Comment On The Comment

My dad called me last night to ask if I was watching American Idol. I wasn't. He sounded surprised and a little disappointed, hoping that I might be writing a blog entry about it. There, Dad, I just did.

Instead of watching AI, I was preoccupied with a recent blog entry written by Jean Smith of Mecca Normal. (I encourage you to read the entire post.) In it, she pondered a series of unusually cruel comments posted beneath a blurb about her band on the Brooklyn Vegan Web site. You can ready the article, as well as the comments, here.

From Smith's blog:

"There is a comment section after the piece with some of what I'd call typical nastiness that I see on YouTube and elsewhere. I wasn't really expecting this as I scrolled down the page -- to be called a bunch of names. There were positive comments, too -- mostly in opposition to the negative comments. After some time thinking about not taking these comments personally, and acknowledging that this is part of culture -- people participate in media now, and this is what people interject with in this quadrant of culture -- that's rather depressing, to think that there have been a lot of quiet people, and now they speak in comment boxes and type things like -- "hag" -- and I thought about the sad, low state these guys must be in psychologically, and how men in general, have, as well as being socialized to hide emotions other than anger, have also learned to hide misogyny, allowing it to spew in blog comment boxes, anonymously -- it's some kind of barometer."

The sentence that stood out for me was about the formerly quiet people who now, thanks to the Internet, have been given a voice and a forum in comment boxes. I certainly think that there is truth to this idea, particularly in certain contexts, and often with a tacit agreement by the site itself, or in places where insolence is tolerated by lenient, sensationalism-minded site administrators. But is it only the timid who have been given a voice? Or are we all using the forums -- even on relatively benign music blogs and fan sites -- to air what we wouldn't utter in person?

At my most optimistic, I have always thought of the virtual relationship to be akin to conversation -- as a continuation of real-life discourse, supplanted as only virtual discourse can be, with links. But, as Smith reminds us, within the great expanse and freedom that computer-mediated discussion provides is the diminishing of accountability. Once negativity and snarkiness become endemic to comment threads, the most outlandish are often ignored, either as a tactical method to stifle encouragement or because that brand of comment is typical and thus easily dismissed.

Furthermore, as Smith suggests, can we use the nature of comments as a barometer? And, if so, a barometer of what? Evolution? Devolution? Our ability (or lack thereof) to communicate? An indicator of how much free time we have, how much we procrastinate, how bored we are? Do our comments tell other people that we have too few friends, that our parents didn't love us enough, that we're lonely or constantly in need of validation? Or are comments and comment sections merely vessels for every random thought and aside we previously kept to ourselves but can now shout to a small section of the world?

I suppose I'm curious because I do read your comments, and I read comments elsewhere. And, naturally, I leave my own comments, as well. But what exactly are we leaving? And, in terms of music, is dialogue good for fandom? When does a comment cross the line from apt to cruel?

I know I've posed more questions than answers on this post. And writing about Adam Lambert and Kris Allen might have been easier. (Actually, that's not true, because I didn't watch a single episode of AI.) But sometimes it's nice to step back and ponder the nature of what we're engaged in. Feel free to join the discussion. Or wait around for one of my humorous and less heady posts.

2:28 PM ET | 05-21-2009 | permalink

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