o you want to be a rock star? Then get out of the garage and get yourself a computer.
At least that's what some folks are doing, thanks to a technology called MP3, an audio format that enables users with minimal computer experience to distribute their music over the Internet. Ginny Weaver, singer with Boston Indie band Star Ghost Dog, is one of the believers in the new format. About six weeks ago, she and her band posted two songs on MP3.com, the popular Web site that features free music by more than 10,000 groups, most of them unsigned and unknown beyond their own basements.
To put it politely, a lot of the music offered for free on the site proves the maxim, ''You get what you pay for.'' But that's not the case with Star Ghost Dog. Its two songs, ''Plus de Vaches'' and ''Downer,'' are smart pop tunes with a witty, subversive edge. The band was featured as a ''Hot New Band'' on the site, and their songs have hit the MP3.com charts.
That's not to say Weaver has any illusions that MP3 is going to turn the band into an overnight rock sensation. Let's be realistic. ''This is not the story of the century,'' she says. ''It's not like we're expecting a big deal. We hope to get more fans, more attention, but we don't expect to be noticed by A&R [artist and repertoire] scouts surfing the 'net for new music.''
Weaver has received e-mail from all over the world since she posted the songs. And, there's a fringe benefit: the service is free. And it's easy. Weaver, who isn't likely to be mistaken for a computer engineer, says it takes about 30 minutes to convert regular CDs into the MP3 format. It's even easier to listen to the tunes: click, download and you're in business.
This ease of use, however, has blood pressure rising in the offices of industry executives, who foresee massive music piracy and fear a realignment of the entire industry. The Recording Industry Association of America tried to block the technology, but eventually realized that it had to get in touch with the times. As such, the association is working on developing its own standards for on-line distribution.
But for bands like Star Ghost Dog, piracy is hardly a worry. ''To be honest, at our level it isn't even a concern,'' Weaver says with a soft laugh. ''Any new exposure is good.'' She's glad her group's songs have done well on MP3.com's charts, although it would be easy to manipulate the record-keeping by having your friends download your songs repeatedly. ''A lot of bands do that, but I'm really interested in getting the real picture of what's going on. I don't try to influence the system.''
The industry is changing faster than musicians can keep up with it, and it's essential to stay on top of technological innovation. Some day, some band is going to break through and make it big using the Internet. ''It's inevitable,'' Weaver says. ''We're just a small part of a huge phenomenon.''
This just in from Mount Everest: Spam is not just unwanted e-mail, it's a vital food substance at altitudes of 17,000 feet.
At least that's what we hear from Liesl Clark, producer of NOVA's documentary project, ''Lost on Everest.'' Clark and a PBS NOVA crew have joined an expedition that is ascending Everest to discover whether British climbers George Mallory and Andrew Irvine reached the summit before disappearing in 1924. The crew is reporting its findings daily on the NOVA Web site (www.pbs.org/nova/everest), where armchair adventurers can follow the search as it unfolds.
While the crew waits for high winds to subside before beginning the search, Clark answered a few questions via e-mail from the mountain. (She has two laptops powered by special lithium batteries designed for high altitude, and a satellite phone.)
The typical day begins at 7 a.m. ''What's for breakfast?'' Clark writes. ''I'm ashamed to say that someone on the expedition brought a lifetime supply of Spam. Our cook serves it with every meal.'' Clark spends the rest of the day filming, filing dispatches, and shooting digital photos for the Web site.
Her computer hasn't quite acclimated to the temperature, though. ''To get it jump-started in the morning, I have to place the machine on its back, like a turtle, and wait until the sun peaks over the high rock towers above us. Just three minutes of the intense Himalayan sun is enough to warm the inner organs so the computer can start up.''
Clark reports the good and the bad from on high. ''Good news: Someone on our team gave our Sherpas [mountain guides] a boom box that charges itself from a solar panel. This means we save our D cell batteries as the Sherpas entertain themselves. Bad news: They only brought one tape (a tinny rendition of Indian Disco music), and we hear it, blasted full level, about 30 times a day. Disco opens at 7:00 a.m. and goes until the wee hours.''
If that sounds slightly surreal, so does the notion of communicating via e-mail and loading images to a Web site thousands of miles a way. ''Here, we worship the satellite phone and computer, amazed that just one connecting cord between the two can bring in missives from family, colleagues and strangers,'' Clark writes. ''Unfortunately, when you're this connected, people expect you to respond with as much ease as you would at home. But, as soon as the sun sets, keyboard gets cold, fingers freeze up and feel like fat sausages, toes begin to numb, the wind whips in through the cracks of the tent, and your brain gives up early from the lack of oxygen.
''My colleagues are very patient with me as surely my writing and messages are less than coherent whenever I reach a higher altitude: spelling goes, typos abound, short term memory wanes, and my choice of words reverts to that of a 10 year old ... Did I mention short term memory?''
Short term memory or not, Clark will keep browsers informed about the expedition, thanks to computer memory. She'll be reporting on the Web site and sending occassional e-mails to this column. Think warm thoughts.
It seems like everyone wants to jump into the on-line auction business these days, thanks to the monumental success of eBay. In March, Amazon.com, for instance, launched its own auction site, an eBay clone if there ever was one. So why shouldn't the nonprofits get a piece of the auction action and capitalize on the public's urge to give out their credit card numbers on-line?
Enter Boston's own Huntington Theatre Company. In conjunction with its May 13 benefit gala starring Barbara Cook, the theater is launching an on-line auction today. Patrons can bid on items ranging from theater tickets to sports tickets, from books about Disney to books by William Shakespeare, from an epicurean dinner to breakfast with Mayor Thomas M. Menino. We can't attest to the menu (Spam, anyone?), but the Menino meal is valued at $100. The auction site, which the Huntington promises is secure, is at www.bu.edu/huntington/auction.htm.
Send e-mail to cyberlinks@globe.com.
