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The growing adoption of artificial intelligence (AI), combined with advances in the technology and the recent denial of patents to an AI inventor by the European and American patent offices, are necessitating a critical examination of the profound role the IP system has on AI, not only because IP rights can protect AI-related inventions and creations, but also because they can block access to key AI technologies. But such a review raises complicated IP, technical, legal, data-related, social and philosophical issues. For example, if the IP system is designed to encourage creation and invention, in large part through the recognition and reward of creative and inventive endeavour, who or what should be allowed to benefit from it – a human with an artificial identity; a human enhanced with AI; or an AI itself? And if not an AI, then what types of inventions or creations, created with the assistance of AI, deserve IP protection? This chapter attempts to help readers better appreciate the emerging and complex questions regarding IP and AI including what IP is in the context of AI, why things have gotten so complicated and the conundrum we now face of whether to prioritise progress or human interests.
Chapter 10 focuses on issues related to colonialism and commerce, examining how activities of colonizers have shaped opportunities, business institutions, and competitiveness throughout Africa. This chapter also discusses the implications of colonial portfolio approaches for law and commerce, as well as how attitudes about governance have shaped the construction of the public and private throughout former colonies in Africa.
The proliferation of unauthorised arrangements was of concern to composers and publishers alike c.1800. The chapter considers this phenomenon, which was central to the creation and reception of arrangements. Publishing practices in Vienna are compared to other centers, taking account of the lines of national and international dissemination that Beethoven’s publishers employed. The absence of copyright law at this time is considered: only after Beethoven’s life time does one find the transference of ownership from publisher to composer, which severely reduced the liberties arrangers could take with their source materials, as well as the ability to disseminate any kind of copies legally. A case study is made of Karl (Carl, Charles) Zulehner (ca. 1770–1841), composer, publisher, copyist, and arranger. He was notorious for publishing several masses wrongly attributed to Mozart and for unauthorized publications of Beethoven’s music. These underhand dealings need not blind us to his talents as an arranger. Besides his string quartet arrangement of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 1, Op. 21 (Simrock, 1828), which serves as a case study in this chapter.
Streaming services now provide the dominant way in which music is distributed and consumed online. Digital rights management (DRM) lies at the heart of this trend and has evolved alongside a movement from copy-based to streaming-based consumption. This shift poses a number of new and unique issues. Music streaming services have changed the nature of the product offered, with musical content becoming de-bundled and reduced to a series of permissions covered by DRM and associated licences, leaving users trapped in a permission-based system. This may create tension with copyright law principles regarding personal ownership and exhaustion of rights in relation to secondary markets, but through analysing relevant US and European case law it can be demonstrated that there is little, if any, legal opportunity for digital secondary markets to emerge. There are also further specific consequences which may affect artists relating to musical diversity and the composition of popular music and, also, consequences regarding the changing nature of the Internet itself. In this context copyright remains centrally important, but only in establishing the initial proprietary rights that enable subsequent DRM and licence-based online exploitation, indicative of a re-establishment of record industry power that is now allied to streaming platforms.
Begins by examining the career of the publisher Thomas Pavier in order to provide context for a puzzling collection of texts that he issued in 1619. The collection would seem to be the first attempt to offer the public a 'selected works' of Shakespeare, though, in fact, some of the plays included have only a tenuous connection to the playwright. The logistics of the project are considered, as well as the various arguments for why it appears to have been undertaken in a rather clandestine fashion. The chapter then moves on to consider the first collected edition of Shakespeare's plays, the 'First Folio', published in 1623. The volume is viewed within the context of the overarching career of Edward Blount, its primary investor. The progression of the volume through the printshop of William and Isaac Jaggard is tracked, drawing on the seminal work of Charlton Hinman, who made extensive use of the collection of First Folios established by Emily and Henry Clay Folger. The subsequent set of folio editions issued between 1632 and 1700 is also discussed.
The domination of the Shakespeare publishing field by the Tonson cartel came under challenge from various quarters over the course of the eighteenth century. This chapter charts the efforts of a number of English publishers to break the cartel's monopoly. The legal and regulatory background is traced and the various challenges across the century are registered, including initiatives launched by Thomas Johnson, Robert Walker, Thomas Cotes and John Bell. Attention is paid to the first English edition of Shakespeare published outside London: Thomas Hanmer's text, issued in conjunction with the university press at Oxford. The chapter concludes with a consideration of John Stockdale's editions which, in one configuration, offered the first single-volume text to have appeared since the end of the seventeenth century.
This chapter discusses historical developments in copyright law during Ibsen’s life and the consequences these had for his authorship and international reception. Ibsen’s career as an author is emblematic of the development of national and international copyright laws and agreements – or the lack of them – during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Since he published his books in Copenhagen for most of his life, Ibsen was, legally speaking, a Danish author. Denmark ratified the Berne Convention for the protection of literary and artistic works as late as in 1903, and this meant that Ibsen encountered problems when his plays started to be read and staged intensively abroad. He therefore had to develop various strategies in order to obtain royalties from performances and book publications. While the lack of copyright protection abroad caused him considerable financial loss, it also contributed to a wide dissemination of his works both as books and in the theatre, one that it is difficult to imagine would have happened if these works had not been there for the taking.
Intellectual property involves the legal protection of inventions and other creative products. Its main categories are patents, copyright and trade marks, with related forms of protection also covering designs, circuit layouts, plant breeders’ rights, domain names and trade secrets. Some intellectual property rights attach automatically to a novel invention or creation, while others require registration in a publicly administered system, depending on the jurisdiction. Protection is typically limited to a specified time, with extension possible in some systems. What is offered to creators is an incentive to make potentially beneficial advances available to the public, rather than be kept secret or for private use only, by way of a limited monopoly.
This chapter reveals Sterne theorising his own experimentation with the visual appearance of the novel through images of the hand and handwriting. It measures the extent of Sterne’s innovation with the typographic manicule and his representation of script in print, comparing his innovations with those of Samuel Richardson a decade earlier while identifying the first known instance of printed strikethrough. Sterne inscribed his work with innovative examples of real and fictional handwriting, signing each copy of his novel and commissioning an original woodcut device to create the strikethrough. The chapter explores Sterne’s use of existing print practices or processes of book production in unusual and surprising ways. It establishes Sterne’s position in the print shop and his desire for his works to have specific material attributes, identifying also his anxiety over the potential invasion of his copyright. In revealing the author’s attempts to control every aspect of book production and his engagement with copyright debates, this chapter positions Sterne as a book designer well versed in codices from multiple disciplines and their varied modes of presenting printed data.
Dance theorists and legal scholars argue that choreography is by nature ill-suited to the conceptual framework provided by copyright, even as there is widespread agreement that works of dance deserve the legal protection and cultural endorsement that its inclusion represents. I reexamine the factors that are often cited as barriers to choreography's suitability for copyright. I argue that choreography is better suited to the copyright regime than it appears, so long as we recognize that the artistic standard for substantial similarity should be different from the legal standard.
Personhood theory figures prominently in virtually every list of justifications for intellectual property in general and copyright in particular. Typically ascribed to the philosophical ideas of Georg William Friedrich Hegel and Immanuel Kant, this theory posits that authors have such deep connections with their creations that respect for their sense of self requires giving them a degree of ongoing control over those works. In essence, works are treated as extensions of the author’s person. As such, certain types of interference with those works would be tantamount to intruding on a part of the author’s body.
Infringement of broadcasts is often treated as a crime. The Nigerian Constitution guarantees that no-one can be prosecuted for any act that is not prescribed in a written law. Section 20 of Nigeria's Copyright Act only criminalizes dealing with infringing copies. A “copy” is defined in terms of material form. An infringing broadcast therefore connotes a recorded broadcast or a copy of a broadcast. This article argues that, statutorily, not every act that gives rise to civil liability for broadcast copyright infringement constitutes a crime. The article reviews the first broadcast copyright prosecution Court of Appeal decision in Eno v Nigerian Copyright Commission. Eno was unlawfully prosecuted, convicted and imprisoned. The article seeks to stem the wave of prosecutions on the type of charges used in Eno. In the absence of law reform, the prosecutions based on the line of charges in Eno constitute a fracturing of constitutional rights.
This chapter examines the profession of music composition during Strauss’s lifetime, noting his success relative to that of his contemporaries while highlighting the many professional difficulties and economic hardships faced by aspiring and established composers alike during the period. Limited performance opportunities, unfavorable publishing and copyright terms, disappearing avenues of patronage, and a lack of standardized credentialing processes or conservatory curricula for composers all contributed to a rather bleak state of affairs for the average composer. The figure of the composer was a complex one during Strauss’s long life, trapped between the nineteenth-century ideal of unfettered inspiration and the often-ugly economic and social reality of the twentieth. Led by Strauss, German composers sought to professionalize their discipline – albeit largely unsuccessfully – seeking reforms in music publishing, copyright, and music education that would place them on a more secure economic footing.
The Genossenschaft Deutscher Tonsetzer (GDT: Association of German Composers) was founded on January 14, 1903 and became the first successful collective management organization in Germany. Its establishment followed two failed attempts to establish an institution for musical performing rights and is best understood through consideration of those prior attempts, which, though unsuccessful, set the stage for the founding of the GDT. This chapter also considers the role of Richard Strauss and his friends Friedrich Rösch and Hans Sommer in addition to that of the German music dealers in this royalty movement. Finally, it also discusses the reciprocal effects of the reform of the German Copyright Act and the movement.
This chapter charts the ways in which the Nazi regime sought to reshape the musical environment in Germany in response to the turbulent political and economic situation in the early 1930s when unemployment amongst musicians was at an all time high and the future of various hallowed institutions such as the Berlin Philharmonic was very much in doubt. The Nazi promise to devise an administrative framework of guilds designed to regulate the activities of musicians deemed acceptable to the regime initially attracted support from politically unaffiliated leading musicians such as Richard Strauss, who seized the opportunity to promote long-cherished ideas that would enhance the performing rights and firm up copyright laws for composers. For its part, the Nazi regime scored a huge propaganda coup in persuading Strauss to become the first President of the Reichsmusikkammer in November 1933. But the relationship between composer and the authorities soon foundered after Strauss refused to subsume his creative autonomy to the current political demands that outlawed creative collaboration with Jews.
Digital technology has had a profound and generally beneficial effect on dictionaries and other language-reference tools. Electronic dictionaries continue to evolve and it seems likely that for people born in the current century and beyond, ‘dictionary’ may cease to have its primary denotation as a thick book filled with a list of alphabetised words and their definitions. The idea of the dictionary developed over centuries to its place of privilege in the mid-twentieth century: an authoritative book that could be found in nearly every home. In the decades since then, the idea of the dictionary has rapidly evolved to become, especially for today’s digital natives, an amorphous collection of data that lives in the cloud and that should be quickly retrievable to anyone who desires to find the definition of a word they don’t know, using whatever device they have at hand. In their efforts to become the newest, best, and most dazzling, makers of electronic dictionaries today must not lose sight of the fact that the core need of their user is a simple one than can be met with a simple solution, provided to them with what is now relatively simple technology.
As artificial intelligence (AI) systems become more sophisticated and play a larger role in society, arguments that they should have some form of legal personality gain credence. The arguments are typically framed in instrumental terms, with comparisons to juridical persons such as corporations. Implicit in those arguments, or explicit in their illustrations and examples, is the idea that as AI systems approach the point of indistinguishability from humans they should be entitled to a status comparable to natural persons. This article contends that although most legal systems could create a novel category of legal persons, such arguments are insufficient to show that they should.
The Works of J. S, D. D, D. S. P. D., whose first four volumes were published by George Faulkner in Dublin under the date of 1735, was a landmark achievement for the Dublin trade and for Swift in print. These are volumes of considerable expressive force, owing in part to their generous use of frontispieces, ornaments and paratexts. This was the nearest thing to an authorised collected edition to appear in Swift’s lifetime. Although it is rightly regarded as a monument, and a significant step in the consolidation of Swift in print, it is clear from the proposal and the 1735 tranche of volumes that it was a radically – and expressively – compromised one.
Swift’s paratexts to his posthumous editions of the works of his patron, Sir William Temple, first presented his words in high-quality print. Having chosen Benjamin Tooke the younger as his bookseller, Swift went on to publish A Tale of a Tub in 1704 – a notorious and expensive production, which, considered as a book, turns out, despite its modern reputation, to be surprisingly normal.
The print worlds of of Dublin and London, in and between which Swift in print was formed, were sharply differentiated by regulation and custom. Swift’s first two printed works, one printed in each, were revealingly odd: An Ode. To the King was published by John Brent in Dublin, and Ode to the Athenian Society was published by John Dunton in London. Dunton’s The Dublin Scuffle (his account of a working visit undertaken in 1698), shows how some of the print-trade structures and individuals of Swift’s early formation (and their children, apprentices and associates) would continue to influence the long-term development of Swift in print.