40 € per News 0,006 € per Backgrounds From minute Goals of minute Ring tones 2 to 4 football (WAP) Games € for promotional matches Logos ring sale – 5 € (SERIE A 0,04 € for tones monthly TIM) the …. Calendar download 1-2 € Videoclips of a KB per Traffic news (GPRS) logo (traffic cam) Adult content 0,75 € or 2 € for each video

Rai 1, Rai 2, Rai 3, Rai news24 La7 MTV Coming soon Games Network 5 music channels Isola dei Famosi RAI 1.5 € each News 24 day “allLive! TV inclusive” Music Happy Free first Mobile month Coming Soon Promotion: Campioni, 0.90 € il sogno every day CNN from 30 Contents September in 2006 streaming

Video goals of football matches (Serie A Vodafone) News (TG5, TG1) Cartoons Fiction Adult content (Winter Olympics) …

0.19 € for access to download

Backgrounds 1-2 € Ring tones per Games ring Approx. tone 1- 2 € for 500k each video musical 2,5 € pieces per Video goals … game 0,75 € each match 1,5 € per logo

Figure 1: The supply of Mobile TV services in Italy (own elaboration)

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Back to the Future: The Past and Present of Mobile TV

successful contents is that created ad hoc for the platform, such as, for example, the summary and the preview (in 3 minutes) of a fiction and a reality show. Adult content is often used during late evening slot, 9 pm 12 pm. With regard to business models, it appears that users prefer the pay-per-use model to that of subscription. Concretely, the promotional offer of 0.90 Euros a day for ‘all you can watch’ (Vodafone) has been more successful than the subscription of 5 Euros a month for the ‘all inclusive’ offer (TIM). Indeed, it is very important to note that, particularly from the experience of 3Italia, it seems that consumption depends strictly on the quality of the supply and the usability of the handheld phones, two important acceptance criteria for mobile TV. Users with a better mobile phone are consuming twice as much as users with a less viable instrument. Just from this overview of Mobile TV available in Italy, it emerges that, in the case of the mobile, it is no longer possible to distinguish between point to point and mass communication. In fact, consumers can receive not only broadcast services, which mean traditional TV programmes, that are the expression of mass communication, but also interactive services and new forms of TV programmes that provide clear evidence of point-to-point communication. As suggested by the term, ‘Mobile TV’ embraces the two forms of communication: on one hand mobile telephony is the expression of point to point communication and on the other, TV is the expression of mass communication. Furthermore, it is important to observe that the same technological device allows a double type of communication: active and passive. Specifically, with Mobile TV users can decide to interact with programmes and services or only watch television. They can also decide to watch a programme when they prefer, interacting with the electronic programme guide, or to wait for the beginning of a transmission. In one case, that of funding, point-to-point communication is not distinguishable from mass communication: the source of cash for Mobile TV is advertising. Advertising was used in the broadcasting industry for the first time by commercial broadcasters and was aimed at the masses. Nowadays, with Mobile TV there is the opportunity to have different types of advertising, which underlines that the distinction between communication point-to-point and mass communication is no longer valid. In fact, with Mobile TV it is possible to transmit advertising with specific features addressed only to some users, as well as to transmit interactive advertising. Thus a new form of communication change emerges.

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Offering the customer mobile TV services requires several different core competences that cannot easily be provided by one single company. As suggested by the term ‘mobile TV’, two different industries come together: the mobile industry and the broadcasting industry. Concretely, the coming together of these two industries is evidence of the convergence between the telecommunications, media and information technology sectors. Convergence is not just about technology, as illustrated in the Green Paper of the European Commission (1997), but about services and new ways of doing business and interacting with society. Technology convergence, of which the examples cited above are illustrative, is based on the common application of digital technologies to systems and networks associated with the delivery of services. A trend towards industry convergence can be seen in alliances, mergers and joint ventures which build upon the technical and commercial know-how of the partners in order to exploit existing and new markets. On a commercial level the convergence is a direct result of cross-fertilisation between sectors, telecommunications and broadcasting, for example, as in the case of Mobile TV. Referring to the case of Araldo Telefonico, it is interesting to observe that it was one of the first forms of convergence between the content industry and the telecommunications sector, as illustrated in the conclusion of this chapter, below. Although it would be useful to illustrate the value chain for mobile TV, to better understand who the new operators in the development of mobile TV are, this chapter aims simply to corroborate the thesis that, with the advent of Mobile TV, the distinction between point-to-point and multicast communication no longer seems to be valid.

Conclusion: different media, similar mentalities The Araldo Telefonico and Mobile TV are very different technologies. First of all, the Araldo was a wire medium, used only inside the home, while Mobile TV is a wireless technology with the typical characteristics of mobility and portability. Secondly, the Araldo appeared in an Italian context where telephone diffusion was restricted, while Mobile TV could be considered another mobile phone application, a new use for one of the most successful technologies in contemporary Italy (Balbi, forthcoming). Thirdly, referring to McLuhan (1964), with reference to the Araldo experience, both a new medium and a new message had to be invented: in fact new and original editorial contents, which had never appeared before, had to be set up, as did an innovative diffusion procedure, known as broadcasting. On the other hand Mobile TV, even if new technology

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influences content format, is not a radical invention (Hughes, 1989). Every component of the Mobile TV system precedes the invention of this technology: the cell phone acquired new and unexpected functions, with very similar TV programmes, even if they had to adapt to new formats. Finally, the logic of broadcasting (or narrowcasting) is the same that has appeared and spread in the 20th century. A further and crucial aspect is the level of historical maturity of these two media. On the one hand, we have considered an old technology of communication that died or, rather, transformed itself into something technologically different (the so called Radio Music Box). On the other hand, we have examined a system that is developing in the last few years, with many uncertainties linked to uses that consumers may assign to it. Mobile TV could only be a temporary technological solution, just as circular telephony was at the beginning of the last century. Even if Mobile TV does not survive in the future media system, the study of the creation and characteristics of a medium in the early phase of its construction, could reveal lost aspects of the contemporary history of technological and social mentality. According to the constructivist paradigm (eg Pinch & Bijker, 1984), in fact, it is important to analyze both successes and failures in the history of technologies: every dead medium is only an unrealized ideal of society and culture (Nosengo, 2003). Evidently, at the beginning of 20th century, receiving news and contents directly at home started to be considered a possibility, exactly like watching TV in the streets seems to be entered in the “horizon of uses” attributable to cell phones. This use of Mobile TV is not fixed and defined forever: the history of mass media teaches that the first identified use for a product is often not the definitive one. There are many episodes that could confirm this, including, to cite only three examples, Edison and the phonograph (Ogburn, 1964), Edison and the kinetoscope (and his idea of cinema, see Flichy, 1991), and the telephone in its manifestation as a ‘serious’ tool (Fischer, 1992). A medium is the result of the meeting between new tools and social uses (see Perriault, 1989; Nye, 2006), a convergence that represents a long and enduring socio-cultural process, one that could take decades to develop. As already mentioned, the Araldo and the Mobile TV appeared in quite different historical eras, but contain certain similarities. According to Ortoleva (1995), media history fluctuates between explosive and thoughtful periods. The first ones are historical phases in which a lot of technologies – sometimes related to one another but sometimes very different – suddenly all appear together. The second ones are characterized

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by selection, adaptation and reorganization of the media appeared in the previous phase by users. According to this theoretical approach, these two technologies have a surprisingly similar history: they appeared in two ‘thoughtful’ phases following two of the main ‘explosive’ periods in media history (see Ortoleva in Marvin, 1994). Clearly, if a new medium emerges during this period, it has to fight against consumer mistrust: users live in an environment saturated with new technologies and they do not accept further innovations easily. Araldo’s existence was very difficult for this reason, too, and as we have argued it ‘died’ or, perhaps, it reinvented itself. The Mobile TV is now in a crucial phase. Apart from their creation in quiet phases of media history, there are two other similarities between these two technological histories. The first one is related to media convergence, a term that indicates the progressive conjunction between three areas: telecommunications, editorial contents and informatics. Even if many scholars consider this phenomenon no older than thirty to forty years, the first example of media convergence was really the Araldo Telefonico, where telecommunications and editorial contents met. Arguably, Mobile TV is the maximal expression of media convergence, characterized by the integration of different infrastructures, services and businesses (see for example: European Commission, 1997; Prario, 2005). This chapter has focused on the second similarity, which we regard as the most relevant one. If Lasen (2005: 31-32) has already recalled a continuity between Hirmondò broadcasting and 3G services, we focused specifically on the fact that, for the two above–mentioned technologies, it is impossible to distinguish between point-to-point and broadcasting. The Araldo Telefonico caused a legislative crisis and drew attention to a lack of clear technological definition. Mobile TV is causing another revolution, similar to the Araldo case, and it is for this reason that we used the term ‘back to the future’. After the Araldo example, all 20th century point-to-point communications (telegraphs, telephones, and cell phones as commonly understood), and broadcast communications (radio and TV) were distinguished under a legislative, technological, and managerial point of view: with Mobile TV, we argue that such ‘techno-mental’ representations seem to lose evocative power. In effect, the communication model adopted both by Araldo and by Mobile TV could not be defined either by the term point-to-point (or one-to-one) or by broadcasting (one-to-mass). These two media are better characterized by the formula one-to-many: in fact, in both media, contents could be received only by people who paid for a

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subscription and who owned the technical means of listening – the receiver1. The aim of this paper was to illustrate how two media, so different in many ways, require a similar ‘mental horizon’ to the notion of ‘one-tomany’ or the broadcast model. If before the 1910s, the distinction between point-to-point and broadcasting (or one-to-one and one-to-many) could not be understood or even imagined, in the first decade of 21st century, these two concepts appear to have become confused again. The medium of personal communication par excellence, the cell phone, allows a similar use to traditional mass media: is it the notion of telephone-as-tool tout court (fixed, video or mobile) that allows this confusion?

References AGF/GfK Fernsehforschung (2005) Entwicklung der Sehdauer von 1992 bis 2004. Retrieved April 28, 2005, from http://www.gfk.de/produkte/produkt_pdf/7/entwicklungdersehdauer20 04neu.pdf. Amberg, M., & Wehrmann, J. (2003) Benutzerakzeptanz mobiler Dienste: Ein Erfahrungsbericht zum Compass-Akzeptanzmodell. Nürnberg: Arbeitsbericht, Wirtschaftsinfromatik III. Amberg, M., Hirschmeier, M., & Wehrmann, J. (2003) Ein Modell zur Akzeptanzanalyse für die Entwicklung situationsabhängiger mobiler Dienste im Compass Ansatz, in K. Turowski, & K. Pousttchi (eds.), Mobile Commerce: Grundlagen und Techniken. Berlin Heidelberg: Springer. Aronson, S. H. (1977) Bell’s Electrical Toy, in I. De Sola Pool (ed.) The Social Impact of the Telephone. MIT Press, Cambridge. Balbi, G. (forthcoming) Dappertutto telefonini. Per una storia sociale della telefonia mobile in Italia. Studies in Communication Sciences. Bartolomei, A. and Bernabei, P. (1983) L’emittenza privata in Italia dal 1956 a oggi. Rai-Eri, Torino. Bass, F.M. 1969. A new product growth model for consumer durables. Management Science, 15(5): 215-227. Betti, D. (2004) Mobile IP Datacasting: Mobile Operators Positioning (Internal Consultancy Report). BMCO (2004) The BMCO project in Berlin on novel, interactive and TVlike services for mobile and portable devices has been completed successfully. Retrieved from http://www.bmcoberlin.com/docs/bmco_Pressrelease_english_041013.pdf

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Booz Allen & Hamilton (2005) Mobile TV – Contenuti e modelli di business. Milan. (Internal Consultancy Report). Briggs, A. (1977) The Pleasure Telephone: A Charter in the Prehistory of the Media, in I. De Sola Pool (ed.) The Social Impact of the Telephone. MIT Press, Cambridge. Büllingen, F., & Wörter, M. (2000) Entwicklungsperspektiven, Unternehmensstrategien und Anwendungsfelder im Mobile Commerce. Bad Honnef. Business Manuscript (circa 1913-1914) Araldo telefonico Company. Censis (2005) Rapporto annuale 2005. Roma. Civita, D. (1895) Telefono. Estratto dall’Enciclopedia delle Arti e Industrie. Pubblicata dall’Unione Tipografico-Editrice Torinese. Torino. Cosa è l’Araldo Telefonico e come funziona? (without date). Stab. A. Liebman & C., Industrie grafiche di Pescara. Digitag (2005) Television on a handheld receiver. Geneva. European Commission (1997) Green Paper on the convergence of the telecommunications, media and information technology sectors, and the implications for regulations. Brussels Fisher, C.S. (1992) America Calling: A Social History of the Telephone to 1940. University of California Press. Berkeley. Flichy, P. (1991) Une histoire de la communication moderne. Espace public et vie privée, La Découverte. Paris. Hughes T.P. (1989) The Evolution of Large Technical Systems, in Bijker, W. E., Hughes, T. P., Pinch, T. (eds), The Social Construction of Technological Systems. The MIT Press, Cambridge and London. L’illustrazione italiana (1882), 1 January. IPDC (2005) Frequency management issues for DVB-H and IP Datacast services. Retrieved from http://www.ipdcforum.org/resources/documents/Keymessagestoregulat ors.pdf Lasen, A. (2005) History Repeating? A Comparison of the Launch and Uses of Fixed and Mobile Phones, in Hamill, L. & Amparo, L. (eds). Mobile World. Past, Present and Future. Springer. London. Marvin, C. (1988) When Old Technologies Were New. Oxford University Press: New York. McLuhan, M. (1964) Understanding media. McGraw-Hill: New York. Ministero dei Lavori Pubblici (1979) Relazione statistica sui telegrafi del Regno d’Italia nell’anno 1978. Nokia (2005) Mobile TV Broadcasting. Retrieved from http://www.mobiletv.nokia.com/

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Nosengo, N. (2003) L’estinzione dei tecnosauri. Sironi, Milano. Nye; D. E. (2006) Technology Matters. Questions to Live With, The MIT Press, Cambridge and London. Ogburn, W. F. (1964) On Culture and Social Change: Selected Papers. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Ortoleva, P. (1986) Il tempo della radio. Piccola storia del segnale orario. Movimento operaio e socialista, 2: 315-320. —. (1994) Prefazione all’edizione italiana, in C. Marvin (ed.), Quando le vecchie tecnologie erano nuove. Utet-Telecom, Torino. —. (1995) Mediastoria. Comunicazione e cambiamento sociale nel mondo contemporaneo. Nuova Pratiche, Parma. —. (1998) Il videotelefono, in M. Nacci (ed.), Oggetti d’uso quotidiano. Marsilio, Venezia. Ortoleva, P.and Scaramucci, B. (2003) Radio. Garzanti, Milano. Perriault, J. (1989) La logique de l’usage. Essai sur les machines à communiquer, Flammarion, Imprimé en France. Pinch, T. J., Bijker, W. E. (1984) The Social Construction of Facts and Artefacts: Or How the Sociology of Science and the Sociology of Technology Might Benefit Each Other. Social Studies of Science 14, August: 399-441. Prario, B. (2005) Le trasformazioni dell’impresa televisiva verso l’era digitale. Peter Lang, Bern. Rivista delle comunicazioni (1917, June) Araldo non costituisce conversazione telefonica. Rogers, E. (1962) Diffusion of Innovations. The Free Press, New York. Södergard, C. (2003) Mobile television - technology and user experiences. Report on the Mobile-TV project. VTT, Finland. Trefzger, J. (2005) Mobile TV-Launch in Germany – Challenges and Implications. Institut fuer Rundfunkoekonomie and der Universitat zu Koeln. visiongain (2004) Mobile TV: Market Analysis and Forecasts, 2004-2009. Visiongain.

Notes 1 This analysis of a four stages of ‘diffusion concepts’ (we should add the ‘manyto-many’ model) was conceived by Professor Jo Wachelder, who suggested it after an informal interview: we want to thank him for the use of this idea.

ROCK STAR SUPERNOVA: A CASE STUDY IN PRODUCING MEDIUM METAMORPHOSIS AND CREATIVE DISPLACEMENT THROUGH CONVERGENT MEDIA AND INTERACTIVE TECHNOLOGIES DEBORAH E. R. HANAN

The CBS’ reality talent series Rock Star marked a decided change in the way rock and alternative music could be conceptualized, created, and consumed. These transformations were greatly facilitated by a strategy that involved interactive “new” media technologies and re-purposing of Rock Star’s aesthetic aural and visual content for dissemination across various delivery platforms. These interactive television technologies enable viewers actively to influence not only the show’s narrative direction but also Rock Star’s resulting interstitial productions (all of which were framed, packaged, and promoted as “rock music”). Under the guise of “audience agency,” Rock Star was designed so that consumer-juries directed not only the makeup and chemistry of the band’s personnel and its future live and recorded performances, but also the featured band’s catalogue of compositions, and the resultant musical genre with which the group would eventually be associated (i.e. rock, alternative, metal, goth, blues rock, gospel rock, pop etc.). In this chapter I argue that by giving the audience/consumer such a decisive role in shaping this “rock” product, mega-media conglomerates deployed convergent and interactive strategies that not only diminish traditional artist-audience and artist-muse relationships, but also serve to undermine the collective bargaining power of professional creative labour. While Rock Star may have appeared to be merely one in a string of seemingly benign, like-genre, consumer-juried entertainment products (i.e. Last Comic Standing, American Idol, and America’s Got Talent), the show – and particularly its second season, Rock Star: Supernova – set new standards for characterizing “rock” music that were antithetical to ways this genre of music had traditionally been conceived. More specifically,

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the show’s structural over-emphasis on consumer intervention and corporate sponsorship dissipated those specificities that formerly distinguished rock music as an aesthetic genre that aurally, lyrically, and/or performatively contests aesthetic forms and dominant ideological values and culture. Furthermore, while rock has always been coconstituted by aural and visual elements, Rock Star’s over-emphasis on visuality and consumer consensus so dominated the selection process that musicality and creativity were ultimately rendered tertiary in all the resulting Rock Star products. Therefore, I propose that CBS’ marketing of this show as related to either “music” or “rock” was a calculated recoding of a particular musical genre, one appropriated for the express purpose of undermining the legitimacy of a long cherished form of creative expression and socio-political resistance. These propositions speak directly to medium specificity, positing “media” as a channel and the arts as ideologically endowed formations – vehicles by which specific senses are engaged and made dominant, reflecting an underlying worldview of what is meaningful and valued. This chapter begins with a narrative and structural synopsis of the show, its production personnel, and a description of how its audition selection consumer-jury processes work. It then provides some background on the show’s creator, Mark Burnett, the programming genre to which Rock Star belongs, and an exploration of how this genre, and Rock Star: Supernova in particular, is being used to transform the creative relationships and processes while simultaneously undermining the bargaining power of creative labour. This is followed by a discussion on medium and genre specificity, and the ways in which the show breached specific conventions that make the assignations “music” and “rock” meaningful categories. The final section explores the aesthetic, political and economic implications of RSSn in the context of the current media environment, and offers suggestions for further research in the areas of doit-yourself culture, juried-creativity, and socio-political resistance.

Rock Star: narrative and structural synopsis The first season of Rock Star: INXS (RSINXS) aired July 11th, 2005 on the U.S. television network and Viacom broadcast subsidiary CBS (Columbia Broadcasting System). One part American Idol, one part Big Brother, the premise of the summer series was to have fifteen contestants spend eleven weeks together in isolation as they competed in televised live auditions to front the once popular Australian “new wave” band INXS. The first season had a troublesome premise and burdensome scheduling format, factors that

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nearly destroyed the show’s chances of being picked up for a second season. Many INXS fans and RSINXS observers found it distasteful to have the show’s contestants compete to replace Michael Hutchence, INXS’ original lead singer and founding member who had committed suicide in 1997. For example, sharp criticism came from former punk rockers turned Australian DJs Jason Whalley and Lindsay McDougall (aka Jay and the Doctor) who, on their Triple J morning show reportedly likened the talent competition to a “Broadband urination on Michael Hutchence’s grave” (Shore, 2006: par. 4). Other observers thought it odd to revive this band of elder pop stars at this point in their careers, interpreting the remaining members’ agreement to participate in Rock Star as “selling out” and “pathetic”.1 Initially, RSINXS was structured so that the only way a viewer could follow the full narrative arc of the show was to watch it three nights a week. This meant watching the “behind the scenes” footage of contestants at the “Rock Star Mansion” on Mondays (9:00-9:30 pm), contestant performances in front of a live audience on Tuesdays (10:00-11:00 pm), and the weekly elimination rounds on Wednesdays (9:30-10:00 pm). Almost immediately, the meagre Monday night ratings forced CBS to migrate the “behind the scenes” material to VH-1 (another Viacom subsidiary), and expand the Wednesday night elimination show to one hour. Despite RSINXS’ abysmal ratings,2 CBS decided to pick up Rock Star for a second season, and the production team retooled the structure to address some of the apparent problems that repelled potential viewers during the first season. For example, the “dead artist” replacement issue was resolved by having contestants compete to front a yet-to-be created band of well-recognized recording artists. Also, although Dave Navarro (of the alternative rock bands Jane’s Addiction, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and The Panic Channel) would return to host the show, he was named executive producer along with drummer Tommy Lee (of the glam metal band Mötley Crüe and the rap metal band Methods of Mayhem), giving both artists a direct interest in the success of the show as well as any resulting musical product. This meant that, in their capacity as executive producers, Navarro and Lee would necessarily need to align their interests not with rock musicians and other creative labourers, but with CBS Corporation, its current chair Les Moonves, and reality-TV creators/ producers Mark Burnett, David Goffin,3 and Lisa Hennessey.4 The proposed band for the second season, Supernova, would feature drummer Tommy Lee, bassist Jason Newsted (of the thrash metal band Metallica), and rhythm guitarist Gilby Clarke (of the hard rock band Guns

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‘N’ Roses). Out of this hodgepodge of musical influences emerged no clear rock style or fan-based association. Therefore, unlike Rock Star’s reconstituted INXS, it would be the winning contestant that would – through their own song writing, vocal styling, and personal presentation – define Supernova’s song catalogue, its genre association, its performance stylistics, and, ultimately, its fan base. Still convinced that weekly “behind the scenes” surveillance material could generate greater interest in the show, Burnett et al decided to repurpose the house surveillance video footage as video streamed “webisodes.” This streamed content was made exclusively available to users of Windows Media Player and Windows Live Messenger on Rock Star’s MSN-hosted website. Verizon subscribers were also able to upload the streamlined content to their videophones. In contrast to RSINXS’ somewhat generically-designed website, RSSn’s “edgy,” hyper-interactive, tattoo-stylized, behind the scenes site became a prominent feature of the show’s overall strategy, a tactic designed to visually stimulate greater interest in the show and attract additional revenue by repurposing content for various forms of delivery. On July 3rd, 2006, two days before the show even premiered on U.S. television, Rock Star’s MSN-sponsored website was launched. Just ten days later, Microsoft followed up by broadcasting live remotes for “Live Like A Rock Star” – a series of MSN sponsored “events” held in Los Angeles, Boston, Chicago, and New York and featuring Navarro’s band The Panic Channel. Tickets for these events were made available exclusively through special “promotional offerings” on RSSn’s website. As the MSN press release touts: The show’s popularity last season had a lot to do with the fantastic online experience MSN provided visitors to the site. This is what entertainment today is all about: synergy across multiple platforms. MSN is playing a huge role in bringing interactive entertainment and a wide range of rich content to broadband. We’re thrilled to collaborating with MSN on this breakthrough series (“MSN presents…,” 2006: par. 7).

In addition, the second season appeared on, and had its aural and visual content repurposed for various “old” and “new” media, including radio, the Internet, mobile telephonic communications, podcasts, video streams, DVDs, CDs, music aggregator sites (e.g. iTunes™), electronic and print promotions, and a panoply of brand merchandise advertising mediums.

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Rock Star’s “world-wide” selection process and “popular” votes CBS, MSN, and the show’s producers have consistently maintained that Rock Star contestants were culled from “world-wide” auditions. Not surprisingly, as with RSSn’s many other textual re-codings, “world-wide” was used by corporate interests to signify something far less international than what is generally conveyed by this term. According to Rock Star contestant Deanne Johnston, Rock Star’s auditions for season one (RSINXS) actually referred to “thousands of contestants from nine countries” (Maycock, 2006: par. 4). Season two’s “world-wide” auditions appeared even less representative, with the fifteen contestants hailing from only six countries. RSSn’s all English-speaking line up of contestants were comprised of nine US Americans, two Canadian Americans, one Icelander, one Australian, one Puerto Rican and one South African (who has lived in the US since 2001). Furthermore, while the show was portrayed as a “musical talent search,” the criteria (musical talent or otherwise) was never actually advertised, made public, or stated on either the official five-page audition application or on the notices announcing try-outs for the show. Each week, contestants chose and performed covers from a catalogue of pre-selected material (ranging from classic country to pop standards to alternative hard rock) with the show’s “house band” and not the three celebrity rock musicians that comprised the Supernova line up. Occasionally contestants’ song choices were substituted with the “popular” unrestricted voting choices of select “new” technology users, who could pick a particular song for a specific contestant to sing. There were no restrictions on how many times Internet, Verizon, or Live Messenger users could cast their votes for song selection or for their favourite contestant. The only restriction on voting was that votes had to be registered within a certain time frame. However, these votes were far from “popular.” Television viewers without access to these interactive technologies and those who watched the broadcast using potentially commercial-free “time shifting” DVR devices (such as TiVo™) were not be able to participate in any of RSSn’s “popular” juried decisions. Significantly, RSSn’s interactive element privileged Internet audiences over other audience members and privileged consumer choice over the presumed expertise of contestants and the seasoned musicians for whom they were auditioning. The votes solely reflected this select group of consumer’s likes and dislikes for specific songs and particular performers. Importantly, if for any reason a consumer-viewer did not like a performer,

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they could also vote to have that performer sing a song that would reflect badly on their credibility as a “rocker” (eg have them perform Tommy Tutone’s 1982 pop hit “867-5309/Jenny”). If they favoured the performer, they could vote for a beloved rock or alternative rock anthem (eg Rolling Stones’ “Paint it Black” or Nirvana’s “Lithium”) or select a song that the contestant had already performed well. In addition to their required cover performances, one contestant was chosen each week to give an encore performance, another decision determined by the “popular” unrestricted votes of these select new technology users. At the end of that episode, this same consumer-jury could cast their unrestricted votes for their favourite contestant. The three contestants receiving the lowest number of votes had to perform an additional song in the next night’s elimination round. Based on this performance, host Dave Navarro and band members Tommy Lee, Gilby Clarke, and Jason Newsted would caucus to determine which of the three “least popular” contestants should be voted off. In between performances, contestants lived full-time in the RSSn mansion, in which select interactions and activities were videotaped, edited and made available to internet audiences using the new media technologies of mobile video communications and streaming video. An initial survey of blogs and message board postings indicated that this “webcam” material played a major role in influencing the “popular” voting habits of Rock Star’s MSN-technology users and Verizon subscribers. The surveillance material centred on staged scenarios designed to introduce conflict between the housemates. Conflict scenarios are a staple in reality-TV programming, introduced for the purpose of creating narrative tensions so that the character of contestants can be clearly differentiated. After this material debuted on the web, “old” media audiences were then able to view each webisode’s most controversial portions on television and in person during the RSSn taping. Live audiences would view weekly webisodes only after they had been reedited and re-purposed for viewing on the large screens above the stage. These re-purposed images were also simultaneously broadcast to television audiences during Wednesday’s elimination episodes. It wasn’t until week six (over half-way through the season) that contestants were finally given the opportunity to write and perform an original song. Remarkably, Tommy Lee, Jason Newsted, and Gilby Clarke did not perform an original song together or actually perform/audition a potential Supernova band mate until week eight (after several potential contestants had already been eliminated), even though they had all stated

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throughout the season that song writing ability and band chemistry were key features they were looking for in a front person.

The House that Burnett built: unexceptional celebrity, juried creativity, and the political economics of reality-TV Promoted by MSNBC as “American Idol with an edge” (Berman, 2006), the CBS summer series Rock Star was yet another venture of reality-TV pioneer Mark Burnett, the show’s executive producer, who is best known for the hit reality-adventure series Survivor (CBS, 2000-present) and the executive talent search reality series The Apprentice (NBC, 2004present).5 Like all of Burnett’s television creations, the basic premise of Rock Star involved engaging audiences by staging the unpredictable or, at the very least, staging the circumstances under which the most unforeseen outcomes (and narrative tensions) can occur. Merging the genres of game show, talent show, and surveillance-TV, Rock Star emphasized the importance of “chance” over skill in an aesthetic form (reality-TV) that has fast become the most dominant style of broadcast entertainment in the U.S. 6 Rock Star is Burnett’s first foray into what is often referred to as “amateur-juried” talent “gamedocs.” Combining the celebrity factor to his tried and true formula of reality competitions and the more traditional talent search formats, Burnett has introduced to American audiences yet another hybrid sub-genre of broadcast entertainment – what I refer to as “celebrity gamedocs.” Like its parent forms, this sub-genre ideologically emphasizes the irrelevance of skill and/or talent in relation to celebrity and financial gain, but then attempts to recoup the importance of talent and skill in the resultant artistically based products the show produces. Although CBS had little success with the show and eventually cancelled Rock Star shortly after the second season concluded, all the networks continued to develop properties that not only limit expenses typically associated with compensating both above and below the line talent, but also allow viewer consumers to interact in formats that can be easily re-purposed for multi-platform delivery. In 2006, Burnett continued to expand his reality-TV and celebrity gamedoc portfolio. In addition to his ongoing successes with hit series Survivor (CBS, 2000-present), The Apprentice and Celebrity Apprentice (NBC, 2004-present), he joined forces with Steven Spielberg and the Fox Television Network to produce On The Lot,7 a talent search celebrity gamedoc sponsored by Ford Motors and Verizon. In On The Lot, contestants competed by creating films across a variety of genres in an attempt to win “a meeting with Spielberg and a

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new office at DreamWorks’ HQ, along with a ‘healthy discretionary fund’” (Schneider, 2006: par. 9). Despite its desirable post-American Idol position (the most viewed show in the U.S.), On The Lot was cancelled after only one season due to poor ratings, and dreadfully low interest in the show among 18-49 year olds (Fitzgerald, 2007). During a time of media mega-mergers and economic deregulation run amok, it is no strange coincidence that networks have embraced the talent search celebrity gamedoc genre, since this type of entertainment seems to be a logical panacea for an industry not only charged with the “production [and destruction] of celebrity” (Turner, 2006: 155) but also relentlessly haunted by the threat of media consolidation, creative labour strikes, and a seemingly never-ending demand to lower production costs and increase profits. So it is no surprise that Burnett has been able to build an entire reality-TV empire by addressing these contemporary conditions and developing a particular form of chance storytelling in which, as Harlovich and Trosset explain, the “pleasure of ‘what happens next’ is not based on the cleverness of scriptwriters or the narrowly evident skills of the players” (2004: 75) but the apparent pleasure of watching the most unlikely outcome occur. With a formulaic inscription to reward the otherwise unremarkable, much of reality-TV programming (ie “surveillance reality,” “gamedocs,” “celebrity reality,” “sports reality,” etc.) has been fundamentally designed around an economic strategy that, on the face of it, appears to acknowledge the wisdom and talents of “everyday people” (both consumers and contestants), while behind the scenes de-professionalizes entertainment and maximizes profits. Reality television has always been part of a conscious strategy to squeeze labour unions and control runaway production costs. As Raphael notes: … economically, the genre fit the needs of producers and distributors alike for cheaper programming. These programs largely did away with highpriced stars and union talent….More recently, a subgenre [celebrity reality] has developed that trots out minor celebrities and has-beens who come cheap to endure humiliating tests of their mettle… (2004: 124-125).

While celebrity gamdocs are economically designed to capitalize pleasures associated with exploiting or humiliating celebrities whose careers are on the downturn, the other half of the strategy involves making the most of the public’s growing desire to garner fame and recognition for themselves in popular culture. Turner (2006) has suggested that this emphasis on viewer engagement in the manufacturing (and disposing) of celebrity is contrived to target 14-35 year old audiences. He insists that the industry’s “demotic”8 turn is a supply-demand response to this demographic who,

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generally speaking, reject the passive consumption of “old” media forms (like television and film) in favor of “new” media’s ability to satisfy their own desire for celebrity. The appeal of shows like American Idol, Rock Star, America’s Got Talent, Grease: You’re the One That I Want and On The Lot lies in the unlikely notoriety of what Turner has called “celetoid” participants – those individuals “with no particular talents which might give them [the viewers] expectations of work in the entertainment industry, no specific career objectives beyond the achievement of media visibility, and an especially short lifecycle as a public figure” (ibid: 156). Leading consumer audiences to believe that they can somehow take control of culture industry practices through interactive technologies provides at least three major benefits to entertainment corporations operating in a free market economy. First, the costs of production are minimized with standardised narratives and formats, distinguished not by costly creative labour but by the unpaid intervention of “active” audiences interested in consuming their own productions (Coslor, 2005). Second, there is an extended audience engagement that occurs when viewers are forced to migrate to “new” media spaces in order to exercise this unpaid labour. This relocation of viewer engagement from one media space to another can then be packaged and sold to high-paying advertisers interested in culling more revenue from secondary markets (Cover, 2006; Lovink, 2005). Third, the strategy of sublimating audiences’ desire to control and give input on a creative decision gives media-conglomerates a way to mine “no cost” market research on consumer preferences from target audiences. In the end, despite whatever rock sensibilities and talent contestants might have originally brought to RSSn, the consumer amateur-jury component of Rock Star: Supernova was designed to parse out and construct unlikely celebrity through a highly restricted notion of what constitutes “popular” consensus. What is most distressing about this industrial move is that tying this consensus to consumer practices subverts any possibility that the show’s resulting “musical” product could ever be credibly considered (as the show claimed) “rock,” “edgy,” or “real.” Ultimately, what was created and marketed as Rock Star: Supernova was the aesthetic spawn of corporate interests and restricted “public” input created by a reality-TV production team and a handful of mainstream “new” technology consumers. This latter point is the focus of the next section, which considers how RSSn recoded the signifiers “music” and “rock” in ways that rendered these terms as empty signifiers that could only be made meaningful in the context of the culture industries’ promotional and marketing practices.

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What Rock Star isn’t: music, rock, and the question of medium and genre specificity It is important to note that, when we talk about the identity of a medium, identity must be understood in the sense suggested by Paul Ricouer: it must be seen as being inscribed in a resolutely historical perspective, that of a permanent state of transformation, of an ipseity which makes it possible to overcome the same and the different. (Gaudreault & Marion 2002: 15)

My investigation into Rock Star: Supernova’s breaching of medium specificities is premised in two central axioms: 1) there are distinct technical and experiential conditions that identify the medium of music; and, 2) there are particular aesthetic forms and cultural uses that distinguish musical genres. This section will defend both these assertions and consider them in relation to the broader discourse concerning media convergence and “new” media technologies. It will also demonstrate that by breaching medium and genre specificities, the television show Rock Star: Supernova produced a predominantly visual product that, when marketed as “rock” “music,” reduced both these constructs to spectacular and consumable styles. It is fairly reasonable to assume that throughout most of human history, music has been conceptualized as a predominantly aural medium. I use the qualifier “predominantly” because I acknowledge that while music is primarily received through the sense organ of the ear, it is also often received in the context of a performance (eg theatre, dance, ceremony, etc.) or other optically oriented presentations requiring our visual engagement (sheet music, LPs, CDs, films, television, etc.). In fact, certain genres of music are often more understood by the visual aesthetics they invoke when performed and/or presented than by their distinct structural, harmonic, and rhythmic architectures (eg opera, flamenco, as well as rock and all its subgenres). Nonetheless, I return to my first assertion that music has traditionally been conceptualized, created, and understood in terms of what John Blacking has identified as “humanly organized sound” [emphasis mine] (1973: 32). Therefore, at a very fundamental level, remediating music for primary delivery through visually dominated platforms (such as television and the Internet) radically transforms very specific and essential qualities historically associated with the musical experience. The very fact that RSSn’s website allows the user to “turn off” the music, and even provides a prompt to do so on its graphical interface, speaks volumes to the status of sound in the construction of this “rock

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music” group that has performed as the musical group Rock Star Supernova.9 Beyond the fundamentally important qualification of “humanly organized sound,” there are other medium-specific qualities associated with this art that productions like RSSn violate or breach. For example, consider cultural critic Clement Greenberg’s observation that music is distinguishable from the other arts because of its inability to communicate “anything other than sensation.” He contrasted this quality to the allegorical arts, which he argued were distinguished by expressions that downplayed their mediated natures in the service of narrating and/or emulating “reality” (1986: 29-31). Although Greenberg was speaking to the issue of representational fine art, these assertions hold true for television arts as well, whose own specificities are marked by the form’s ability to simulate “the real” while obscuring its fully aesthetically constructed nature. But it is equally important to interrogate medium specificity beyond what I would argue is Greenberg’s false binary of aesthetic experience and aesthetic representation. The production, reception, and socio-cultural use of rock music must also be considered in relation to the ways in which new convergent and interactive visually based technologies are being used to transform aural experiences. I agree with Bolter and Grusin, who have argued passionately that the rock music experience has historically been characterised by the listener’s sense of bodily and psychic “abandonment” and perception of “authenticity,” in which the quality of the aural-bodymind experience is what ultimately validates the aesthetic encounter as “real” (2000:71-72). In addition, unlike music, which is received as a ubiquitous, allencompassing transmission, visual aesthetic experiences demand a linear alignment between the subject and the object. In other words, at the very minimum, visual media demand that the observer restrain their movement so as not to “lose sight” of what they are viewing. RSSn’s construction of a “musical” product through the re-purposing of aural content to visual formats was not only disruptive to the sensations provoked by an “all encompassing” musical experience, given the physical restriction of movement that the visual arts demand, it was completely counter-intuitive to any specificities of “abandonment” that the description “rock music” is typically used to convey. While I generally find notions of “authenticity” troubling, it is a descriptive term that listeners frequently use to mark out “rock” music. Therefore, it is worth considering how this term translates differently when used to describe aural and visual arts, especially in the context of the

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unique epistemological structures that frame these disparate mediums. The subjective gnosis or felt truth construed as “authenticity” provoked by a musical encounter is of little value when measuring this same construct in the context of the technical “accuracy” and “realism” that the objectified world demands. I propose that, in the aurally impoverished environment in which RSSn originated, the need to provide “realism” was precisely why the “rock” show’s remediation of musical content resulted in an excess of visual enterprises, each used to signal the contestants’ and band’s “authenticity” as rockers. As an optically dominant production, it was only through the objectified lenses of fashion, makeup, body ornamentation, staging, graphics, and panoply of new visual technologies that performers could reveal to television audiences their “authentic rock” natures. Moreover, while some may frame the aesthetic result of such re-purposing as intermedial content, I argue that RSSn’s musical remediation simply generated an array of visual artifacts that served to maintain what situationist theorists has referred to as our “spectacular society” – a social order dependent on the objectification of all experience that can be easily reproduced and sold. While up until this point I have focused on medium and genre specificity as it relates to reception, medium specificity also exists at the level of creation, and is assessed by each artist’s ability to adhere to certain conventions associated with the particular channels of expression they claim to have created. Only when these conventions are met “does the art work produce an emotional effect” (Becker, 1984: 30). In rock, there are in fact specific conventions that apply to both the creator and the creation. For example, the division of labour traditionally separating composers and performers working in classical, operatic, and pop music is not a featured characteristic in rock or any of its subgenres. As Becker has correctly observed: In rock music, the two activities [composing and performing] are, ideally, carried on by the same person. Fully competent performers compose their own music. Indeed, rock groups who play other people’s music get tagged with the derogatory label ‘copy groups,’ and a young group comes of age the day it begins to play its own compositions (ibid: 11).

Rock Star: Supernova’s emphasis on both contestants’ and the featured band’s performances of cover songs not only breached this convention, it thoroughly trivialized originality - a key marker of this genre - by dedicating only one episode to contestants’ abilities as song writers. Lawrence Grossberg has also argued that rock music has traditionally been distinguishable by its “power to encapsulate and articulate resistance

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and opposition” to both normative consensus and the Establishment (1992: 9). Yet RSSn was completely designed to invert this ethos and strip all its associated musicians of any credibility in promoting potential resistance or opposition. Despite several impressive performances over the show’s eleven-week run, RSSn’s incessant television and website promotion of its various corporate sponsors,10 and its structural marginalization of actual music11 undercut any assertions that the resulting product was either “rock” or “music” in its aesthetic formation. Regardless of the fact that corporations have always attempted to appropriate contesting art forms for their own commercial advantage, RSSn’s corporately contrived, commercially constructed “rock” product was an anathema to the defining characteristics of this genre.

Final thoughts: aesthetic, political and economic implications “For every art builds its forbidden city, its own exclusive domain, autonomous, specific, and hostile to anything that does not belong” (Epstein, 2004: 314).

Like other “TV-Net initiatives” designed to monopolize consumer spending practices, RSSn was structured to keep audiences “engaged long after a series episode has aired” (Caldwell, 2004: 51), solely for the purpose of advertising more product and establishing additional revenue streams. Caldwell has decoded these strategies of “overdetermined public construction” as part of a “new corporate alignment,” in which the “old” media of television engages in “repurposing, content migration, branding… [to] provide effective, tactical countermeasures in the face of very real anxieties about runaway production, new technologies, and volatile market conditions” (ibid: 69-70). As media conglomerates continue to control almost every area of cultural production in the US, Lee’s, Newsted’s, Clarke’s, Navarro’s, the House Band’s and RSSn contestants’ brazen collusion with the deception of “control” over creative content hardly reflected opposition or resistance to the Establishment. This corporate chicanery is even more malevolent when one realizes that the “popular vote” on RSSn actually referred to a very small group of new technology users and brand-linked consumers, who, by and large, were not likely contesting dominant culture. Promoting RSSn as a “popularly” created product, the show recoded “public” as “consumer,” and reduced “rock music” to a collection of stylized commodities, helping to further undermine this particular art form’s credibility as a vessel for future resistance or contestation.

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As a case study, Rock Star: Supernova made salient many contemporary debates concerned with the transformative aesthetic, economic, and socio-political potentials, consequences and anxieties around media convergence and “new” media technologies. Several have argued (and I agree) that intermediality has been a part of music from the very beginning. However, I have also attempted to demonstrate how the current dominance of spectacle – enhanced by these new technologies – overshadows the aural experience of rock music (and all its subgenres), causing detriment to a particular form of creative expression associated with cultural, social and political resistance. As a rock musician and cultural critic, when I contemplate recording artists’ readiness to collude with corporations to lessen aurality’s significance, I have recently found myself questioning my own belief that popular culture is still a place where oppositional or transgressive voices can emerge. Writing seven years after the introduction of MTV, Trivero lamented: On the threshold of the nineties, it is the obsessive production of images, and the emotional and acritical exultation of surfaces, which seem to propose themselves as the unique koiné12 capable of bringing together diverse, creative, and communication perspectives. This clearly constitutes one of the more significant consequences of the aestheticization and spectacularization of everyday life which has discovered in the mass media its omnipotent channels, and in certain overarching ‘codes’ its principle ‘deities’. Among these events… what has most significantly contributed to the extension of pan-aestheticism capable of obscuring the ethical-rational motivations inherited from the 1970s has been rock music, together with the advertising and fashion worlds that orbit around it. (1988: 229).

Like Trivero, I also mourn the loss of the “language” and the utility of rock, which, in today’s saturated visual landscape, has so readily given way to and been absorbed by the “aesthetic degradation” of spectacle and celebrity. In this essay, I have approached medium and genre specificity, as well as new media technologies, in terms of the complex set of interwoven questions they provoke regarding aesthetics, production, reception, expectations of experience, genres, ideology, political economy, public agency and industrial strategies. Relevant to these latter considerations, I have tried to respond to those cultural observers who discuss new media technologies in terms of their economically and socially democratizing promise. From this perspective, any collective domination over cultural production wielded by the culture industries, the ‘elite’ and other ‘cultural gatekeepers’ is potentially destabilized through new media, whose

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technologies facilitate the public’s “narrative activism” while giving users greater access to methods of production and alternative distribution networks. However, when it comes to mass distributed broadcast entertainment, I dispute most of these assertions, instead aligning myself with critics who have framed these same “new” media developments as “interactive lip service” (Cover, 2006) and a “fetishisation of the ordinary” (Brenton & Cohen, 2003:9). As evidenced in reality-TV in general and talent search celebrity gamedocs in particular, new media and audienceinteractive technologies are being strategically deployed to create an environment in which consumers willingly labour for the products they consume while skilled paid creative labour becomes a relic of an economic past. Media corporations might argue that they are just giving the people what they want and, in a free-market economy, there certainly is nothing reprehensible about that explanation. Of course, then the much broader (and largely unanswerable) question becomes: which came first, the public’s desire or the culture industry’s economic strategy? Raphael, Cover, and Coslor would all likely answer the latter. However, as many culturalists increasingly turn away from top-down Marxist models (which might ironically position the public as “cultural dupes” in terms of their willingness to dilute or trade channels of contestation for creative “control” and momentary notoriety), a “convergence” of social and economic theories and other explanations begin to emerge. For example, Turner re-imagines media’s current celebration of the everyday as a “demotic” turn, a condition in which the simulacra of democratic agency is being packaged and sold to a public already desiring fame and celebrity, and who are also interested in actively pursuing these desires as realistic goals and “career options.” Ultimately, with this study I’ve attempted to trouble the utopic discourse that posits interactive and do-it-yourself (DIY) culture as inherently beneficial to creativity and expression. To that end, I’ve considered how the structure of talent search celebrity gamedocs figure into this discussion, arguing that RSSn in particular marked new standards for conceptualizing a certain type of cultural production. Detailing the structure, creation, promotion and marketing of Rock Star’s second season and its resultant “musical” product allowed me to highlight some of the ways rock music may now be conceptualized, created, and experienced by consumers in the current media environment. This new formulation of “rock music” involves integrating consumption into the creative process and re-purposing aural content in order to pander to a narrowly defined

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“public” of select consumers, corporate interests, and the inscribed ethos of the “spectacular society.” I conclude with a final observation regarding Rock Star’s construction of rock music “by committee,” as well as some suggestions for future research. Integrating interactive consumer juried technologies for the purpose of constructing products and promoting them as “creative” enterprises is not only disruptive to the artist-audience and artist-muse relationships, it is gravely damaging to entire sectors of creative labour and socio-political forms of expression. There are so many imbricated concerns that arise from the idea of “juried” creativity that I cannot discuss them satisfactorily in a short chapter. However, it shouldn’t be ignored that the increase in US reality-TV production corresponds with the timing of creative unions coming together to harness their collective bargaining power against the culture industries; nor that this occurs when women and people of color have just started making employment headway in U.S. television production. As Balagun observes: Reality TV has been a boon for the networks and cable stations… No longer is it necessary to pay actors or screenwriters to come up with material -- the public would do it for you in exchange for 15 minutes of fame. The rise of the MySpace.com, YouTube.com, self-publishing, and video-recorders have shifted the terrain of “performer” and “audience.” Is it any wonder that reality TV really took off as the Writers Guild of America, the Screen Actors Guild, and the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists threatened strike in 2000? (2006: par. 5)

In the wake of the fourteen-week (100 day) Writers Guild of America Strike of 2007-2008, I encourage others to examine the vast displacement of labour and recoding of “public” that has gone relatively unchecked in this era of reality-TV, media consolidation, “audience agency,” and DIY entertainment. I also ask you to consider why media corporations and their parent companies might find it desirable to appropriate, recode, and commodify aesthetic forms of contestation if producing marketable entertainment is in fact the only agenda. If one accepts, as I do, that creative expression is an externalization of imagination and/or the execution of an original idea, then democratizing that process and subjecting it to the orthodoxy of thought by which social collectives are controlled and maintained seems to be a profoundly destructive proposition.

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References Becker, H. S. (1984). Art Worlds. Berkeley, University of California Press. Balagun, K. (2006). Game Show Theory: Race, Class, and Survivor [Electronic Version]. MR Zine. Retrieved March 18, 2008. Berman, C. (2006). ‘Rock Star’ is ‘American Idol’ with an edge: Latest season will find singer for newly created group Supernova. MSNBC: Reality TV. Retrieved March 17, 2008, . Blacking, J. (1974). How Musical Is Man. Seattle, University of Washington Press. Bolter, J. D. & Gruisin, R. (2000). Remediation: Understanding New Media. Cambridge, MA, MIT Press. Brenton, S. & Cohen, R. (2003). Shooting People: Adventures in Reality TV. London, Verso. Caldwell, J. (2004). Convergence Television: Aggregating Form and Repurposing Content in the Culture of Conglomeration. In L. Spigel and J. (eds) Olsson Television After TV: Essays on a Medium in Transition. Durham, NC, Duke University Press: pp 41-74. Coslor, E. (2005). Producing & Consuming Interlinked Consumption and Production Patterns in Informal Arts and Entertainment Scenes Unpublished master's thesis, University of Chicago, Illinois. Couldry, N. (2004). Teaching Us to Fake It: The Ritualized Norms of Television’s ‘Reality’ Games. In S. Murray and L. Ouellette (eds) Reality TV: Remaking Television Culture. New York, New York University Press: pp.57-74. Cover, R. (2006). Audience inter/active: Interactive media, narrative control and reconceiving audience history. New Media & Society, 8(1): 139-158. Epstein, J. (2004). On Certain Characteristics of Photogénie. In R. Abel (ed) French Film Theory and Criticism 1907-1939. Princeton, Princeton University Press: pp.314-318. Fitzgerald, T. (2007). For Fox's 'On the Lot,' It's Off the Map. 29 May 2007. MediaLife Magazine. Retrieved March 15, 2008, . Gaudreault, A. & Marion, P. (2002). The Cinema as a Model for the Genealogy of Media. Convergence, 8(4):12-18. Greenberg, C. (1986). Towards A Newer Laocoon. In Clement Greenberg: The Collected Essays and Criticism, Volume One – Perceptions and

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Judgements 1939-1944, edited by John O'Brian, 23-37. Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Grossberg, L. (1992). We Gotta Get Out of This Place: Popular Conservatism and Postmodern Culture. New York, Routledge. Jenkins, H. (2004). The Cultural Logic of Media Convergence. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 7: 33-43. Harlovitch, M.B. & Trossett, M. (2004). 'Expect the Unexpected': Narrative Pleasure and Uncertainty due to Chance in Survivor. In S. Murray and L. Oullette (eds) Reality TV: Remaking Television Culture. New York, New York University Press: pp.75-96. Lovink, G. (2005). The Principle of Notworking: Concepts in Critical Internet Culture. Public lecture presented at the Instituut voor Interactieve Media, Hogeschool van Amsterdam, 24 February. Magder, T. (2004). The End of TV 101: Reality Programs, Formats, and the New Business of Television. In S. Murray and L. Ouellette (eds.) Reality TV: Remaking Television Culture. New York, New York University Press: pp.137-156. Maycock, R. (2006). Looking Back After 'Rock Star INXS': Deanna Johnston's Appearances Bring High Visibility and Opportunities [Electronic Version]. Performing Songwriter. Retrieved March 17, 2008, . MSN Presents the Ultimate in Online Rock ’n’ Roll: “Rock Star: Supernova” Premieres July 5 Only on MSN. (2006). Microsoft PressPass. Retrieved March 17, 2008, . Raphael, C. (2004). The Political Economic Origins of Reali-TV. In S. Murray and L. Ouellette (eds.) Reality TV: Remaking Television Culture. New York, New York University Press: pp 119-136. Ryan, M. (2005). The Watcher: Why aren't more people watching this show? Chicago Tribune Online Retrieved March 17, 2008, . Schneider, M. (2006). Aspiring auteurs get dose of reality: Spielberg scouting for fresh talent with Fox skein. Variety.com: VTV. Retrieved March 17, 2008, . Treviro, G. (1988). For a Moment of Silence in the Spectacle. Cultural Studies, 2: 229-235.

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Turner, G. (2006). The mass production of celebrity: 'Celetoids, reality TV and the 'demotic turn'. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 9(2): 153-165.

Notes 1

For a more detailed sampling of viewers’ reactions to RSINXS, see TVgasm.com’s fan forum ‘INXS - Sold Out!’ at < http///www.tvgasm.com/shows/miscellaneous-tv/inxs-sold-out-940.php>. 2 Throughout most of its eleven-week run it remained the lowest-rated show on CBS, and wrapped up in the eleventh week ‘weeks earlier than originally planned’ (Ryan, 2005: par 2). 3 Previous production credits include Rock Star: INXS, American Idol, American Fighter Pilot, and American Juniors. 4 Previous production credits include Rock Star INXS, American Inventor, But They Can Sing, and The Contender. 5 Burnett’s other televisual productions have included The Apprentice: Martha Stewart (NBC, 2005), The Restaurant (NBC, 2003-2004), The Casino (Fox, 2004), and the sports reality series The Contender (NBC, 2005-2006). 6 Burnett is most notable for his success in this particular television subgenre, often referred to as ‘gamedoc.’ For a more detailed accounting of how gamedocs are typically structured, see Nick Couldry’s ‘Teaching Us to Fake It: The Ritualized Norms of Television’s ‘Reality’ Games’ in Murray and Ouellette’s Reality TV: Remaking Television Culture. 7 On The Lot’s North American premiere is scheduled to air in May 2007. 8 Turner uses demotic to refer ‘to the increasing visibility of the ‘ordinary person’ as they turn themselves into media content through celebrity culture, reality TV, DIY websites, talk radio, and the like’ (2006: 153). 9 Before Rock Star’s season two concluded, a U.S. District Court judge ruled that the group could no longer use the name Supernova after a California punk band named Supernova won an injunction preventing the band from touring, promoting, or selling merchandise under that moniker. Capitulating, the band changed its name to the same one carried by the television series, minus the TV series’ colon punctuation (Rock Star Supernova). 10 In addition to its broadcast advertisers, RSSn’s corporate sponsors included Microsoft, Verizon, Honda, and thirty-six fashion and jewelry companies ‘Where You Can Get Rock Star Style’ (http://rockstar.msn.com, ‘Fashion’). 11 Music is marginalized by the show in terms of actual time allocated to song performances during the broadcast, by the amount of space solely devoted to music on its website, and by the website’s graphical interface that provides a ‘MUSIC On/Off’ prompt adjacent to the header. 12 From Greek, meaning common language or lingua franca.

THE PROFESSIONAL IDEOLOGY OF CAMPAIGN JOURNALISM JEN BIRKS

Campaign journalism remains a largely unexplained aberration in the British press. The existence of this practice is due to more than simply the ineffectiveness of objectivity norms (Philo, 1990) or organisational bias (Hall et al., 1978), or even the open party-political partisanship of the British press (Hallin and Mancini, 2004). Not only do such campaigns advocate a particular view in an intentionally biased and partial manner, they also exert pressure on politicians to comply with their demands. For a commercial business to use the means of publicity to lobby government would be legitimate in a purely libertarian system, but social democratic thought has reframed the media as a social institution with responsibilities to the public. It is only, then, with reference to public opinion or the public interest that newspaper campaigns can claim legitimacy. This paper examines the practice of campaign journalism in the Scottish press, and compares it with the dominant conventions of responsibility and accountability. The journalistic norms of objectivity and balance emerged in the liberal model of the press as a self-regulatory professional responsibility, to make accountability to an external body unnecessary and enable the press to retain its autonomy (Hallin and Mancini, 2004). If these norms are deliberately rejected in the practice of campaign journalism then such unaccountability is no longer defensible, and claims of public responsibility must be substantiated. Here, interview data from journalists in local and regional (quasi-national) newspapers in post-devolution Scotland, with particular reference to a central case study, will help illuminate how journalists see their role and account for their actions, and will allow the implications for democratic function to be drawn.

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Professional ideology – accountability and responsibility Autonomy of the press, the negative freedom of absence of hindrance, is seen as a virtue in a liberal democracy, but the pure libertarian model of the press has tended to be moderated, in both theory and practice, on account of the power possessed by owners of the means of publicity, a power concentrated in fewer hands since the cost of entry to the industry increased dramatically in the early twentieth century (Siebert et al., 1984). The minimum forms of accountability in a liberal model are the market requirement to respond to consumer demand, and legal accountability for individual harm through constraints such as libel. But quite apart from the dangers of government intervention in media freedom and the many failures of the market in provision of a public good (Murdock and Golding, 2005), these structural forms of press accountability are limited to responsibility for harmful effects, a negative view of responsibility, as opposed to a positive pursuit of the public good in terms of responsibility to publics. In order to retain freedom from a top-down regulatory accountability, the press adopted an internally enforced measure of responsibility, what Schudson (1998) calls a “Trustee” model of journalism, and has otherwise been termed the “social responsibility theory of the press” (Siebert et al., 1984) or “journalistic professionalization” (Hallin and Mancini, 2004). This analogy with traditional professions such as medicine suggests that journalists are disinterested public servants governed by their own altruistic and benign professional ideology, and that normative aspirations are powerful enough to mitigate against the structural influence of the profit motive – a questionable claim. However, to be meaningfully responsible to the public, the press would need also to be accountable to them in some way, and otherwise would take such responsibility on behalf of (what journalists consider to be) the public interest, usurping the public’s legitimacy and right to publicity (Splichal, 2002). McQuail (2003) makes this distinction, between “public or social responsibility” (responsibility to the public) and “professional responsibility” where internal accountability is supposed to function on behalf of the public, and argues that there are functional, whilst fallible, frames of accountability for both. In terms of the latter, he claims that adherence to “ethical” procedures (e.g. attribution to sources and other evidential policies) is ensured through functions of social organisation, such as praise or blame and career progression, but these are precisely the functions through which others have accused media owners of exercising elite control over journalists in the interests of their class (Herman and

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Chomsky, 1988), and the lack of external criticism makes a code of ethics merely a statement of intent. McQuail’s account of public responsibility also over-claims on accountability through public debate, which is effectively limited to peer-review through press councils and specialist media journalism, and measures of public opinion, in which he includes market research and reader feedback as non-market measures of audience approval. This remains a negative measure of accountability that focuses on public response (not initiative) and assumes a passive audience. A more positive accountability model is suggested by some accounts of public journalism, particularly Rosen’s (1996) suggestion that greater demands could be made of readers, especially to engage with deliberative reasoning, to find common ground with views that oppose their own, and to reconcile their views with contrary evidence. He is critical of journalists’ use of objectivity norms to justify detachment from notions of the public good and the needs of civil society, demonstrating how professional ideology falls short of the claimed public responsibility. Furthermore, he argues, as do others (e.g. Hall et al., 1978; Herman and Chomsky, 1988), that in fact journalists do not, in any case, adhere consistently to these conventions; most obviously in opinion-based interpretation and analysis, but also in the values that they take for granted but that inform their framing of news events. Indeed, he argues, they are already proudly interventionist, in making demands and claiming influence on issues that they regard as uncontroversial, in what Hallin (1986) terms the “sphere of consensus”, such as improvements to schools or the resignation of corrupt officials. However, Rosen emphasises that he is not suggesting that journalists should practice advocacy, but merely facilitate deliberation. Though Rosen sees public journalism as not inconsistent with the dominant liberal professional ideology, but rather as a blueprint for making the practice closer to the rhetoric, some aspects of public journalism might be more associated with a participatory or deliberative model of democracy (Strömbäck, 2005). Theoretically, campaigning journalism could similarly aspire to a more participatory model of democracy, but that would depend upon the press relinquishing some of its power and becoming accountable to the public or to their organised representatives in a ‘Democratic Corporatist’ model (Hallin and Mancini, 2004). Instead, journalists remain protective of their watchdog role and professional news sense, defining their job in relation to politicians and other sources, not in relation to their audience or the public (Rosen, 1996: 55). It is difficult to square this model of self-managed responsibility and very limited accountability with claims made by campaigning newspapers

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to know the minds of the public, whether the audience as a specific public (not as a market) or the broader general public, and speak for them in campaigning for particular policy decisions.

Campaign journalism Much of the existing literature on campaign journalism does not address the accountability of the press to the public for whom they claim to speak; although such claims are recounted they are either accepted at face value (Neveu, 2002) or noted as unsubstantiated, “a real and/or imagined notion” (Cross and Lockyer, 2006: 288), without being the focus of the study. There is also more written on the access of independent ‘grassroots’ protest groups to (favourable) coverage in the media (Gitlin, 1980; Neveu, 2002), than on campaigns initiated and led by a newspaper. Where access to publicity is the key issue it is framed as structural bias rather than open advocacy. Gitlin (1980) argues that the media is hostile to social movements, while Neveu (2002) counters that local journalism could be quite supportive of protests in the community and less sympathetic toward remote leaders. He argues that this is due to the geographical closeness of local journalists to their sources and therefore necessarily to “‘local’ public opinion”, which conflates accounts from sources with the views of the wider community; indeed other studies of the local press suggest that it is no more accessible to ‘ordinary people’ than the national press (Ross, 2006). Rather this suggests a dependence on a different set of officials, criticism of whom is stifled, as Murphy (1976) found in his study of English local newspapers. This does not indicate a more responsive press, but conversely a heteronomy that could be employed to advantage. For instance, Cross & Lockyer (2006) found this to be central to national government strategy, diffusing local press opposition to plans for re-housing released paedophiles simply by employing a local media officer. This suggests that the editorial line is defined by journalist-source relations rather than journalist-audience responsibilities, despite the claims to the contrary. Geographical proximity is assumed to confer a local identity on local papers, but in fact, the ‘localness’ of an audience can be problematic, as a geographically-based readership is more diverse than one based on shared social background, interests or values. Aldridge (2003) argues that this presents a commercial (rather than ideological) problem for local newspapers, and that populist discourses, especially personalization and the construction of ‘outsiders’, are used to universalise campaign issues, and thus to create a community as a market for the local newspaper. The

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press cannot legitimately claim accountability to an audience that they have constructed in order to sell more newspapers, yet equally any claim to be acting responsibly in their interest cannot depend on the usual defence of adherence to norms of objectivity and balance.

Research context Scotland has a uniquely lively and competitive regional press (Tunstall, 1996), quite unlike the toothless beast described by Murphy (1976). The national UK press has a lower than average ‘reach’ (readership as a percentage of population) in Scotland, with the exception of the ‘editionised’ titles, tailored versions produced in Scottish newsrooms. The status of Scotland as a separate media landscape is tied to its status as a ‘nation’, which preceded, but was also emphasised by the process of devolution1. The Scottish Parliament is similarly distinctive from its London equivalent, particularly in aspiring to be more publicly accessible and deliberative (Lynch, 2001). A number of Scottish newspapers have been active in terms of campaigning in recent years, but the selected campaign from the Evening Times, a Glasgow newspaper with a small but geographically concentrated circulation of around 90,000 (Newsquest, 2006), is of particular interest due to the scale and richness of data, and as an award-winning (peer approved2) example. The “Hands off Yorkhill” campaign was a sustained, year-long protest against the closure of a maternity hospital linked to a highly-regarded children’s hospital at Yorkhill in Glasgow. It was driven by editor, Charles McGhee, and the coverage was led by chief reporter, David Leask and Health Reporter, John McCann, (all of whom were interviewed for this study, and are quoted throughout), as well as a Health Board representative and the Health Minister of the ruling Scottish Executive. However, the Evening Times is not entirely representative of the rest of the Scottish press, so comparative reference will be made to two other papers where appropriate, one quality national from the same stable, The Herald, and one national popular, the Daily Record, that is considered to be the nearest competitor (for both readers and advertising). The closure of maternity services formed part of a wider policy of centralisation aimed at increasing breadth of specialisation at wellequipped and well-staffed central hospitals, but the closure was also a response to specific local problems of staff shortage and a falling birthrate. The decision to recommend the closure of the Queen Mother’s maternity hospital, in preference to services at the Southern General, was taken in light of consultation with experts and based on clinical

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recommendations for the acute care of mothers who suffer complications giving birth, a facility available at the latter but not the former. This recommendation was put out to wider public consultation (Greater Glasgow NHS Board, 2004), before being put to the Health Minister, whose approval was generally regarded as a formality. McGhee was of the opinion that the consultation was also a formality; that the Health Board had already decided and would not listen to the public, and that the public did not or would not support the closure. The newspaper argued that the maternity hospital should remain on the same site as the children’s hospital, which offered neo-natal care, and that transfer of ill babies from alternative maternity hospitals would be dangerous and lead to deaths. However, it did not adequately present the clinical judgement that mothers were at greater risk of developing complications and needed to have maternity co-located with adult emergency care (Greater Glasgow NHS Board, 2003) – a view that was only partially present when being discredited. The reasons for opposing the closure were (by their own admission) only intended for a political audience, not the general readership. The newspaper sought public support through the kinds of populist coverage identified by Aldridge (2003), especially personalisation of affected individuals through stories about babies saved by Yorkhill, and of perpetrators through vilification of the Health Board. In another populist measure, the campaign recruited support from celebrities. Demonstrations of public support took the form of a petition and a one-sided public meeting which the Health Board refused to attend (making it more of a protest than a discussion). The campaign was successful in some measure in that closure was delayed, and the link between pre- and post-natal care will be replicated in the relocated services.

Professional ideology of the Evening Times: responsibility, ‘objectivity’ and ‘balance’ Evening Times editor Charles McGhee presented the liberal professional ideology as central to the newspaper’s practice and argued that he had “introduced a more responsible brand of journalism”. We now have a philosophy that says simply tell it as it is, and try and make it as balanced as possible, and that’s fundamentally what drives the style of the news desk in terms of writing and presenting material (McGhee).

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However, in terms of interpretation and analysis, objectivity can be reduced to the attribution of opinion to sources, despite the angle or ‘line’ having been already decided by the news desk; McCann describes inexperienced journalists “running round trying desperately to get quotes that they know can’t possibly be true, finally finding someone to give an opinion that agrees with what an executive decided it should be about”. Opinion becomes factual reporting because someone’s expression of it was ‘objectively’ observed. Further, definitions of responsibility are defined as much as ‘having appropriate values and beliefs’ and as ‘being objective’. The chief reporter describes McGhee repeatedly as “moderate”, and “thoughtful”, with “considered views”, and very specifically “not your nasty little tabloid editor” (Leask), with a focus on his personal opinions. And his personality is obviously all across the paper, it’s his paper, he’s the boss, okay? We don’t vote on things, he decides. And because Charles is a man who is moderate in his views, and does not become shrill and stupid, and actually does think about the views he takes, okay? So sometimes he gets it wrong like everybody, but nine times out of 10 he’s the man that’s coming out with thoughtful and considered views. And that means, I think, that the newspaper has got more credibility and clout than it used to (Leask).

Whilst his opinions could be limited to the appropriate (in liberal terms) medium of the leader column, they are also expected to be influential (have “clout”). Influence, in turn, is regarded as a function of the appearance of responsibility, so there is an instrumental, ideological motive in behaving in what is deemed an appropriate way3. However, the definition of responsibility as ‘reasonableness’ means that the ‘responsible’ editor is at best a benign dictator. Nonetheless, given that “credibility” is a value conferred on a newspaper by others this could constitute a measure of accountability though public debate and peer review, if only in so far as reputation is concerned (a negative, reactive and potentially superficial measure). More meaningful accountability to public critics may be limited by the use of a discourse of professionalism, employed in order to claim superior judgement of the news over the lay person, a notion of the journalist as a trained, skilled and experienced professional in the traditional sense (Aldridge and Evetts, 2003). It is argued that the necessary skills are not available to the wider public; therefore they are unable to judge what it is that they want and/or need until it is given to them. Such a view of the capabilities of public opinion is by no means new, and is comparable with

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liberal arguments about the limitations of the public in political matters (Lippmann, 1954).

Accountability: listening to the audience The main direct contact individual journalists have with their readers is via feedback, now generally received by email, which tends to be more critical than approving. It is usually dismissed as unrepresentative and even unhinged, as found in studies of more formal feedback through letters to the editor (Wahl-Jorgenson, 2002; Raeymaeckers, 2005), and conceded only when holding journalists to their professional, rather than public or social responsibilities, by highlighting factual errors. I don’t really value the opinions of people that email, that’s a terrible admission but I don’t. I don’t take it seriously. Sometimes someone will make a good point, sometimes you’ll have got something wrong, perhaps a detail, something, whatever (Leask).

However, Leask does claim to listen to the views, and criticisms, of “local opinion formers” and “community leaders”, such as members of the community council or housing group, or charity volunteers. Such figures are participants in ‘associative democracy’, and could hold journalists accountable to their social responsibilities. This is dependent, however, on the views elicited – whether the political agenda and interests of the community, or its approval of the newspaper and likely impact on circulation, “they’re the people you’ve got to keep on side, even commercially” (Leask), indicative of Aldridge’s (2003) community-asmarket. The abstract wider audience, with whom the journalists have no direct contact, are generally conceptualised as a commercial market, identified in market research terms. McGhee makes reference to market research when discussing the development of his policies for the paper, and refers to readers in marketing categories in terms of their product use (“regular”, “occasional” and “lapsed” readers) and value to advertisers (“socioeconomic groups”, rather than ‘social class’, and lifestyle “interests”, specifically “employment or entertainment or shopping”, rather than values and opinions). Despite their protests to the contrary, journalists also internalise these definitions; their self-reported journalistic instincts were often found to be strikingly similar to market research findings reported to the editor4.

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However, reader feedback on the newspaper content is not always supportive of the image the editor seeks, or at least suggests it may be unappreciated: These are… kind of bring you back down to earth again, you think you’re producing a sort of award-wining campaigning newspaper with, you hope, you aspire to higher standards of journalism and actually all people are interested in is the where the newspaper crossword is or whether we have the Gol cartoon or not (McGhee).

This frustration contributes to journalists’ belief that they hold to higher standards than the public demand of them, and that accountability to such a public would lower standards. At the same time, there is a resigned acceptance in being brought “back down to earth”, and journalists take pride in the skill of pitching stories in such a way that won’t upset readers’ assumptions. However, readers’ elicited responses are a product of the market-related role that they have been assigned by the press, through this form of consultation. Market research addresses them as consumers, not as citizens, and therefore public responses reflect this. So accountability is dismissed and professional responsibility reduced to subjective ‘reasonableness’, yet, the audience remain a critical basis of the newspaper’s political power. McGhee observes that there are two ways of having political influence – to have a mass-market audience (the Daily Record) or an upmarket demographic that includes the political classes (The Herald). The Herald and Scotsman affects it in the way that these are the kind of first choice of the chattering classes, and although they’re smaller circulation newspapers than the Evening Times, and certainly much smaller than the Daily Record, they are read by people in power, and what they say therefore carries a lot of weight (McGhee).

The Evening Times can rely on neither of these elements for automatic influence, but attempts to appeal to both popular and professional support in pursuit of their goals. But if their influence is dependent on drumming up support for a pre-determined opinion or objective, can this really be justified as responsibility or accountability to their audience?

Campaigning ideology In even more marked contrast to claimed (though compromised) norms of ‘objectivity’ and ‘balance’, the “Hands off Yorkhill” campaign necessarily took a biased view in the advocacy of a particular policy over other

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alternatives. The intention to influence politicians was explicit and acknowledged, in order to “bring about change”, and specifically, “a change in government policy” (McGhee), though attempts to influence the general audience were concealed. In itself this interventionism is uncontroversial, at least when the objectives are those with which it would be difficult to disagree (Hallin, 1986; Rosen, 1996). However, this can be stretched to more ideological or normative objectives, such as ‘everyone wants lower taxes’, or in this case, ‘no-one wants a hospital to close’. The question is first, whether journalists conceive this as a transgression of the boundary of the liberal model of journalism and a shift into alternative norms and values, or that they conceptually move the boundary to include it; and second, how responsible journalism is redefined and accounted for.

A separate model of responsibility in campaign journalism The editor accepts that campaigning is inconsistent with the liberal model of professional ideology, but seems to equivocate in his explanation: We will be biased on occasion when it comes to campaigns, because when we decide to take up a cause then obviously we’ll throw our weight behind that cause, but that’s… in terms of what we’re doing I believe, and I know the PCC backs me in this, and other newspapers, that you can be partisan provided you separate that from, you know, the sort of factual elements of the story. As long as you aim for balance and fairness and accuracy in your general reporting, if you choose to be partisan in pursuit of a cause, then that is quite acceptable provided you label it as a campaign and that this is what the paper believes as opposed to presenting as fact when, well it may be or it may not be, depending on your view of it (McGhee).

At first, he attempts to reconcile the campaign bias with standard practice by using the separation of news and comment within the coverage as a model, “provided you separate [partisan reporting] from, you know, the sort of factual elements of the story”, but then amends this to separation of all campaign reporting from other “general reporting”, by avoiding “presenting as fact” campaign coverage, which is necessarily opinion-based and biased, distinguishing it as an acceptable exception from normal practice. McGhee here presents two measures of accountability to justify this exemption – one of peer review within the industry, and another of the open market and consumer choice. The first is made in reference to industry colleagues (both as quasi-regulators and practitioners), and demonstrates the limitations of a system that approves of a practice simply because everybody does it. The second refers to transparency and

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informed choice of interpretation, using a discourse of consumer information or product labelling. The choice is between acceptance and rejection (as opposed to between competing perspectives), but this seems disingenuous given the persuasive rhetoric used to encourage support. A third justification is an explicitly social and political one, that of a ‘constituency’ commitment to represent their city and their readers, suggesting an accountability to them. However, this reification of the public seems contrary to the dismissive view of them expressed earlier. [Being recognised for campaigning] kind of cements its credentials with the community. It says to our readers that we are part of the fabric of the community. […] we’re committed to Glasgow and the West of Scotland, we’re committed to campaigning for readers, we’re committed to being your voice, and influencing the people in power to bring about change that we believe and that you believe is to the betterment of the community, and you know, we’ve demonstrated that time and time again over the past six years. (McGhee)

The claim to reflect their views remains unsubstantiated – “being” not ‘listening to’ their voice, and the assumption that proximity means identification, or identity with a community betrayed (in Neveu, 2002) – rather it is based more on conveying such a reputation to the audience. McGhee begins by rhetorically describing a communication of image, “it says to our readers”, and goes on to shift from talking about the readers in the third person to addressing them in the second person, in a persuasive, marketing mode of discourse, pursuing brand “credentials”. To substantiate this superficial assertion, he goes on to claim to have “demonstrated” this commitment to the community, referring to the campaigns themselves as the evidence for their altruism, trustworthiness and thus legitimate bias in an entirely circular argument, rather than offering any real evidence of having listened to readers or involved them in decisions. Moreover, the newspaper is defined as a political actor (anathema to US journalists, even beyond the public journalism remit) in a way that is intended to appeal to the audience, selling the newspaper’s actions as a powerful and influential political actor, and measuring success only on the extent to which they are trusted by readers to act ‘responsibly’ on their behalf via market research measures of brand identity, as agreement with word associations chosen by the editor such as “campaigning” (66 per cent), “trustworthy” (67 per cent), and “cares about Glasgow” (83 per cent). In this conception, professionalism is detached from the original definition of objectivity and balance, and used as an independently extant

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quality, or one connected with the more vague “fair-mindedness”5, that can justify deviation from objectivity and balance. Because he’s got all the experience and because he’s got that fairmindedness at the root of his journalism, which is a professional journalism. And that fair-mindedness means that when he’s campaigning you have to take it seriously (Leask).

Leask suggests that if a newspaper is credible then it is so regardless of whether or not it adheres to objectivity and balance, and is allowed flexibility of the rules on the basis of ‘responsibility’ on behalf of a disengaged public because it can be trusted to do so without abusing that power. Which is a good thing and a bad thing, it means that for... for my paper for example, I know I can, with a well-written leader, targeted at the right person, we can have some kind of effect, and possibly get some action, but however, it also means that a paper like the Record, which as I said has got considerable clout with the government, could abuse that power (McGhee).

The editor explicitly suggests that influence in the hands of the Evening Times is positive (since it is ‘reasonable’), but in the hands of the Daily Record it is dangerous as a consequence of its supposed lack of controls.

Locating campaign journalism within the dominant model Press advocacy is considered acceptable within a liberal model, at least when it is felt that few would disagree. A discourse of reader or public consensus in favour of the newspaper’s preferred policy, Hallin’s (1986) “sphere of consensus”, appears to allow the absence of balance. Further, journalists present this consensus as a silenced public in need of representation against a powerful minority, making claims to report objectively the opinions of an aggregate source, in order to correct an existing imbalance in the wider public sphere. Additionally, this minority opinion is normatively located in the “sphere of deviance”, where the rules of balance (which apply under the sphere of “legitimate controversy”) no longer need be adhered to; therefore opposition from the politicians and officials resisting the campaign is acknowledged, but undermined by presenting this as misconduct. In particular, journalists present themselves as objectively correcting mendacious arguments, the ‘watchdog’ role, rather than subjectively presenting their own. Campaigning advocacy,

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then, is re-presented as restoring balance in the wider public sphere and exposing wrongdoing.

Presentation of consensus Claims of public support featured strongly in journalists’ re-imagining, in which biased advocacy was represented as objective reporting on behalf of a silenced majority. The mass-circulation Daily Record uses the size of the audience as a direct justification for claims of political representation – as political reporter, Dave King says, “It makes a big difference when you say you can speak on behalf of five-hundred, six-hundred thousand readers” – while the Evening Times stops short of claiming accountability (as distinct from approval) through the market, if only because of its size. The Times does, however, claim a representative role based on its petition. A newspaper isn’t a political party, and they don’t necessarily represent people in any kind of meaningful way like that. But clearly in this case we could claim some kind of mandate given the number of people that had signed up (Leask).

The specific demonstration of support for the campaign is equated to the electoral legitimacy as political representative, not least when McGhee attended the Scottish Executive Petitions Committee “on their [the readers’] behalf” (Scottish Parliament, 2004), a form of access designed for the direct use of the general public or interest groups formally representing them. By characterising the opinion advocated by the campaign as originating with the public (as well as other sources6) this distinguishes it from the conviction of the newspaper, editor or journalist. And nobody cares what a journalist says, you’re not… you only get your opinion in if you find somebody to agree with you and then it’s their opinion, otherwise you’re… or you can do it as a first person piece, you know, an issue piece, where it’s ‘this is what I think’, which is fine. But a journalist shouldn’t be doing that unless you clearly state that it’s an opinion piece, or someone else thinks the same thing (McCann).

This is a very frank admission of attempts to “get your opinion in” whilst technically adhering to the norm of objectivity. However, by speaking for an imagined public they are using what Hall called the “public voice” (Hall et al., 1978). The editor appears to assume that his own opinion is consistent with public opinion – he gives no indication of having

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previously considered the possibility that the newspaper’s line and the opinion of its readers may diverge, perhaps because he assumes that they will be persuaded by the campaign. In considering the hypothetical situation it becomes clear that his personal opinion is at least as important as public approval. That’s a good question [laughs], a very good question. Erm... I’m.... ooh... mostly I would go with our readers’ opinion. For the simple reason that if the majority of our readers felt strongly enough to say to us, “we do not think this is right, we would like you to help us change this”, then it’s maybe likely that our view of the situation would accord with that. Now if it didn’t, and I’m trying to think of an example for you where it didn’t... and there’s not one that comes to mind. If we felt that for whatever reason, you know, that although there was a strong public opinion against something but that our view of the situation was that it was ultimately valid, in five or ten years time this is the better road to go down, we would simply take the view of reflecting readers opinions without getting involved in any sort of campaign as such, but simply record both sides of the argument, and make sure that the readers’ voices were heard, but not lend the paper’s weight behind it (McGhee).

Equally, however, he would not be inclined to pursue a campaign for which he was uncertain about being able to gain support; McGhee describes sister paper The Herald’s campaign for release from detention and leave-to-remain for the immigrant Ay family as “laudable” but immediately qualifies it with, “did it do them any good in readership terms, I suspect not”, as he doubts that they were able to persuade readers of their point of view. Many at The Herald, in fact, shared this view; Calum MacDonald, the deputy news editor says that “we couldn’t really afford, and newspapers shouldn’t be able to afford, to get out of touch with the readers”, because “it pisses off a core part of your readership, which doesn’t seem to be very clever because you haven’t achieved anything and you’ve shot yourself in the foot commercially”, but the editor of the time, Mark Douglas Home7, ruled against his journalists’ instincts, since “you have no idea what the wider public will think […so you’re] working in the dark, but I think that’s probably the way it should be", and arguing that it is possible to surprise and challenge your readers, as Rosen (1996) suggested. Journalistic success is not usually, however, judged by encouraging and facilitating readers to rise to that challenge, but in understanding the limitations of readers and tailoring the message to be the most successful with them. Journalists on a range of Scottish newspapers expressed reservations about whether or not they can ‘challenge’ readers, or to what

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extent, and tabloids were especially concerned about the risk of being ‘patronising’. There was some disagreement about whether ‘educating’ is patronising or not, though in some uses this may be another way of saying persuading: It’s more difficult, you have to present a convincing argument. It would be more in an educating way rather than in a nagging kind of a way I think. You’d present a case, even though it might be unpopular if you thought you could get for it, but it’s easier if you’re already sort of on side with them (McCann).

In the abstract, McCann cites the requirement for reasoned argument, but in the context of the campaign he describes it as “boring”. Similarly, Leask argues that “most of our readers wouldn’t have been interested in” the basis of their criticisms of the decision. It then becomes a matter of using a variety of strategies, including the use of personal stories; as Leask insists, “if you run a campaign that doesn’t have personal stories in it, then you’re not gonna win it” (Leask). Other approaches include the use of simple metaphors, as McGhee indicates when he notes that “it was absolutely vital that you had simple metaphors for the campaign, and that way we hit upon the very simple metaphor of the bridge that linked the two hospitals”. Reference to celebrity support is considered to be another useful tactic - “if they like the personality they must think, ‘well, if Carol Smilie’s supporting it, it must be a good cause, I like Carol Smilie so I’ll support it’” (McGhee). All of these tactics are aimed at gaining support and are unconcerned with the rationality of the response. Though asking readers to act to assist the newspaper’s pursuit of the public interest, the newspaper is not facilitating them to decide what is in their interests (or accords with their values or desired outcomes); despite the public’s participation this remains an act on behalf of the public, a responsibility assumed by the newspaper without meaningful accountability.

Imbalance and the silent majority The journalists acknowledge that they were not even-handed in regard to sources and available arguments. You have to reassess what you’re thinking, if they say ‘you’re wrong’, you’ve gotta to say, ‘okay I’m wrong’. But it depends, because campaigning is different in many ways, I mean, yes, there are things where you’re looking for a certain line and it’s a case of finding people to argue it and then finding people that will respond to it (McCann).

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A certain measure of ambivalence can be detected in this statement, a reluctance to admit imbalance, pointing to the opportunity allowed the opposition to “respond”, though this is not equivalent to providing them with equal access or voice. However, any imbalance is later justified as a re-ordering of “priorities”, an attempt to correct a bias elsewhere in the public sphere, which is the very definition of external pluralism. This marks out an agenda-setting role for the newspaper, in increasing the significance of the impact of the policy outcome versus the practicalities of delivery (especially cost, disassociated from tax), but does not prove that the closure of the maternity hospital would lead to a worse outcome for expectant mothers and their babies. Whilst McGhee regards his own conviction as valid, he describes the conviction of the Health Board in less favourable terms, as an “appalling disregard of public opinion”. Inherent in the campaign’s criticisms of the Health Board for prioritising reasoned expert argument, is an implicit assumption that ‘public opinion’ should receive a response. This is somewhat contrary to the journalists’ own dismissive attitude to criticisms from their (reading) public. In the campaign articles the Board is portrayed as insulting the public by treating their opinions as irrelevant, having “shown outrageous contempt for public opinion” (Evening Times, 17 February 2004: 8), and having “poured scorn on the outcry” (Evening Times, 20 February 2004: 10). The explanation presented for this is that the Board members are remote (“high-handed”) and believe themselves to know better, rather than because they possess, or have consulted people who possess, clinical expertise. Furthermore, Leask justifies the construction of consensus as a response to the construction of division as a tactic by the Health Board to damage the cause of the campaign, “to divide and conquer, to pit one part of the town against another” (Leask). The division also, however, caused discomfort for journalists as it revealed the bias which was felt by contacts from the Southern General, therefore disagreement was dismissed as “artificial” and “overcome” by rejecting the either/or formulation of the decision and campaigning against any closure, changing the terms of the debate from the official discourse of a “tough choice” (Greater Glasgow NHS Board, 2003) to one that all local parties (except the Health Board) could agree to. This solution allowed the journalists to continue to claim to represent a consensus in the Glasgow community, as well as to retain access to important local sources. However, it presented a political difficulty because the need for closure of one maternity unit was one of the few points of real clinical consensus and practical necessity, and for this reason Health Minister, Malcolm Chisholm felt unable to respond

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positively to the newspaper’s demands without a feasible alternative proposal, which did emerge from clinical sources, but without which he said he was prepared to “tough it out”. Because the newspaper pursued a populist agenda and was not prepared to make difficult decisions that would anger sources, or express complexity that might alienate readers, they were unable to make a real (appropriate and effective) contribution to policy decisions. For instance, the newspaper focused on the acute care of babies born with severe difficulties instead of the needs of the mother, but refused to accept that the interests of mother and child were in conflict; in stating that most people’s priorities would be “children first… or children, mothers and babies, obviously, first”, McCann made an interesting self-correction that suggested an awareness of the difficult choice and a conscious effort to avoid it. This signalled a failure to engage with the substance of the issues in a way that could contribute meaningfully to a debate about specialisation versus proximity in health services. The overall impression communicated to readers was that the Health Board was acting improperly in taking one biased view, whilst presenting themselves as legitimately taking the opposite view. This inconsistency was justified, not only in terms of silenced consensus behind the newspaper’s view, but the deviance of the silencing minority.

Undermining the opposing side (Watchdog discourse) The Health Board was consistently accused of making a number of ‘blunders’ and of dishonesty. Published allegations of censorship centred on claims that Yorkhill clinicians’ submissions were “swept away in the report” (Evening Times, 16 October 2003: 4) and a public information leaflet kept “locked away” (Evening Times, 21 January, 2004: 8). Clinical sources identified inaccurate or misleading information in a public information leaflet published by the Board, which misattributed comments in a consultation brochure and misquoted an expert report to the effect that it was safe to transport seriously-ill newborn babies, when the report recommended transport of pregnant mothers. The combined accusations of bias and inaccuracy of information presented to the public as part of the consultation, allowed the newspaper to question the validity of the process. Accusations both of incompetence and mendacity were used to justify the biased coverage against the Health Board, and supported the Evening Times’ successful defence against complaints made by the Chair of the Health Board Maternity Working Group to the PCC – that the complainant should not be awarded a right to reply on account of her dishonesty.

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McCann insisted that the Health Board wanted to make claims that were objectively wrong, rather than express an opinion or argument with which the newspaper disagreed. However, what was really being contested was the reputation of the Health Board, since the substance of the allegations or defence was not expected to be of interest to Evening Times readers, at least as judged by the ‘market’, or in reality, by the criteria of social class. And whilst the story about the [expert report] debate wouldn’t get a double page spread it was given coverage in the paper so that we could bring it to the attention of the Health Minister and others who were concerned, and it was picked up by the broadsheets as well, who had, you know, a greater interest in the more complex side of the argument (McGhee).

The advantage of the watchdog justification for campaign bias is that it does not require public support, and indeed even influence over the public is regarded as acceptable in terms of making and breaking political reputations by delivering information and judgements on our political leaders; as Paul Sinclair, political editor of the Daily Record says, “we are very important about getting a message across, I think, over a long period of time, and over getting a politician’s reputation for competence or incompetence, that’s important”. The relocation of campaigning in the traditional model relieves the newspaper of any need to live up to claims of political representation or public participation, and the role of the public is returned to the passive role appropriate to liberal, representative democracy.

Discussion The Evening Times journalists, to a greater extent than the editor, attempted to justify campaign journalism in the terms of the liberal model of the press and the associated professional ideology of objectivity and balance, chiefly by questioning the legitimacy of their opponents and accusing them of bias against the public view, failings which they could then claim to correct. However, they did also concede there was significant divergence from the norms of professional responsibility, yet they still claimed adherence to public responsibility through different mechanisms. Notions of professionalism and responsibility were redefined to allow advocacy, much as Hallin and Mancini (2004) found in the ‘Democratic Corporatist’ countries of northern and central Europe. In this model external pluralism is the norm, thus is also consistent with the Evening Times journalists’ claims to be compensating for imbalance outside of the newspaper.

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Politically, Democratic Corporatist countries are distinguished (from Liberal nations) by predominantly consensus-based (as opposed to majoritarian) systems that have procedurally integrated organised social groups. Both aspects are true of the Scottish Parliament, which elects members through a mixed system, including an element of proportional representation, and also allows privileged access to interest groups though the Civic Forum (Lynch, 2001). The role of the press is then to express the differences and facilitate bargaining processes. The Evening Times campaign, however, related to the public as a collection of private individuals or fragmented voters, following a liberal definition, perhaps closer to Rosen’s (1996) Public Journalism, except that the campaign clearly crosses the line between facilitating bargaining or deliberation and directly intervening. Readers were invited to participate, but only in so far as approving the legitimacy of the newspaper’s actions on their behalf. This could be read as the newspaper acting as an interest group or association, as de Tocqueville suggested (1956: 204), but the democratic potential of this is diminished by journalists’ limited view of the public as a passive market. The audience is defined in general by reader responses to the product, through market research measures of approval, and circulation in terms of scale (for the mass-market national Daily Record) or trends (for the smaller local Evening Times). When campaigning, then, this allows journalists to represent their ability to sell the campaign to readers (assumed for the Daily Record, proven by the Evening Times in expressed support, and also the reason for The Herald’s perceived failure), as a measure of quasi-electoral accountability, despite inviting only a responsive expression of agreement with a predetermined opinion. Journalists assumed that the public were best served by assisting the campaign, and need only be persuaded that it was important enough an issue that readers should make the effort to support it, not that they need be persuaded to agree with the objectives, much less that they might have a deliberative contribution. It was thought that deliberation would damage the chances of success, but also the validity of the newspaper’s advocacy, so consensus was constructed and opposition marginalised and discredited. This restricted definition of the audience is used to justify an extension of journalists’ responsibility, as those with superior political understanding, on behalf of the audience. This practice included the selection of balanced and objective information, the provision of contextual analysis, and ultimately to making judgements on the public’s behalf.

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References Aldridge, M. (2003) 'The ties that divide: regional press campaigns, community and populism.' Media Culture & Society 25(4): 491-509. Aldridge, M. and J. Evetts (2003) 'Rethinking the concept of professionalism: the case of journalism.' British Journal of Sociology 54(4): 547-64. Cross, S. and S. Lockyer (2006) 'Dynamics of Partisan Journalism.' Journalism Studies 7(2): 274. Gitlin, T. (1980) The whole world is watching: mass media in the making & unmaking of the New Left. Berkeley: University of California Press. Greater Glasgow NHS Board (2003) 'Board Paper No. 03/61: Future of Maternity Services in Greater Glasgow'. C. Executive: GGNHSB. —. (2004) 'Changes Affecting You: Leaflet 1 - Location of Delivery Services'. Modernising Maternity Services Consultation: GGNHSB. Hall, S., C. Critcher, et al. (1978) Policing the crisis: mugging, the state, and law and order. London: Macmillan. Hallin, D. C. (1986) The "uncensored war": the media and Vietnam. New York: Oxford University Press. Hallin, D. C. and P. Mancini (2004) Comparing media systems: three models of media and politics. Cambridge, U.K.; New York: Cambridge University Press. Herman, E. S. and N. Chomsky (1988) Manufacturing consent: the political economy of the mass media. New York: Pantheon Books. Lippmann, W. (1954) Public opinion. New York: Macmillan Company. Lynch, P. (2001) Scottish government and politics: an introduction. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. McQuail, D. (2003) Media accountability and freedom of publication. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Murdock, G. and P. Golding (2005) 'Culture, Communications and Political Economy' pp. 60-83 in J. Curran and M. Gurevitch (eds) Mass media and society. London: Hodder Arnold. Murphy, D. (1976) The silent watchdog: the press in local politics. London: Constable. Neveu, E. (2002) 'The Local Press and Farmers' Protests in Brittany: proximity and distance in the local newspaper coverage of a social movement.' Journalism Studies 3(1): 53-67. Newsquest. (2006, June 2006) "Pressnow: Evening Times circulation and readership." Retrieved 8th November, 2006, from http://www.pressnow.co.uk/eveningtimes/readers_circulation.shtml.

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Philo, G. (1990) Seeing and believing: the influence of television. London: Routledge. Raeymaeckers, K. (2005) 'Letters to the Editor: A Feedback Opportunity Turned into a Marketing Tool: An Account of Selection and Editing Practices in the Flemish Daily Press.' European Journal of Communication 20(2): 199-221. Rosen, J. (1996) Getting the connections right: public journalism and the troubles in the press. New York: Twentieth Century Fund Press. Ross, K. (2006) 'Open source? Hearing voices in the local press' pp. 23244 in B. Franklin (eds) Local Journalism and Local Media: Making the local news. Abingdon: Routledge. Schudson, M. (1998) 'The Public Journalism Movement and Its Problems' pp. 132-49 in D. Graber, D. McQuail and P. Norris (eds) The politics of news: the news of politics. Washington, D.C.: CQ Press. Scottish Parliament (2004) 'Official Report (transcript): Hospital Closures (Consultation) (PE643)'. Petitions Committee. Edinburgh: Scottish Parliament. Siebert, F. S., T. Peterson, et al. (1984) Four theories of the press. Chicago; London: University of Illinois Press. Splichal, S. (2002) 'The principle of publicity, public use of reason and social control.' Media Culture & Society 24(1): 5-26. Strömbäck, J. (2005) 'In Search of a Standard: four models of democracy and their normative implications for journalism.' Journalism Studies 6(3): 331-45. Tocqueville, A. de. (1956) Democracy in America. New York: London: New American Library; New English Library. Tunstall, J. (1996) Newspaper power: the new national press in Britain. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Wahl-Jorgenson, K. (2002) 'The Construction of the Public in Letters to the Editor.' Journalism 3(2): 183-204.

Notes 1

However, media regulation remains a ‘reserved’ matter; in the hands of Westminster. 2 The campaign won Campaign of the Year at the Scottish Press Awards in 2005; the awards are organised by the Scottish Daily Newspaper Society, a trade association representing publishers of daily newspapers in Scotland (DMGT, Trinity Mirror, News International, Newsquest, Johnston Press and D C Thomson). 3 There may also be an instrumental interest in commercial terms but in terms of reader trust and advertising value of a trusted medium.

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For instance, Leask states “ultimately, if you were to take a slice of Glasgow and go through it, I would like to think, it probably isn’t the case, I’d like to think that our coverage was representing that slice of people”, in precisely the same terms as a ‘factsheet’ of audience statistics circulated by the editor. 5 This is not the same definition as a ‘fair-minded participant’ in public journalism (Rosen, 1996: 67), who neutrally convenes deliberative discussion. 6 However, initially clinical sources were reluctant to talk to the Evening Times, preferring the upmarket Herald, so these came later. 7 Since replaced in this position by Charles McGhee.

TOP GEAR AS A BASTION OF HETEROSEXUAL MASCULINITY ANGELA SMITH

This chapter explores the construction of heterosexual masculinities in the BBC TV programme, Top Gear. In general, there has been little detailed analysis of broadcast masculinities, although much work has recently been carried out on the construction of the ‘new lad’ in lifestyle magazines. In particular, Bethan Benwell’s work (2003, 2004, 2006) has explored how the new lad is constructed in men’s lifestyle magazines in Britain, and her work will form the basis for this discussion of broadcast masculinities. Set against a social background of shifting masculinities in the wake of the rise of second-wave feminism, the new lad is described as a reaction against the ‘new man’ of the 1990s. Whilst the new man was characterised by an acceptance of feminism and responsibility in terms of commitment to long-term relationships, the new lad rebels against such responsibilities and is typified by a nostalgic retreat into adolescence. The importance of irony and banter within the construction of the new lad will be explored in a detailed study of Top Gear. The allied humour of the show will be discussed in relation to Benwell’s (2003) observation that the new lad oscillates between heroic and anti-heroic stances. ‘Traditional’ masculinity is what the new lad aspires to: anti-heroism is what he inevitably relapses into when this ambition either fails or is deemed too narcissistic or insufficiently ironic. This chapter will show how the programme’s three co-presenters collaborate with guests and studio audience to construct a form of new lad masculinity that meets broadcasting constraints whilst courting controversy through the extensive use of irony and banter. Here, I apply Benwell’s model to the television show, looking at similarities in the current format of Top Gear and ‘lads’ mags’ such as Loaded and FHM in a discussion of how laddishness is articulated by the middle-aged presenters of Top Gear. Top Gear has been broadcast on UK terrestrial television since 1977 against a background of shifting masculinities in the wake of the rise of second-wave feminism. As Whannel has observed, over this period

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‘forms of sexual discrimination, sexist imagery, and macho behaviour have become more commonly contested, where they had formerly been taken for granted.’ (2000: 291) The media’s role in supporting masculine power, as Talbot (1998) has suggested, remains important and whilst outwardly, the show seeks to attract a viewing audience that is heterogeneous in terms of class, age and gender (the web site for tickets to see the show specifically requests groups be split 50/50 in terms of gender), I hope to show this split operates within a discussion format which ensures that Top Gear remains a bastion of heterosexual masculinity. As Bonner (2003) has pointed out, the popularity of motoring shows internationally cannot be explained simply in terms of their utility to help viewers choose a vehicle. After all, ‘a car is a major purchase, and for the overwhelming majority of viewers, one they make no more than every five years’ (2003: 101). As she continues: Whether the viewer watches for some kind of fantasy investment or for the acquisition of knowledge about the product which can then be socially traded like sports statistics, the viewing does not lead in any direct way to a decision to consume (ibid).

In this chapter, therefore, I argue that Top Gear is much less about purchasing cars than about a form of entertainment where viewers engage in the ‘fantasy investment’ which Bonner has identified as being part of such viewing practices.

The ‘new lad’ It is perhaps useful to begin this discussion with a description of the contours of the figure of the ‘new lad’. In her work, Benwell (2003: 14) argues that the notion that masculinity is currently in ‘crisis’ is a popular one. As well as the gains secured by second-wave feminism, it is also argued that recent shifts in patterns of production and employment have disrupted traditional gender formations and led to changing gender roles which have bolstered the social position and security of women at men’s expense. The changes in society and the increasing prominence of feminist issues has, allegedly, led to the view that masculinity is now in crisis as the old stabilities of the past have become eroded. The much-lauded ‘new man’ of the 1990s was perceived to be sympathetic to feminism: he was usually in a stable relationship, had a well-groomed appearance which matched his responsible job and middle-class lifestyle. In contrast, the ‘new lad’ is resolutely single and more casually dressed for a life which focuses on the pub and socialising with his mates, engaged in an (albeit

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idealised) form of working-class lifestyle. Connell’s description of ‘protest masculinity’ (1995:110) has many links with the identity of the ‘new lad’ in its rejection of authority, engagement with minor criminality, short-lived liaisons and an interest in motorbikes or cars. The superficiality of the post-modern male as described by Whannel (2000) is also apparent in Connell’s argument that protest masculinity is characterised as ‘something frenzied and showy’ (ibid). This commitment to a rejection of authority is something we will return to in a more detailed discussion of Top Gear later in the chapter. Several critics such as Whelehan (2000), Nixon (1996) and Benwell (2003) have commented on how adolescent tendencies are an essential feature of new laddism. Rutherford argues that ‘male redundancy has created cultures of prolonged adolescence’ (1997:7). In their study of men’s lifestyle magazines, Jackson et al. (2001) also found the same emphasis on excess, football, cars, drinking and music demonstrated in many other publications aimed at the new lad reader. For men’s lifestyle magazines, the implications of the ‘crisis’ account of masculinity resonate in the widely observed regressive and adolescent tendencies acted out by new lad magazines in which there is an evocative retreat to childish forms of behaviour. Such behaviour includes puerile humour, scatological obsessions, an absence of references to work or social responsibility and a kind of rebellious posturing against ‘adult’ authority or even feminism.

Hero vs. anti-hero Benwell (2003) has argued that men’s lifestyle magazines are a particular site of tension or ambiguity between the heroic and the anti-heroic male. Firstly, a traditional, heroic masculinity can be characterised as featuring attributes such as physicality, violence, autonomy and silence which are celebrated (often through a profiled celebrity or iconic hero). Secondly, there is an anti-heroic masculinity which is ironic, humorous and selfdeprecating which is intended to appeal to the imagined reader. Benwell argues that the textual identity of the new lad is actually situated in this oscillation between the two identities rather than being allied to one or the other. In this way, masculinity can be regarded as being Janus-faced1 where anti-heroism is an essential component of the masculine subject position, since it is the source of the self-deprecatory humour vital to new laddism. New lad magazines such as Loaded have retained a soft spot for traditional masculinity and its icons, and regularly pay tribute to celebrities such as footballers, boxers, actors as well as individuals associated with

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dangerous professions and pursuits, an interest shared with the guests on Top Gear. The interviews with such celebrities are rarely challenging or critical but more likely to engage in a glorification of traditional masculinity. On the rare occasions when women feature in articles2, there is usually a celebration of the ‘traditional’ aspects of their femininity or, conversely, their ladette behaviours which resonate well with those of the new lad. In contrast, anti-heroism is associated with ordinariness, weakness and self-reflexivity and, as Benwell argues, is seen as a phenomenon which is particularly associated with a British sensibility, perhaps reflecting years of disappointment in following the national football team. The anti-hero is the guy who meets his mates in the pub to watch a football match rather than actually play football. He will drink excessively and wake up in a gutter somewhere, but will have turned this into an amusing anecdote to recount to his friends later. This use of humour is something we will return to shortly, as it is central to the construction of the new lad and, more specifically, to the gendered performances of the presenters of Top Gear. The show’s producer, Andy Wilman (2007) claims that the position of the show in the television schedule is also a major factor in its audience appeal: ‘Because our show is about “cocking about” and escapism, we’re a release valve that says you can extend the weekend by an hour.’ This ‘escapism and cocking about’ is central to the construction of the new lad.

Top Gear Many features of new laddism described above as part of magazine culture can also be found in Top Gear. Since the show returned to terrestrial television in 2002 in its new 8pm Sunday slot (the BBC had ‘rested’ it following a ratings dive after its principal presenter, Jeremy Clarkson, left in 1999), it has attracted huge audiences. The relaunched Top Gear employed a new format, largely due to the fact that the previous production team and all the presenters (with the exception of Clarkson) had defected to Channel Five, taking the show’s format with them. The only thing the BBC had been left with was the show’s name. After luring Clarkson back, the BBC relaunched the programme with the old name but a different format, a format which I argue mirrors that of (men’s) lifestyle magazines and allows the presenters to reconfigure the programme as a platform on which to perform a version of new laddishness. The three presenters, Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May, constantly switch between the figure of the hero and the anti-hero (see media coverage of Hammond’s accident last summer for further examples).

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The magazine format of the show allows for the inclusion of ‘news’ items, introduced in the studio by the presenters, reviews of new cars (usually their prices are well out of the reach of ordinary viewers, providing a fantasy element to the show), celebrity interviews, competitions (albeit in the form of the ‘star in the reasonably priced car’ feature, where a different celebrity each week drives the same car around the Top Gear track), and ‘challenges’ which end the show each week. Whilst Clarkson takes centre stage during the opening and closing sections of the show, and he alone conducts the interviews with guests, the other two presenters join him with equal status. However, there is another character on the programme whose image is suspended from the studio roof and whose name is used reverentially: this is The Stig3. The Stig is the show’s test-driver, whose real identity is kept a secret, as with traditional super heroes. His face is always obscured by his racing helmet and his all-white racing overalls act as his super-hero outfit. He embodies a hyper-real version of the traditional masculinity that is elsewhere found in superhero figures, and remains a character who is venerated by presenters, guests and fans of the show alike4. His image hangs in banners from the studio roof, although he himself never appears in there and thus remains a mysterious character. When we see him, he is usually shot from below, so appears to tower above the viewer, emphasising his masculine power. At times, however, he is seen standing next to Clarkson, who is himself very tall, which then shows that The Stig is actually much shorter. Even when seated in a car, the camera angle is set at eye level (or helmet level), thus retaining his dominant image. In the stills that adorn the studio, The Stig adopts an ironic, traditional super-hero pose with arms folded or else on hips, emphasising his masculine power. The Stig never appears in the studio and is never heard to speak on camera, thus embodying the ‘strong silent’ stereotype of traditional heroic masculinity. However, we do get reported speech via the presenters and guests, who report his words on the performance of cars or driving skills. The super-hero persona of The Stig is emphasised in the presenters’ ironic introductions to his on-screen appearances. Here, Hammond is introducing The Stig prior to test-driving a new car.

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Time then to find out which is the winner and (.) this being Top Gear (.) we start with the most important question (1) which one’s the fastest (1) and for that we need an independent adjudicator (.) someone who has no mortgage (.) no nine-to-five job and no children (.) [shot of The Stig in the car, pans to RH and JM on start grid] three (.) two (.) one go

Thus the masculine competitiveness of Top Gear is handed over to the superhero Stig at the encouragement of the presenters who wait on the finish line. As with Benwell’s description of the new lad’s status, the image of The Stig is designed to rise above mundane matters such as office work, home and family commitments. His performances on the test track are always the most efficient and swiftest lap times, making this the aspirational male that the Top Gear community aspires to. However, as Benwell has argued in the case of lads’ magazines, the new lad falls short of this traditional embodiment of masculinity. Such shortcomings are rendered acceptable through the use of ironic humour which comprise an essential element of the new lad’s image.

Humour Turning to the use of humour, Benwell (2004:5) argues that, in lads’ mags, ‘humour is clearly a prerequisite of magazine masculinity, and it decorates almost every article and picture in a relentless way.’ Talbot (2007) has observed that such humour in lads’ mags contributes to the construction of a ‘phallacious fraternity’ for readers, whereby a community is constructed through an assertion of shared values. This use of humour is apparent in Top Gear and has been one of the show’s most popular characteristics. The first editor of FHM, Mike Soutar, has described how humour is an essential part of masculinity. He asserts that, ‘in a group of men there’s no-one more respected than the funniest guy’ (quoted in Varley, 1999). Humour is one of the central features of the Top Gear programme, each article in its magazine format being framed by knowing humour and irony. The BBC claim that the show is as much about entertainment as information, although to many viewers, its entertainment features are what make it more popular than its older format rival, Fifth Gear. To be part of the Top Gear community, it is essential that you understand or at least join in the humour that is articulated in the gendered performances found on the show. As Brown and Levison (1987) have observed, humour is a form of ‘positive politeness’5 whereby friendly behaviour is signalled by shared common ground; here, a shared sense of

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humour. As a community, Top Gear viewers and the studio audience need to be aware of the discursive arrangement by which new laddism is articulated. For example, Top Gear viewers are expected to engage in a knowingness and lack of seriousness that is essential for full enjoyment of a show where car crashes are treated as entertainment and the destruction of vehicles (particularly caravans) is a common occurrence. This version of hyper-masculinity requires viewers to engage with new laddism and not find it distasteful or odious. The BBC has often been called on to defend the show from complaints from those who find the show offensive. Here, in an extract from a lengthy response, any offence caused is framed as a misunderstanding of humour. We acknowledge some viewers do not appreciate the Top Gear team’s sense of humour but their provocative comments are an integral part of the programme and are not intended to be taken seriously. (bbc.co.uk/complaints, 26 July. Accessed 23 November, 2006).

To ‘understand’ the programme, you have to share the sense of humour that is embodied in new laddishness. Of course, the overall mood of the show as a celebration of laddishness within the context of the interpretive community means that complaints are inextricably linked to the antiheroic, ironic humour of the show. Beck’s notion of ‘constructed certitude’ (1987) is relevant here, too. This allows for the construction of certain narratives to be made in confidence and presented as being ‘common sense’ in contrast with other narratives that might oppose them. For example, in Top Gear, there is an apparent emphasis on the speed and style of vehicles at the expense of safety, where the top speed of a car is seen as more important than its performance within nationally observed speed limits. The traditional masculine competitiveness of the new lad is also part of this constructed certitude in the way in which the fastest drivers are more highly esteemed (particularly in the ‘star in the reasonably priced car’ feature mentioned earlier). The performance of James May is often constructed as a rejection of new laddishness, earning him the nickname of ‘Captain Slow’ by the other presenters, although it could be argued that his performance of new laddism is merely less extreme than that of the other two. His performance of more traditional masculinity on-screen acts as a source of amusement for his co-presenters, where he actively engages in banter that is self-deprecating. May retains a competitiveness that is part of his traditional masculinity, most noticeably when he test drives at speed, a visual image which is far removed from stereotypical image of the laid-

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back hippy that he otherwise embodies. In fact, the show’s web site profile of May emphasises his laddish rejection of authority: .

James admits that he was once fired from a job with a well-known magazine for putting a secret message in a supplement. It’s exactly this kind of japery that makes him perfect for the nation’s favourite motoring show (bbc.co.uk/topgear/teamprofile. Accessed 23 November 2007).

Here, the rejection of authority and subsequent dismissal are celebrated as embodying the adolescent humour found in performances of laddishness that the show is promoting. Most frequently, May plays the ‘straight guy’ to the ironic humour of Clarkson and Hammond. His collaboration in this can be clearly seen in the cover image of the Radio Times (January 2007) that heralded the return of the show following Hammond’s near-fatal accident in September, 2006 when he crashed whilst shooting for the new series. In this image, the three presenters stand side by side with May in the middle. A speech bubble from Clarkson reads ‘It’s a bloody nuisance he’s still alive’, to which Hammond is presented as responding with ‘Sorry to be so inconvenient’. This ironic humour, typical of the anti-heroic new lad, is emphasised by May who is depicted pointing at Clarkson, seemingly disowning the comment but drawing the reader’s attention to it in the way a school-boy would sneak on a fellow naughty child. In Top Gear, irony also allows the presenters to engage in other performances that appear to reject dominant discourses seen elsewhere as common sense. For example, there is an explicit rejection of ‘political correctness’ and ‘green’ discourses relating to environmental issues. This is in addition to attacks on those authorities who seek to impose rules or regulations that might inhibit the driver, regarding such authorities as killjoys. Recent international debates about global warming have led to legislation in Britain that penalises drivers of vehicles that are inefficient in terms of fuel use and damaging to the environment in terms of carbon emitted. Given that such vehicles are exactly the favourite models of the Top Gear presenters (particularly sports cars and 4-wheel drives), it is hardly surprising that they frequently criticise such legislation whilst glorifying the speed and style they attribute to the offending cars. For example, the ‘team profile’ for Clarkson on the show’s web site states: Clarkson has been accused of some amazing things in his time, including destroying a mountain, destroying the environment and destroying Rover cars. In his defence, the mountain is still there, we can all still breathe and Rover would still be here if their management hasn’t been so terrible (bbc.co.uk/topgear/teamprofiles).

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This is promoted as part of the show’s underlying ironic humour by the presenters on air. In the following extract, Clarkson and Hammond cooperate in the expression of PC discourses relating to religion in setting up such complaints as minor in relation to more masculine motoring matters: JC

RH JC

RH JC RH JC RH

JC RH

Hey now talking about getting in touch we had a number of people after last week’s show getting in touch to complain They did (1) We had well I said something about a Muslim (.) ok (.) two complaints (1) [hanging heads in shame] remember Jesus came last week (.) and talked to him (.) three complaints [audience laughter] we were slightly rude about caravans (1) Yes we sort of set one on fire a bit A hundred and fifty complaints [audience laughter] (3) Seriously A hundred and fifty a lot of people are now demanding an apology They are so (.) em (.) we really are sorry and we promise that we all three of us will never ever have a go at caravanning again No (.) no no no (.) I’m sorry we didn’t burn more caravans You’re right (.) so am I yeh that’s true [audience laughter]

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15 Straight to camera, sheepishly 20

To RH

In a show which is couched in humour and where serious conversation is rare, the apparent sincerity of the apology by Hammond and Clarkson in lines 1-8 is undone by the reference to ‘Jesus last week’, where the studio audience and regular viewers are implicitly directed to a humorous incident in the previous week’s show. This is followed by the extensive hedging used by both presenters in lines 9-10, where reference to an ongoing joke about the presenters’ great dislike of caravans is represented as being more offensive to viewers than references to religion. The presenters

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continue to act out sincerity in the face of studio audience laughter. Hammond is left to perform the ‘naughty but lovable scamp’ role that is most commonly his in the show, directing his apology to the viewers rather than the studio audience or his co-presenters. Clarkson intervenes in the apology in a mock refutation of the apology, at which point the ‘authentic’ laddish Hammond appears and employs irony to reinforce the point his apology was not sincere. The laughter of the studio audience indicates wide approval of this lack of sincerity, thus the laddish rejection of authority is emphasised as a positive feature of the show. Laddishness is celebrated in other ways through an implicitly male viewership. As mentioned previously, the show ostensibly seeks to attract male and female viewers. However, the use of irony allows the show’s producers as well as presenters to engage in laddishness. The web site seems to address a primarily male community. For example, the instructions for viewers to request tickets states that: We also ask that groups of people coming to the recording have a 50/50 male/female split. This is so we don’t end up with a bunch of ugly male car geeks ruining everyone’s Sunday night (bbc.co.uk/topgear/beonshow).

Here, the attempt at inclusiveness in requesting an equal number of male and female ticket applicants rather backfires in the adoption of the male gaze that insists on an implicitly more attractive female studio audience. Indeed, as viewers can see, in every show the female audience members are the ones more clearly visible at the front. This is perhaps unsurprising, given that women are usually shorter than men and so many would need to stand at the front in order to get a good view. However, the very design of the studio requires all audience members to stand, and so women are forced to be situated in the most visible position. Perhaps we can see that this trait of the programme is part of its on-going ironic humour which allows the producers to engage in apparent empathy on the part of all the viewers rather than the fundamentally male gaze that would prefer to see an attractive female standing behind a car and the show’s presenters. Thus a solidly heterosexual masculinity is articulated in line with Talbot’s (2007) notion of the phallacious fraternity.

Taboo language This same ironic humour allows the presenters and their guests to employ taboo language. De Klerk (1997:147) and other scholars have observed that the use of expletives in particular have become associated with power and masculinity in Western cultures. The use of taboo and swearwords are

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a matter of careful socialisation, with men in Western society learning habits of verbal aggression, thereby contributing to the perception that they are strong and powerful, and to the dominant forms that enable them to do this. However, broadcasting constraints mean that the use of taboo language before the 9pm watershed is prohibited. Despite this, traces of it can be found in Top Gear. Most noticeably, this is in the ‘bleeping’ over swearing when running pre-recorded tapes. This is most frequently during sequences of drivers travelling at speed or losing control of their vehicles, where the danger of the situation is diffused by the laughter of the studio audience. In the context of the production of the show, there is ample opportunity for potentially offensive language to be edited out, either through priority being given to a post-edit voice-over or else through the addition of a sound track that could be road noise or music (see also Livingstone and Lunt (1994) for a discussion of the power of editing in audience participation shows). However, in choosing the option of bleeping over the voice of the driver, it draws attention to this linguistic feature rather than concealing it. This fits with the anti-heroic stance of the new lad which Benwell has observed in magazines, whilst also underlining the rejection of authority (as in the use of non-taboo language in ‘polite society’ which is here manifest in the pre-watershed broadcast). I would further argue that the presence of the bleeped-over swearing and the generation of amused laughter in the studio audience adds to the camaraderie that permeates the studio audience. This feature adds to the notion of what Scannell (1991) refers to as ‘broadcast sociability’, and promotes a wider acceptance of the laddish humour that pervades the show. In other ways, taboo language is replaced by an engagement with taboo topics. There is, for example, an on-going jocularity about minor criminality such as speeding, where the show’s presenters readily pass on tips on the most effective ways to disable speed cameras (something for which the BBC is frequently called upon to defend as being simply another example of the show’s humour). A further example of this minor criminality can be seen in the exchange between Clarkson and Hammond (above), where there is a celebration of burning a caravan (which had been presented as an unfortunate accident during filming the previous week). Caravans, like speed cameras, are frequently drawn upon in the programme as being inherently impedimental to drivers. The glorification of speed is implicitly evident here in this denunciation of factors that might inhibit the driver of sporty cars, and is part of the constructed

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certitude that permeates the show and adds to the overall presentation of rebellion against authority. During interviews, always conducted by Clarkson, male guests are challenged about their sex lives, where their cars and driving aptitude are aligned with their sexual prowess. More importantly, this is an explicit heterosexual masculinity that is articulated. As Talbot has pointed out, ‘heterosexuality is central to hegemonic masculinity’ (1998: 200), and the presenters and guests in Top Gear connive to ensure that the new laddism which is so evident in the programme is underpinned by an explicit heterosexuality. In fact, the production of new laddish behaviour in the programme could be said to be dependent on associations with homosexuality for its security so that ‘uncool’ cars that lack power and speed are often referred to as ‘hairdressers’ cars’. Clarkson was recently criticised by gay rights groups for his description of one car as being ‘a bit ginger beer’, using the laddish rhyming slang for ‘queer’. The power of a car is aligned with masculine power, which in turn is allied to heterosexual traditional masculinity. The sexual prowess of a man is thus represented as being reflected in his choice of car. In addition, in the hypermasculine use of banter, there is a celebration of the heavy drinking and a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle that is associated with traditional masculinity, although the presenters are careful to separate this from the driving. All of these taboo topics underpin a general rejection of authority. In a Top Gear interview carried out by Clarkson with the F1 racing driver Jenson Button, the discussion about sex described below, can be seen as typifying the heroic and anti-heroic features Benwell identifies in lads’ magazines, here with Clarkson adopting the anti-heroic stance to emphasise the traditional masculinity of Button. The rejection of authority through minor criminality is celebrated by both participants at Clarkson’s instigation. This is done through the fantasy of fitting machine guns to racing cars to encourage faster motoring. This is later followed by Clarkson’s insistence on calling in a wager they had made on Button’s lap time around the Top Gear track.

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Yeh you’re right (.) have you told them all No I’m about to we had a bet Yeh we did He said (.) he bet me twenty quid that he could come down here (.) and drive round our track faster (.) than The Stig But the thing is you say that and (.) I can’t remember saying that at all You were quite drunk (2) and that is a good thing for a Formula One driver you were /But I wasn’t drinking you must have been spiking me drink you were /I was Jeremy you bet something I’ve I’ve brought the money along I did wake up a bit uncomfortable There it is Oh really Twenty quid (.) that’s my twenty pounds put your twenty pounds down there get twenty pounds out you earn eight million pounds so get twenty of them out Don’t you know about racing drivers we never carry cash Put twenty pounds (.) there because you have the bet (.) good put it on there (.)

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Audience laughter

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15 JC puts £20 note on table 20 Audience laughter 25 JB puts £20 note on table

In this section of the interview, Clarkson calls in a bet that he claims he and Button had arranged when ‘quite drunk’ (line 10). Button claims he had not been drinking and pretends to blame Clarkson for drugging him. Clarkson plays along with this conceit, with Button hypothesising about physical harm that he been inflicted through such a capricious act (line 14). When Clarkson insists on enforcing the bet, assuming a position of competitive masculine power that Button has momentarily conceded, Button attempts to evade this by aligning himself with those most powerful in society who are rumoured not to carry cash. However, Clarkson maintains his assertive masculine power and repeats the directive ‘put twenty pounds there’ (lines 21 and 27). In this extract, we can see how Clarkson, although self-confessed to be less powerful in terms of such

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traditional masculine traits as financial wealth and (as we shall shortly see) sexual prowess, has assumed the new laddish masculine role of one who engages in gambling and drinking. This carries undertones of the ‘mischievousness’ that is found in May’s on-line profile, here with Clarkson pretending to use illicit use of drugs on others to get his own way. Elsewhere in the same interview, Clarkson and Button engage in banter on the subject of Button’s sex life. JC

JB JC JB JC JB JC

JB JC JB

JC JB JC

You are paid a not inconsiderable amount of money you are quite a good looking chap well before the beard obviously do you find it difficult to get women?(3) Err (1) that’s a tough one for me to answer at the moment em Really? Why? Do I find it difficult to – yeh I do because I’m just busy all the time (.) Really? Why? You know I’m I’m bus you know I’m er racing cars and er Yeh that’s once a fortnight once a fortnight and you drive around a bit (.) and usually frankly you break down before the end this year we’re talking about an hour’s work a fortnight and they you’re off Just like yourself Yeh exactly like me No we do a lot of testing as well a lot of testing er finish training we do PR er yeh we do have some down time and er (.) I like to enjoy myself as we all do er (.) but no I don’t get er I don’t So you get a lot of sex Probably more than you Jeremy yes Yes (2) damn right mate

1 Audience laughter 5

Incredulous

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Laughter and applause

15

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25

Here, the pinnacle of the powerful, fast car – the racing car – is being aligned with a lifestyle that embodies traditional masculinity and its associated heterosexuality. Button’s initial reluctance to answer the question put to him by Clarkson could be explained by recent press reports

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of his liaison with prostitutes and the consequent breaking off of his engagement. His evasive strategy draws upon traditional masculine discourses, in particular, work taking up much of his time. This is challenged by Clarkson in a bantering move moves against Button’s claims of masculinity and eventually breaks down Button’s disinclination. Button’s utterance that ‘I like to enjoy myself’ is post-modified by the exclusive ‘we’ to refer to other racing drivers. When he stumbles over what to say next, appearing to fall back onto evasive strategies once more, Clarkson interrupts with the declarative ‘so you get a lot of sex’, abandoning the euphemism he’d employed earlier (line 26). Button instantly responds with a challenge to Clarkson’s own sexual prowess (line 26), which Clarkson – to the amusement of the studio audience – responds by adopting an anti-heroic stance that also serves to assert the sanctity of his own marriage. Button and Clarkson go on to cooperate in their construction of excessively heterosexual masculinity in this interview with the hypothetical addition of machine guns to racing cars, a £20 bet on Button’s lap time (a bet arranged, Clarkson emphasises, whilst they were both very drunk), and then the competitiveness of the lap time in the ‘star in the reasonably priced car’ challenge. As we can see, irony can be used ‘as a strategic disclaimer to the less palatable views expressed [and] plays a hugely important role in male discourse communities’ (Benwell, 2004: 7).

Banter All of these features are frequently articulated in the form of what Easthope (1986) describes as banter. According to Easthope, banter has an important function for men in that the comic aspect allows certain things to be said that would not be permissible in routine interaction. It therefore operates in much the same way as irony in the case of the new lad. As previously mentioned, one of the show’s running jokes is May’s comparative lack of new laddishness, where his nickname of Captain Slow is brought up in the on-going rituals of mutual teasing between the presenters at several points. However, it is not just between the presenters that we can find evidence of banter. This frequently occurs during the interviews between Clarkson and the show’s guests. We can see this in the following extract, where Clarkson is interviewing the comedian Steve Coogan about his new comedy show. They have spent quite some time discussing the choice of car for the

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character Coogan plays. The extract opens at the end of that section of the interview and moves into an exchange of anecdotes relating to cars in film. Steve Coogan interviewed by Jeremy Clarkson (2 July, 2006) I wanted the Boss 351 SC That’s the Bond one ** JC That’s one Bond one in Diamonds are Forever where the SC car goes sideways on two wheels down that alley-way= =But= JC =There’s a continuity error in it SC Well there is and there isn’t JC Yeh b- I I know about this SC Go on then JC Ok [talks to audience] when they did the James Bond SC film Diamonds are Forever there is one of the m- most famous mistakes on film (.) the car goes through on its wheels that way [gestures with right hand] like that (.) and when it comes out the alley [gestures with left hand] the it’s on the other on it’s the other way around (.) Yeh JC So what they do is they put in a shot in the middle with SC him driving along and suddenly you see them in the car and it goes [engine noises] and then it goes [engine noises and demonstrates car flipping over] as if somehow (2) [audience laughter] if it could do that it would have been able to drive through the gap normally (1) That was my favourite bit that the (.) you could just see JC them in the edit go (.) oh dear Oh no SC We’ve got a continuity JC And do you know I thought what they might do is (.) this SC is really is (.) em (.) I thought they might flip the image but (.) when he drives out there’s lots of signs (.) er it’s Las Vegas so there’s casino here and all the signs would be (.) backwards so Can I give you a really anal one on that (.) you’ll like this JC (.) you know in car adverts that are run all round the world (.) that’s why (.) people say Y YHY101 W the number plates it’s so when they flip it to make it left or right hand drive the number plate still makes sense (4) [impressed audience murmur]

1

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I like that (.) I might use that at dinner parties I might use it at a dinner party when there’s an awkward pause (2) [laughter] Well I do (.) and the pause is even longer [laughter]

Here, Clarkson and Coogan initially appear to disagree (lines 5 and 7), but then Clarkson lets his guest take the conversational floor space to relate the anecdote about a Bond film ‘continuity error’. However, Clarkson has first made it clear that this is a story he already knows (line 8), thus maintaining his place with the viewers as knowledgeable host of the show. In this way, Clarkson is able to retain the dominant position in the interview by being seen to allow his guest to appear equally knowledgeable. Coogan happily obliges with an animated account of the error, much to the studio audience’s amusement and at the vocal encouragement of Clarkson (line 15). Clarkson joins in the narrative on line 21 with a supportive interjection, agreeing with Coogan’s account and allowing Coogan to expand on the hypothetical situation in the editing of the film when this mistake was realised. Clarkson picks up on one of the potential solutions that Coogan has suggested (flipping the film) and shifts the topic to one of his own choosing that allows him to display Clarkson’s own knowledge of the techniques of car filming. He adopts the anti-heroic stance by framing his story as being ‘really anal’, formulating this as a question (line 29) but not anticipating a negative response as this would be out of keeping with his role as the omnipotent interviewer. The studio audience’s response is important here, as it emphasises Clarkson’s impressive knowledge and, after a long gap in which Coogan is seen to join in this appreciation, Coogan eventually responds using a comic voice to pick up on the ‘anal’ character of this narrative. Clarkson’s response continues in the anti-heroic mode, where he presents an image of himself as an unsocial dinner party guest, implicitly suggesting that such banter is more appropriate to the traditional laddish setting of the pub than the more inclusive social domain of the dinner party table. So, here we can see the presenter and the guest collaborating through the use of banter that emphasises Clarkson’s new laddishness. In addition, Coogan is allowed to present his own ‘funny guy’ comic role, implicitly promoting his new comedy series through his performance.

Conclusion To conclude, as we have seen, Benwell’s model of ‘new lad’ masculinity as found in lads’ magazines can be applied to magazine television shows

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such as Top Gear, which I would argue, remain a bastion of heterosexual masculinity. The construction of the ‘new lad’ that Benwell describes as oscillating between the heroic and anti-heroic is apparent in Top Gear and can be seen as Janus-faced in the use of humour and irony which combine in the construction of heterosexual masculinity. The performances of masculinity by the three presenters, predominantly Clarkson and Hammond, present a case study of new-laddishness. This is apparent in the scripted narration that is a feature of this show as well as the more spontaneous talk that we have characterised as ‘banter’, particularly in the interviews Clarkson conducts with guests in the studio6. This is all carried over into the show’s website presence where the anonymous writers continue the construction of new laddishness which is implicit throughout the show. Finally, I would argue that the programme produces a form of toned down laddishness bridled to meet broadcasting constraints. That even the scripted segments of the show contain the taboo elements of new laddishness is clear from the number of complaints the programme generates and would seem to indicate that the show does test these constraints considerably. However, it could also be argued that the programme seeks to attract such critisism and indeed glories in it. There is a knowingness on the part of the presenters where heterosexual masculinity is provocatively produced, both in the scripted sections (where perceived weaknesses of cars are often associated with homosexuality) and the unscripted sections (where guests collaborate with the hosts in the construction of new laddishness). Despite the number of complaints the show generates, it would appear that there has been no attempt made to make the show less controversial, seemingly taking the view that all publicity is good publicity. In fact, the BBC responses to complaints emphasise the humour of the show, thus demonstrating a hegemonic acceptance of this toned down new laddishness. With viewing figures of over 7 million people for a Sunday evening programme, the provocative style of the show’s presenters appear to do little damage to the programme’s popularity. As with Benwell’s discussion of lads’ mags, the use of irony and banter are essential to the construction of new lad masculinities in Top Gear, where they are used to emphasise the underlying heterosexuality of the show. The blend of sexism, puerile humour and valorisation of minor criminality generate a form of masculine engagement by the middle-aged presenters of the show. Indeed, this underlying assumption of heterosexual masculinity in the performance of new laddism in Top Gear

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promotes a style of macho behaviour that has largely vanished from other mainstream, non-sports programmes on British television.

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Whannel, G. (2000) The Lads and the Gladiators: traditional masculinities in a postmodern televisual landscape, in J. Buscombe (ed.) British Television: A Reader. Oxford: Clarendon Press Wilman, A. (2007) Radio Times, 27 January – 2 February 2007.

Acknowledgements I am very grateful for the comments made by students on my Broadcast Talk module whose responses encouraged me to expand on the initial lecture I gave to them on this subject. Thanks also for the very helpful comments I received during the writing of this article from Dr Michael Higgins, Anthony Smith and Dr Mary Talbot.

Notes 1

Thanks to Michael Higgins for helping to expand on this point. Female guests are in the minority on the show, but include the sort of attractive and entertaining women who (it is assumed) men would like to talk to in the pub. These include radio DJs Zoe Ball and Sara Cox, and model Jodie Kidd. Interestingly, the fastest lap time for the ‘star in the reasonably priced car’ feature is that of one female guest – Ellen McArthur. The interview with McArthur is interesting as it takes pains to emphasise the danger and physical hardship she endures in round-the-world sailing, thus places her firmly in the traditional masculinity role that is celebrated in male guests who are sporting heroes. 3 According to Clarkson, the name ‘The Stig’ is one he recalls from his days at a private school where this was the name given to newcomers. The actual character of The Stig on Top Gear has evolved over the years to be more central, and yet remains somewhat removed from mainstream and retains something of the outsider image that the original use Clarkson recalls. 4 There is even a market for T-shirts bearing the slogan ‘I am The Stig’. 5 Brown and Levinson (1987) use ‘positive’ in a non-evaluative way. Here, it refers to attention to a person’s face or public self image, where positive politeness is used to signal closeness and friendly behaviour. This contrasts with ‘negative politeness’ which signals deference and consideration of another’s independence. 6 There is an irony in the fact that Top Gear has won several awards in the category of ‘unscripted broadcasting’. This is not lost on Clarkson, whose absence from the 2005 International Emmy awards in New York for the best show in the ‘Non-Scripted Entertainment’ category was explained by him in a statement that joked he was too busy to attend as he was writing the script for the next show. 2

THE CREATIVE INDUSTRIES IN SCOTLAND: FLEXIBLE FRIENDS OR FOES? RITA MARCELLA, LORRAINE ILLINGWORTH AND GRAEME BAXTER

In its response to the Cultural Commission’s review of culture in Scotland (Culture Commission, 2005), the Scottish Executive (2006a) described Scotland’s creative industries sector as ‘a real success story – a tribute to the nation’s long-established talent for innovation and entrepreneurial skill, which also contributes significantly to the economy’. Indeed, recent figures indicate that the Scottish creative industries generate £5 billion and contribute 4% to Scottish GDP, and that up to 6.7% of Scotland’s employment is within, or related to, the creative industries (Scottish Executive, 2006b). The creative sector is perceived by many to be liberal and egalitarian in nature (see, for example, Holden and McCarthy, 2007), and therefore one that is arguably particularly attractive as a career option to women. Yet very little has been written on the numbers and status of women in Scotland’s creative industries. Indeed, as is illustrated in Appendix 1, obtaining a clear and accurate profile of the Scottish creative sector (in terms of employment statistics and patterns, gender representation, the size, nature and location of constituent companies, etc) from published sources is difficult, largely due to differing definitions of the creative/cultural industries and disparate methods of data collection and analysis. However, while opinions differ on the extent of employment in the industries, and in the overall representation of women within these industries, most commentators are in general agreement on three issues: that the industries are concentrated in Scotland’s Central Belt; that they are dominated by small and micro-businesses; and that there is a heavy reliance on part-time, self-employed and freelance labour (the last two issues being common to the cultural/creative sector throughout the EU (MKW GmbH, 2001) ). While the Scottish creative sector specifically has been largely ignored in the published literature, there have been several national (i.e. UK) and

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international studies of women’s employment in the creative or cultural industries, which indicate that women, despite forming a large part of the creative workforce, are still failing to achieve parity in terms of entry, retention, progression and remuneration. For example, in a major study of the status of women in the cultural labour market throughout Europe, Cliche et al (2000) established that, while women occupy on average 40% of cultural jobs, they earn between 15-30% less than men in the same occupations. This study also established that women were underrepresented in administrative and artistic decision-making positions (particularly in the advertising, film, music and publishing industries), and that female artists in the fields of architecture, music, literature, and the visual and performing arts generally receive far less public recognition (in terms of awards, grants and scholarships) than their male counterparts. Studies such as the one described above, however, have tended to consist of surveys, which have gathered somewhat superficial data about the numbers of women working in the sector, their salaries and their status. Few have explored in any depth the factors which have resulted in these inequalities. With this in mind, throughout 2004 and 2005, a team of researchers from the Aberdeen Business School at The Robert Gordon University undertook a two-year research project, funded by the European Social Fund, which investigated the barriers, problems and difficulties encountered by women in the creative industries1 in Scotland, in terms of employment, career progression, work-life balance, training and incomegenerating opportunities, and which sought to improve understanding of best practice in implementing active gender policies from the perspective both of creative companies and the women they employ. Year One of the project explored the extent to which gender equality policies had been introduced by companies in the Scottish creative sector (more specifically in the media and communication industries), and whether gender-related issues had been, or continued to be, encountered by those working in the sector. It consisted of a postal survey of Scottish creative companies, and telephone interviews with 138 individuals (84 women and 54 men) working in the Scottish creative industries. It established that formal, written gender equality policies are not widespread throughout the Scottish sector, largely because it is a sector dominated by small and micro-businesses who regard themselves as too small to require a policy level approach or who describe themselves as having “informal” or “unwritten” policies. Those companies which had introduced policies, however, cited a number of benefits to be gained, including increased loyalty and trust amongst staff, and improved levels of staff retention. The individuals working in the Scottish creative industries, meanwhile, cited a

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wide range of barriers and problems facing women in the sector, including: sexist attitudes; male-dominated organisational cultures; perceived ‘female’ roles and competencies; the existence of ‘Old Boys Networks’; unequal pay and conditions; ageism; difficulties in reconciling family demands with work in the sector; as well as personal, ‘selfimposed’ barriers. Interestingly, there were some significant differences in the perceptions of the female and male interviewees, in terms of the extent and nature of gender inequality in the Scottish sector (Marcella et al, 2005). This paper discusses, in some detail, Year Two of the project, which aimed to build and expand upon the first year results. In particular, it sought to explore equality policy and practice in companies in the Scottish creative industries, from the perspective of both employers and employees, and to identify examples of good practice that might then be adopted more widely in the creative sector.

Methodology Year Two of the project consisted of two distinct elements. Firstly, 51 best practice case studies of companies based in the Scottish creative sector were conducted between May and October 2005. The aim of each of these case studies was to enable an in-depth examination of company policy, its implementation and operation, and the attitudes and experiences of the company’s managers and employees. The participating companies were recruited using a combination of personal email invitations and general appeals for assistance posted on online discussion fora and in online trade publications. While precise details of company size, in terms of employees and turnover, were not systematically sought during these case studies, all but three of the 51 companies visited could be described, in the Scottish Executive’s terms, as sole traders or as micro or small businesses (Wiseman et al, 2006). During the case studies, 125 people (95 females and 30 males) were interviewed. Table 1 provides a breakdown of the industries in which these individuals worked. As can be seen, public relations was the industry with the greatest number of participants, providing 15.2% of the sample, followed by radio and theatre (both 12%). Unfortunately, no companies from the advertising, art and antique markets, or press/newspaper publishing industries could be persuaded to participate in the research.

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Table 1: Case studies sample, by industry and gender Totals Industry Female Male No. Architecture 2 1 3 Crafts 12 0 12 Design 5 3 8 Designer fashion 2 0 2 Film and TV production 6 1 7 Computer games 2 0 2 Marketing 3 2 5 Music 2 1 3 New media 2 1 3 Performing arts 9 6 15 (Theatre) Public relations 14 5 19 Publishing 6 5 11 (book/periodical) Radio 11 4 15 Visual arts 9 1 10 ‘Cross-industry’2 10 0 10 Totals 95 30 125 (76%) (24%)

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% 2.4 9.6 6.4 1.6 5.6 1.6 4.0 2.4 2.4 12.0 15.2 8.8 12.0 8.0 8.0 100

Table 2, meanwhile, provides a breakdown of the sample by employment status. As can be seen, 14.4% of the sample were at a directorial or senior management level, 16.8% were in middle management roles, almost half (48.8%) were of ‘other employee’ status, while the remaining 20% were sole traders or self-employed individuals. Table 2: Case studies sample, by employment status and gender Totals Employment status Female Male No. % Managing 12 6 18 14.4 Director/Director Middle management 15 6 21 16.8 Other employee 47 14 61 48.8 Sole trader/self21 4 25 20.0 employed Totals 95 30 125 100 (76%) (24%)

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The second element of Year Two consisted of a series of focus groups held throughout Scotland during November and December 2005, which enabled discussion of the issues raised during the case studies by a mix of professional, organisational and employee representatives. The focus group participants were recruited using appeals placed in the local and national press, and in online discussion fora and trade publications. Unfortunately, the numbers participating in these groups were generally low, with a grand total of only 18 participants throughout the seven groups held in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Dundee and Inverness. Indeed, two planned focus groups in Aberdeen had to be cancelled due to a lack of interest. Whilst men were invited to attend these groups, the eventual participants were all female. However, these women did come from a relatively wide range of industries and occupations, as is illustrated in Table 3. Table 3: Total number of focus groups and participants Focus No. of Occupations Group Participants Locations and No. Glasgow (4) 9 ex-TV Producer; ex-Musician; exFilm/Theatre Props; Film/TV Editor; Journal Music Editor; Advertising Account Directors (2); Visual Artist; Architect Edinburgh 4 MD Publishing Company; Illustrator; (1) Local Authority Arts Officer; PR Consultant Dundee (1) 3 Graphic Designer; Cultural Enterprise Officer; ex-Graphic Designer Inverness (1) 2 Community Arts Development Officer/Theatre Manager; Glass Artist/Retired Journalist

Research Results Gender-related barriers and issues in the work place The case studies and the focus groups further explored and, in many cases, reinforced the findings of the first year of the research. For example, 29% of the participants believed that women are still under-represented in senior, decision-making positions in the Scottish creative sector; although

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it was felt that the situation was not so extreme in public relations, publishing and the theatre, and was improving in the film and TV industries. Within middle management, from the companies I’ve worked in, yes, there’s always been women. But the higher up you go there certainly is the lack of skirt in the boardroom. (Communications Consultant in a marketing company) In terms of the number of people who own their own PR companies, or who are directors of companies, there’s probably a far bigger percentage of women in Scotland who are directors or who do occupy these positions, in comparison to other industries. (Account Director in a PR company)

Meanwhile, 17% of the participants believed that females were more inclined than males to enter the creative industries at the lowest levels, often in administrative roles, in order to get their “foot in the door” of what is a highly appealing yet competitive sector; but also that women can remain clustered at these administrative levels, particularly in the architecture, music and radio industries. It’s predominantly females that say, yes, I’ll go in and start making tea, answering phones, doing anything. (Marketing Executive in a commercial radio station) Women are still mainly found at the admin levels within the music industry. (Director of a record label)

When participants were asked to suggest possible reasons for the lack of women’s career progression in the sector, two main themes emerged. Firstly, almost 27% of the female participants felt that women can lack the confidence and self-belief required to progress in the creative industries. I think men on the whole are better at pushing forward their own case and fighting their corners. I think women go ‘What shall I do?’, and agonise over it a lot more, and maybe play down their successes. Everybody’s different, but I do think women can sometimes be their own worst enemy. (Account Director in a PR company)

Secondly, 18% of the female interviewees believed that women are more ambivalent than men about career progression, although it was recognised that having children, and a subsequent change in personal priorities, can be an important factor here.

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The Creative Industries in Scotland: Flexible Friends or Foes? There’s probably more competitiveness within men, that they’re going to be ‘number one’. For women, I think they’re maybe sometimes happier to get to a certain level and say, right, I’ve achieved what I wanted, I’m happy here, without feeling they need to take the next step up or whatever. (Marketing Executive in a commercial radio station) It’s a fact of life that there’s a lot of powerful, very talented women out there that make the choice along the way to stop and have a career break. And then quite often their priorities change because they’ve got a family. (Managing Director of a PR company)

Indeed, the impact of motherhood on career progression and on work-life balance was raised by over 40% of the participants (both female and male). It was felt that achieving a healthy work-life balance in the creative sector can prove extremely difficult, particularly for women with children, with one of the major factors being the long and flexible hours required in the industries. It’s very difficult. A lot of the work that we do is emergency response, oncall work. You’ve also got a lot of functions to go to. We do a lot of events management and organising dinners and conferences and things like that. (Director of a PR company) I’m thinking about leaving theatre to get a more regular job, so I can spend time at home. It becomes quite tiring, and it’s very difficult to organise a life around working theatre. (Technical Stage Manager in a theatre company) It takes an enormous toll on your relationship. My husband is ‘longsuffering’. Not everybody might be able to survive it. (Visual Artist)

In fact, 17% of the participants believed that long and unsociable hours, coupled with family commitments, results in a significantly higher turnover of women than men in the creative industries, with these women moving to part-time positions, becoming freelance or self-employed, or simply leaving the industries altogether. There does come a point where people question ‘Is it worth the long hours in the office?’, ‘Where am I going?’, ‘What will I do?’. Some people take time out, four or five years. Others just leave completely. It all depends on your family situation as well, and your support networks, and all the rest of it. (Events Manager in a PR company)

It is perhaps worthwhile noting that, while these participants could offer little ‘hard’ evidence of this gender-based difference in staff turnover in the creative sector, their perceptions are in line with a number of

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published studies. For example, in the screen and audio-visual industries, a succession of studies have established that women are far less likely than their male counterparts to be married (or living as part of a couple) and/or have dependent children, and that large numbers of women leave the audio-visual workforce in their thirties (e.g. Sheppard et al, 1999; Women in Film and Television, 1999; Skillset, 2001; Skillset, 2004; Skillset and UK Film Council, 2005). When offering their thoughts on those women who had progressed in the creative industries, two recurring themes emerged from the female participants. Firstly, there was a perception amongst 19% of the female participants that women have had to try harder than men to succeed in the sector. I always think that women have to put in twice the effort and do twice as well to get the same recognition as men. (Radio Producer)

Secondly, and echoing the thoughts of a number of commentators (e.g. Morna, 2002; Falk and Grizard, 2003), 19% of the female participants believed that women have to adopt male traits and characteristics in order to progress in the creative sector, although five women stated that displaying a more feminine side can be equally effective. Some women do assume that once you get to a certain level you’ve got to stop being female, and put on the suit and the tie and start acting like a man. (Events Manager in a PR company) I’ve seen some who are like that – adopt blokeish behaviour. There are others who’ve gone completely the opposite way. Totally girlie. Putting on lipstick at the table during meetings, and this sort of thing. And yet they’re doing just as well as the other ones are. (Director of a marketing company)

Interestingly, six of the female participants noted a tendency for women occupying senior positions to bully or be unhelpful to other women. There’s no-one as cruel to a woman as another woman. They may choose not to help you. (General Manager of a theatre company)

A number of authors (e.g. Grunig et al, 2001; Delano, 2003) have highlighted the existence of male-dominated social networks in the creative industries, where business is done, and where decisions are made, in the pub or on the golf course. Indeed, 39% of the interviewees in Year One of this research cited such a phenomenon. In Year Two, however,

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just 11% of participants noted the existence of male-dominated networks. In industries such as PR, publishing and theatre, it was felt that the sheer number of women working in the industries precluded a male dominance. Certainly there are things like the golf outings, or the five-a-side football and so on. Those are very bonding for the males in the marketing department. And the girls are excluded from that. (Director of a marketing company) In my experience, it’s more the opposite, it’s more big groups of women in the pubs. Because there are a lot of women working in the theatre. (Marketing and Education Manager in a theatre company)

The importance of networking, in terms of raising their profile and gaining work, was emphasised by 25% of the female participants. However, a lack of self-confidence, time constraints (particularly for women with families), as well as geographic location, meant that many of the female interviewees could not participate fully in these networks. If you’re a good networker you do get on, and women are not as great at networking as men. It’s about shyness, it’s about time – ‘I’ve got to get home and make people’s tea, I don’t have time to go for drinks’. It is hard for women. I really struggle with it. I have to push myself to do it. (Managing Director of a PR company)

Seven of these women were members of female-only networks, and these were generally regarded favourably. Four women, all from the PR industry, felt that they have to come up with “creative”, “clever” alternatives to the sports-based networking events organised and enjoyed by their male colleagues, and therefore concentrate on attending or organising more “female-friendly” events such as awards ceremonies, business breakfasts and dinners. Several studies have highlighted occupational segregation in the creative sector, identifying particular industries and/or occupations where women are particularly well, or badly, represented (e.g. Gibbons, 2000; Cliche et al, 2000; Klein, 2000). Almost 38% of the Year Two participants highlighted some form of occupational segregation. For example, it was noted that males still tend to dominate the technical roles in a range of industries, including film and TV, games, music and theatre; while females are dominant in the likes of film and TV production roles, commercial radio sales, PR consumer accounts and events management, and theatre stage management. In observing these patterns, however, the participants did not believe that there were any premeditated barriers preventing women entering male-dominated domains, or vice versa.

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Rather, it was suggested that women, and men, are traditionally and perhaps naturally attracted to specific jobs. In a lot of offices I have worked in, everybody that sits behind a desk has been female, and the minute you go out filming, all the guys on camera, sound or editing are men. So there is a definitive division between the technical side and the production based stuff. (TV Producer and Director) We’ve always had more female sales people. It’s just performance – we seem to get a better response from using females in the role. (Research Executive at a commercial radio station) The vast majority of engineers, or audio engineers, have always been men, that I’ve worked with. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I just think women are maybe not quite as attracted to those jobs as men are. I just don’t think women go for it. (Radio Reporter and Presenter)

Just four of the female participants had personally experienced a genderbased pay gap, where they had been paid less than their male colleagues for work of equal value. However, making accurate, informed comparisons proved difficult for many participants, because: their particular company was dominated by females; they worked on a part-time basis; pay is often individually negotiated and performance- or bonusbased; and/or that pay is simply not discussed in the workplace. Almost 42% of the participants believed that there was an age bias in the creative industries, although, importantly, the vast majority of these individuals believed that such ageism was not gender-related. This bias was aimed both at older individuals, who were perceived as lacking energy, dynamism and a connectivity with the more youthful target markets of industries such as games, music and fashion design; and at younger individuals, who were regarded as lacking the necessary gravitas, particularly in client-focused roles. Older individuals, particularly in the crafts and the visual arts, also noted discrimination from galleries and funding bodies. I would say the younger the better to be honest in this sector. From the design point of view you find it difficult to convince people that you are fresh and dynamic. I suppose, once you hit middle thirties, it seems to sort of lose its grip a little bit, and you are not so finger on the pulse anymore, despite the fact that you might have a lot of experience. (Jeweller and Fashion Designer) When going out to clients it’s much harder work if you are a younger person, because as soon as they see you you have to work harder to gain credibility. (Accounts Manager in a PR company)

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Elements of ‘lookism’ were also cited by 17 participants, largely in communications roles, who believed that attractive young women were regarded more favourably by employers and clients. Fifteen female participants also provided examples of sexist behaviour and comments, from male colleagues, clients, and (for architects and architectural glass artists) construction site workers. I think the pretty young girl, when she’s invited in, the patronising factor goes stratospheric at that stage. We do have a couple of very pretty blondes, with the emphasis on pretty. They’re soft, they’re gentle, they’re blonde. And they will be invited to a lot more meetings than perhaps they want, but they won’t be taken terribly seriously, so that’s an issue for them. I don’t envy them that. (Account Director in a PR company)

Policies and practice A major part of Year Two of the research was, of course, to explore equality policy and practice in Scottish creative companies. While there have been relatively few studies of gender-related policies in the creative workplace (see, for example: Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance, 1996, on Australian media companies; Gallagher, 2002, on media companies internationally; Falk and Grizard, 2003, on US communications companies; Siegle, 2005, on UK PR companies), most of these commentators are in general agreement that, where such policies exist, they have had limited impact on the workplace in terms of equality. Indeed, the Culture-Biz study of European film production and book publishing companies (ERICarts, 2005) notes that examples of policies and good practice are the exception rather than the rule. This, it has to be said, was also the case in the Scottish creative companies studied here. Of the 51 case study companies visited in Year Two of the research, just 10 had any form of formal gender-related policies in place. Where policies did exist, employees were generally vague as to the type and extent of the policies, even when these were readily available for inspection on the companies’ intranets. It was felt that they would only be investigated when needed personally. I know they exist, but I haven’t gone into the detail of them, because I’ve had no need to make use of them. But I would know where to go to find the details. (TV Director) I think that if I looked into it I would find them. We do have the intranet, and we do have the corporate policies on there. (Radio Broadcast Engineer)

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Instead of formal, written policies, many of the other companies attempt to foster “informal”, “flexible”, “family-friendly” cultures in the workplace, where employees are given time off, or enter into alternative working patterns, as and when family-related problems, issues and events arise. I think we are quite flexible. I know a lot of people have kids to get to school, and all sorts going on. So if somebody’s in here at half-past-nine, not a word is ever said, because you trust people either to give us it back in other ways or whatever. There’s other stuff, like people have had issues with illnesses and all sorts, and we’ve always said whatever time you need, take it. (Director of a PR company) We try to be flexible about people having their working times, and making appointments, and taking time off. (Director of a publishing company)

Employees generally spoke positively of these arrangements, and an important factor in the success or otherwise of these informal approaches seemed to be whether or not the company directors and managers themselves had families. From a mother’s point of view, the directors have young children themselves, and they fully appreciate and support any problems you have with childcare. (Administrator in a publishing company) The directors have got families themselves. And because they’ve got their own kids, they understand completely. When they’ve had to go away themselves because something’s happened, they can’t turn round and say ‘Well, you can’t do it, but I’ve just done it.’ And they wouldn’t, because they know exactly what position the staff would be in. (Multimedia Designer in a ‘cross-industry’ company)

Flexible working methods (e.g. part-time, compressed hours, staggered hours, job share, home working) had been introduced in 13 of the case study companies. In all of these companies, directors and managers had considered flexible arrangements on a case by case basis, with their introduction being dependent on the resources available at the time, the nature of the roles being considered for flexible working, and the potential impact on company performance. You have to consider each individual case in its context. And however unfair that is, you actually have to look at it as a business and think ‘What is right?’. We’ll always try and accommodate people. We don’t just say no, but at the same time we don’t just say yes to everybody as well. (Financial Controller of a radio station)

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However, there was also evidence of some female employees with children, who had moved to part-time contracts, but who were still effectively working full-time hours because of workload pressures, or who had lost disproportionate levels of pay and benefits through moving away from full-time, and who were therefore effectively being disadvantaged by movement to a more ‘flexible’ arrangement (Interestingly, six of the 18 female focus group participants cited similar disadvantage). Flexible working methods were regarded, by both managers and employees, as more suitable for administrative roles, or for some industry-specific occupations (e.g. copy editing and proof reading in publishing). Most of the roles wouldn’t work. It’s only the copy editing and proof reading that can be done at home. And it’s better done at home, because you don’t want disturbances - you want someone to be able to sit and concentrate for a good while. (Director of a publishing company)

In contrast, it was felt that flexible working would be very difficult: in client-focused roles (e.g. in PR and in commercial radio sales); in roles requiring almost constant interaction with colleagues and/or subordinates; in deadline-orientated roles; and in roles requiring long and unsociable hours (e.g. in theatre and in film and TV production). We tried to go down the job-share route. We tried it and it failed, not because of the employees but because of the clients. (Director of a PR company) There’s no question now that a sales role in commercial radio is not a parttime job. That’s a full-on job, given the significance of the revenue stream. We need people working a five-day week. It must have continuity – the minute you don’t have that you lose business. People spend money elsewhere, or they drift away from the station. (Radio station Planning Manager) However much it’s nice to think that some of it could be done at home, the people have to be here. Phone, fax and email. Making up a journal issue is not something that one person can do on their own, they’ll have to talk to at least one other person. (Director of a publishing company) Creatively, I would be a bit worried about part-time working. If they were an account manager, not an issue. But in the creative studio. Technically, it would be okay I guess. But because it’s so deadline-orientated, could you really stipulate which three days they work? (Director of a marketing company)

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While managers and employees were in general agreement about the difficulties in introducing flexible working in the creative industries, a small number of employees did feel that their employers could be doing more in terms of at least experimenting with flexible methods. I can see why it’s more difficult, but to be honest I think that’s something the company needs to look at. There’s no point in the Government bringing in incentives and trying to increase the population, if jobs like sales jobs are maybe not going to be part of it. (Employee at a radio station)

There was also some evidence of family-friendly policies and approaches creating resentment amongst male employees or amongst female employees without families. There is sometimes a perception that if you don’t have children, then fine, you have no excuse for not working on and being involved in whatever you’re asked to do. I think it’s slightly unfair. It’s perceived that you’ve got nothing to go home to. I think there’s a few of us here that have partners or girlfriends or wives, but not a family. And you do get asked for things that people with families wouldn’t get asked. (Male employee in a ‘cross-industry’ company) I think we should also be raising the question about women without children having to absorb the extra work when flexible working is used by mothers. And about having second choice of holidays behind mothers who choose the school holidays. (Female employee in a ‘cross-industry’ company)

In Year One of this research, a small proportion (8%) of female interviewees had indicated that training and personal development opportunities made available to their male colleagues had not been made available to them, thus having a potentially detrimental effect on their own career progression. In the Year Two case studies, however, no such inequities were reported. Forty-five (36%) of the case study interviewees were conscious of having a current training or professional development need, ranging from basic business skills to communication and presentation skills, and from the use of specific software packages to people management. The vast majority (90%) of these employees with training or professional development needs felt confident that their employer would assist them in addressing these needs, if the relevance, benefit to the company, and cost effectiveness of doing so could be argued and justified. Indeed, three of the case study companies pay the fees of those employees undertaking work-related, part-time degree courses;

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while one PR company pays employees’ subscriptions to a local professional organisation. The company is certainly very open to people doing training, and very encouraging. And they will be there to support any employee who wishes to further their career. (Finance Administrator in a ‘cross-industry’ company) If we can prove that anything is relevant, they will be willing to provide the financial backing. (Communications Consultant in a ‘cross-industry’ company)

Just six of the case study interviewees had taken part in a formal mentoring or ‘buddying’ scheme, arranged either by their employer or by a business support agency, while 12 had had an ‘informal’ mentor at some point throughout their careers. A further 15 interviewees felt that some form of mentoring would be useful for their own development; and indeed three of the case study companies were currently investigating the introduction of a formal scheme. However, the six interviewees involved in a formal scheme had generally been disappointed with the results, citing a lack of time and commitment, inappropriate advice, and a lack of understanding of ‘creative’ issues on the part of their mentor. Greater levels of satisfaction were reported by those interviewees who had personally researched and arranged their own informal mentors.

Business start-up issues Many of the case study interviewees were, of course, sole traders, selfemployed individuals, or directors of their own small businesses. With this in mind, a number of the interviewees highlighted difficulties relating to the business start-up process, some of which, it should be emphasised, were not gender-specific. For example, 17 of the participants (each one a sole trader or a director of a recently established small company) believed that the start-up advice and assistance provided by various business support agencies was not entirely suitable for creative businesses. The difficulty of actually finding out what to do, where and why and when was quite substantial because most of the help for new businesses is geared, bizarrely, to people like plumbers and carpenters – an entirely different organisational type. Which meant nobody was able to give me a clue as to how I should run my business, really. (Manager of a publishing company)

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They were applying business standards to a creative subject, which I felt wasn’t applicable. (Visual Artist)

For the majority of these start-ups, the source of their advice had been the Business Gateway Network (a partnership with Scottish Enterprise, the Scottish Executive and Scottish local authorities, with the prime aim of supporting economic development in Scotland), and indeed the ability of such generic advice agencies to deal with clients from the Scottish screen industries has recently been investigated more fully by the present authors (Marcella and Baxter, 2007). It is also worthwhile noting that a specialist business development service for creative industry practitioners and businesses, the Cultural Enterprise Office (CEO), has recently been established in Scotland. However, at the time of the case study interviews, the CEO, having just been piloted in Glasgow, was in the process of being rolled out on a more national basis, therefore only two of the case study interviewees (both Glasgow-based) were conscious of its existence. Many of the sole traders and self-employed interviewees also reported problems relating to financial and cash-flow matters. For example, 13 of the sole traders, largely in crafts and the visual arts, felt that they lacked, or did not pay enough personal attention to, basic business skills, such as bookkeeping and marketing, or found it difficult to set prices or rates for their own work. In line with Whiteley et al (2004), a number of these interviewees laid some of the blame for this situation at the door of higher and further education institutions, which, it was claimed, provided their creative students with too much theoretical, and not enough practical, knowledge and skills, including the basic business skills required when starting up their own company. Perhaps a big reason is because a lot of the people teaching in art schools have possibly never earned their living through their chosen subject. If you’re being taught by someone who’s never had to sell a painting to pay their bills, how are you going to learn? (Craftsperson)

For some interviewees, financial problems were exacerbated by difficulties in finding professionals, such as accountants and lawyers, who are aware of the specific problems and issues concerned with running a creative business. Meanwhile, 12 of the 21 female sole traders emphasised the importance of the emotional, practical, and, often most importantly, the monetary support of their husband or partner. I’m one of the lucky ones – my husband works in a very lucrative job, so I don’t have to bring home the bread, so to speak, and sustain my family. If I had to, I couldn’t survive. No way. (Craftsperson)

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The Creative Industries in Scotland: Flexible Friends or Foes?

Conclusions The case studies and focus groups discussed above have reinforced many of the major findings of Year One of the research. Namely, that women can encounter a range of contractual, cultural, social, family, age-related and personal barriers to entering, remaining in and progressing through the hierarchy of the creative industries in Scotland. While the creative industries may indeed perceive themselves to be more egalitarian and female-friendly than other sectors, it would appear that they are still beset with many of the gender-related inequities perhaps more associated with other, traditionally male-dominated industries. The primary aim of Year Two of the research was, of course, to explore gender equality policy and practice in creative companies in Scotland, and to identify examples of best practice that might be adopted more widely throughout the Scottish sector. However, in line with the literature and with the findings of the Year One study, this Year Two research has found a lack of formal gender- and family-related policies in place in the Scottish creative sector; and, where policies do exist, a distinct lack of awareness of their type and extent amongst employees, suggesting a lack of effective communication on the part of individual companies. This research has also identified an apparent lack of formal flexible working opportunities in the Scottish creative sector. Indeed, it would seem that the creative industries are particularly non-conducive to flexible patterns of employment that might enable women, particularly those with family or caring commitments, to achieve a fairer work-life balance. This would appear to be particularly difficult in client-focused and deadlineorientated roles, roles that require constant face-to-face communication with colleagues, and roles that demand long and unsociable hours. Instead, Scottish creative companies appear to rely heavily on more informal approaches, where managers permit their employees to take time off, or enter into short-term flexible working patterns, as and when family and caring issues arise. While many of the employees interviewed – in particular those who had had cause to require such a flexible arrangement – spoke positively of these informal approaches, some dissenting voices remained, particularly those employees who had had to absorb extra work because of their colleagues entering into flexible working patterns, or who had been asked to undertake work, perhaps involving travel and unsociable hours, which their colleagues with family or caring responsibilities were not expected to undertake. As a result, there was no real consensus on what constitutes ‘best practice’ in terms of flexible working in the Scottish creative industries.

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Scottish Enterprise (2005) Creative & Cultural Skills (2006)

Odedra (2005)

Futureskills Scotland (2005)

2

Dunlop et al (2004)

Galloway (2003)

36,790

94,000

58,300

3

39%1

52%

56% (broad def.) 49% (everyday def.)

221,301 (broad definition) 45,059 (everyday def.)

13,3003

37%1

70,000

DCMS (1999) Davies & Lindley (2003)

55,000

91,113

Pratt (1998)

Includes 13,370 selfemployed

Mainly SMEs with