davidvanwert.com

The internet opens communication on a scale that mankind has never seen. It also hinders communication on a scale that mankind has never seen.

One study at UCLA indicated that up to 93 percent of communication effectiveness is determined by nonverbal cues. Another study indicated that the impact of a performance was determined 7 percent by the words used, 38 percent by voice quality, and 55 percent by the nonverbal communication.

In these two studies, we see that only 7% of true communication depends strictly upon the words used. But wait, you say, how is that possible? When I write an e-mail I have the chance to double-check everything I write for clarity — surely it must be a superior form of dialogue!

Nay, nay, nay, my friend, e-mail is most frequently a simple monologue. The distance afforded by indirect communication allows a writer to avoid specific questioning and simply write “essay” in response. E-mail is egocentric, far more about “me” that it is about “us.” Without non-textual clues, we filter everything through ourselves, essentially ignoring the other.

Here’s an example communication. This example happens over e-mail.

Person 1: Hey, just thought I’d drop you a line to see what’s happening.
Person 2: You asshole, I can’t believe you wrote me! You’re such a dick!
Person 1: (decides never to communicate with Person 2 again)

Imagine this same scenario in person…

Person 1: Hey, just thought I’d stop by and see what’s happening.
Person 2: (with big smile on face) You asshole, (laughing) I can’t believe you stopped by! You’re such a dick! (grabs Person 1’s face and french kisses him)

As you can see, there is a big difference between direct communication and e-mail communication. And not only is there less french kissing in e-mail communication, it’s also likely that whatever you do say could be misinterpreted by as much as 40%.

So basically, when we try to communicate an important issue over e-mail, the recipient only gets 60% of 7% of the real message.

I’m not going to get all mathy here (mostly because I can’t without a calculator), but I think we all know that 60% of 7% is a pretty small percentage. I’d estimate somewhere around 4%…

That’s just not enough message.

So here’s a weird thing… there’s these two songs by two different bands, right? Both songs have been in my music library for years and years, but it wasn’t until last weekend that, thanks to one of my very rare uses “Shuffle Mode” in iTunes, I ever heard them back-to-back. I’ve probably never even heard them on the same day before.

Both songs (both of which are 5 minutes long) appeared as first track on their respective albums and both were the first single released from each album. Both albums were recorded in 1990 and released in 1991. Both bands have have charted more than one top-ten hit, at least one platinum album, and would be recognizable by name for anyone who’s spent much time listening to “alternative” (a misnomer now, but it was once alternative…) rock radio.

Here’s the first 30 seconds or so of each song. The album (fifth for the band) that Riff 1 comes from languished (and languishes still) in obscurity and the band broke up. The album Riff 2 comes from was that band’s major label debut, an international sensation, and catapulted them to rawk supa-stardom.

Riff 1:

Riff 2:

Both albums were recorded at more or less the same time in opposite corners of the U.S. (Riff 1 in upstate NY; Riff 2 in L.A.) so I’m not making any sort of accusation — I’m just observing this opening riff mini-zeitgeist of the early 90’s that signaled one band’s unnoticed swan song and another’s bottle rocket rise.

But so anway… ten points for anyone who can name the band that did Riff 1 (which, for the record, came out first). Anyone care to guess?

You don’t see that many One Man Bands these days.
I’d never even noticed that the genre had practically fallen off the planet until last night, during my gallery walk, when I saw a guy on the 1500 block of Echo Park Boulevard holding a banjo with a bass drum strapped across his back and a tambourine hanging off his shoulder, and I thought “Gee, you don’t see that many One Man Bands these days.”
A thump of his left heel boomed the drum and thump of his right heel slapped the tambourine. Meanwhile, his ten fingers flashed across the strings of that banjo so fast your eyes couldn’t perceive and your mind wouldn’t believe. I assume he had just ten fingers… from the way he played though, he might’ve been one of those twelve fingered folk you see now and then on Discovery Channel. But whatever. Hunched in a half crouch, heels thumping and fingers flying, he playing that banjo like a sitar, spewing out music that was half bluegrass, half Bombay — Krishna in Kentucky. Pure bloody magic on the sidewalk, and there was nobody who could stop themselves from stopping. To hear and to feel.
Then his furious playing finally broke a string, and I had a moment to tear myself free. I realized it was then or never — there were galleries I hadn’t seen, and it was getting late. If I stayed to watch this one-man-band, I’d miss everything else. But as he knelt on the sidewalk changing his string, I dropped the buck fifty of quarters I had in my pocket into his cup.
“Thanks, man,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied. And I honestly meant it. That was my laundry money, but what he’d given me was worth dirty pants.