Recommendations Based on Your Mood, Not Just Your Taste

[NOTE: this post originally appeared on Datachondria, a blog dedicated to technology, data, and modern life.]

I've written elsewhere of my love for the Nike+ and its exemplary use of technology as a bridge between a solitary leisure pursuit and the support offered by a network. But I find -- as I increase my workout times -- that there are some significant feature gaps. While I like the 'powersong' feature to deliver a boost when I find myself flagging, it doesn't quite take it to the next step. For example, if I want to change music to something more appropriate to a warm-up or a warm-down, I have to pause the workout and change the playlist.

But these things have a fairly predictable place in my routine. It should be possible for the technology to anticipate them. Just like bookclubs (real or virtual) will set landmarks for progress, there's no reason why you shouldn't be able to set playlist markers. Get me to x bpm after y minutes, keep me there for z minutes, then give me a warmdown. These landmarks could be used to manage a random selection of music within nonetheless predetermined parameters.

This kind of landmarking could be helpful in all kinds of situations -- workouts, parties, coitus.

But that's really only the first step. I'd ideally want the ability to tailor my listening dynamically to my pace, location, mood, heartrate, or any number of other parameters which would increase its utility. Music at parties could change depending on the volume of the conversation, the number of participants, and the amount of alcohol thus far consumed. Think of the public safety implications.

The same is true of reading -- I'm more inclined to read business books and articles on the way to work, but a novel or entertainment news on the way home (particularly on Fridays). An electronic reading device should be able to push content to me on the basis of my habits, mood, place, location, activities. In this context, having to remember to pick up a different magazine or different section of a newspaper seems just ridiculously inefficient.

In short, we're talking about having our devices present content to us on the basis of mood, not just an aggregated taste history, or the ratings we have assigned to things.

Suppose that our interfaces could isolate trends in your reading, listening, or leisure pursuits. Suppose that iTunes Genuis or Amazon's recommendations algorithm could give you some options:

  • It looks like you've been listening to a lot of indie guitar noise merchants recently. Would you like these kinds of recommendations to be weighted higher in your results?
  • You've rather gone off James Patterson of late. Even though you own his entire published output, would you like recommendations based on this to be fact to be downplayed?

Better yet -- imagine that these engines could talk to one another.

* Note: not all of these scenarios are based on personal experience.

These are, of course, exactly the kinds of things that happen in day-to-day conversations with friends. Which is why social networking stands to enrich our exposure to culture and events so significantly. In the meantime, how do shuffle and recommendations engines acquire more precise sensitivities to our desires? Landmarks, trending, and complements would be good first steps.

The Phone is Technology Inertia

[NOTE: this post originally appeared on Datachondria, a blog dedicated to technology, data, and modern life.]

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A post by Derek Thompson for The Atlantic Monthly's fine new ideas blog reminded me of something Nathan wrote recently about the impending redundancy of the cellphone. With the development of the MiFi, alongside the ongoing revolution in mobile software applications, trying to cram all of this functionality into a small hand-to-ear device is going to seem increasingly foolish. Why do we think we need a phone at all? It's a vestige of a nineeenth century technology that we've been progressively adapting to do more and more things -- take and store photos, browse the internet, store and play music. This is the anxiety that some feel about an eBook reader -- where would it fit? Wouldn't the ideal eBook reader be larger than the iPhone? When Apple's iTablet Touch finally materializes, will it be yet another device to carry around?

How about this: the tablet lives in your bag. A bluetooth headset -- working off voice navigation like an iPod shuffle -- tends to your urgent phone and audio needs. If you need to do anything more complex -- read a book, browse the internet, work -- you reach for the tablet.

The phone is now a classic example of technology inertia. Why should anyone have to communicate by holding something next to their head?

Digital Distribution and the New Ecology of Customer Expectations

[NOTE: this post originally appeared on Datachondria, a blog dedicated to technology, data, and modern life.]​

We've written previously about the possible impact of digital distribution on the impulse purchase, and will have more to say in the future. But something else in the equation occured to me after a handful of particularly frustrating attempts to buy music online recently. Something that's obvious but goes unstated in discussions about preserving traditional industry practices.

I was irritated a few months ago when I placed Hjaltalín's wonderful album Sleepdrunk Seasons in my iTunes wishlist playlist, only to discover when I went back to purchase it on payday that the territorial rights had changed and it was no longer available via the Canadian store. (I was eventually able to purchase it via the record label, Kimi).

This week I have tried and failed to purchase Cliff Martinez's beautiful score to Steven Soderbergh's remake of Solaris, and -- astonishingly -- The Orb's Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld.

(And if you're looking for music which is not available on iTunes, discovering that the record label in question is a subsidiary of one of the majors is really, really bad news. Small labels appear to have discovered the benefits of having in-house mp3 stores. The majors? Not so much.)

A few years ago, this kind of thing would have been mildly irritating but not all that surprising. So your local record store was sold out or didn't carry that particular release. That's inconvenient -- but with those cumbersome industrial production processes and a physical supply chain to negotiate, it wasn't going to shake you up. You were used to it. You'd place a special order, order it yourself online and wait a few days, or just give up. Oh well. Nobody has a right to everything.

Nowadays, though, these oversights feel absolutely unforgivable -- not least because so many of the alternatives (the secondhand stores, the large independents like Sam's, the in depth assortment at large branches of HMV) have disappeared precisely because of the benefits promised by iTunes and its legal and illegal competitors.

This reminds me of something that Dustin Curtis wrote about recently on his amazingly attractive website. The customer experience is only as good as its weakest link. iTunes is an astonishingly good customer experience -- in the context of everything that preceded it -- and offers a breadth of selection unlike anything the average consumer has ever known. But when you can't get something that should be easy -- easy -- it feels as if they don't care.

And for the most part these things aren't the fault of iTunes, Amazon, or other digital retailers. Territorial rights are a massive barrier to the promise of universal availability. But there has been a sea change, I think, in customer's tolerance for a lack of product availability. In the past, it was possible that the retailer was trying but that they weren't very good. This still persists with traditional retailers (Metro, I'm looking at you). But where digital product is the norm, it doesn't feel like that's possible. Instead, it feels like the retailer isn't even trying -- that they just don't care. That's a terrible, terrible face for a major retailer to show to their customers.

As industrial production and distribution processes fade as intermediate factors between content producer and content consumer, the expectations for customer service are skyrocketing. Traditional retail spaces are being redesigned around exceptional customer service rather than stack-and-sell local warehousing. This is the wrong time to be hiding behind the walls of territorial copyright, which will only make customers feel justified in acquiring product in illegal ways. For these reasons it's encouraging to see New Zealand effectively scrap its existing copyright laws, and Australia begin to dismantle territorial copyright.

As the ebooks revolution gathers steam, this will be critical for Amazon, Shortcovers, and other contenders to bear in mind. It's all about availability and customer service. The customer will not forgive you for slamming the door in their face. They will not wait for copyright to catch up. They will sign out of the system.

Digital distribution won't level the playing field. It will tilt it in the customer's favour.

Retro Soundtracks to Imaginary Heist Movies

[NOTE: this post originally appeared on Datachondria, a blog dedicated to technology, data, and modern life.]​

Brian Gossett's Heist series of mixes are exactly the kind of thing content systems need to evolve to allow: a fabulous concept (who doesn't want retro location-themed soundtracks to imaginary heist movies?), brilliant execution, and (every bit as important) gorgeous custom cover art:


I am a huge fan of heist films. They exude a sense of excitement and wonderment. The recipe for a great caper is a seemingly impossible score, specialized team members, exotic sports cars, gadgets galore, globetrotting, beautiful yet conniving women, a dash of good humor, and an impeccable musical backdrop. The latter brings us to my latest series of mixes, The Heist Series. I have chosen artists who have scored classic and modern heist films. To add color to these mixes are complimentary tracks that flavor the ambience of the narrative. Each subsequent mix to follow, will personify a city in which our fictitious caper takes place.

Highly recommended.

(via design work life)

Go out on the Town with Your Favourite Novel

[NOTE: this post originally appeared on Datachondria, a blog dedicated to technology, data, and modern life.]

As Mark hinted the other day, AcrossAir's augmented reality iPhone apps suggest what some aspects of the networked book concept might resemble. Indeed, it's surprising that there aren't already iPhone apps that replicate such fine book/city tours as already exist.

Knoxville's bridges, from Wes Morgan's Searching for Suttre

Knoxville's bridges, from Wes Morgan's Searching for Suttre

These seem like fertile ground for an app developer, particularly given the possibility of add-ons available via OS 3's in-app billing.

On the subject of subway-based iPhone apps, there's Exit Strategy NYC (via Kottke). Does anyone have plans to take the TTC Subway Rider Efficiency Guide in a similar direction?

Cover Art You Can Tell Your Friends About

[NOTE: this post originally appeared on Datachondria, a blog dedicated to technology, data, and modern life.]

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It's nice to see HarperCollins UK foregrounding the gorgeous Richard Bravery cover designs for Michael Chabon's backlist by at least making large versions available for download. As we've discussed before, there are some fabulous opportunities available for content distributors who understand how the packaging of their product engages in an ongoing dialogue with the content -- and that there are more and more opportunities for exactly these exchanges with social media and digital distribution. Content mediators -- publishers, marketers, retailers, distributors -- who understand how to enrich and enable those dialogues are going to reach more people than those who do not. Making cover art available for download and sharing is the very least that they should be doing. Great also to see these attractive designs getting some love.

While there are now more book cover blogs than you can shake a stick at, The Art of the Title Sequence is another wonderful resource, foregrounding an art form which is too often seen as purely functional.