Riccardo Mori

A review of reviews

November 29, 2011

Yes, I know: the title sounds presumptuous, the intent ambitious. I just want to point out a few things I’ve been noticing more and more often in reviews in general, and in tech reviews in particular. Things that somehow bother me, both as a reader and as a tech writer myself. Some may read this as a holier-than-thou attitude, but the truth is that I have made similar mistakes in the past, so I’m not calling myself out while expressing my criticism.

“I’ve tried this product/service/software for a couple of days, and —”

And this is the worst possible start for a review. It doesn’t matter who you are: you can be a staff editor for a renowned newspaper or magazine, you can be a blogger with a reputation, you can be a nobody, but with such a beginning you’re throwing your credibility out of the window — at least in my eyes. You’re making me look for another review.

I know you probably have deadlines. I know they probably gave you the device on Friday and expect your 5,000-word review on Monday. Yet I think that in most cases you don’t have enough time to make a thorough assessment, especially with sophisticated devices such as smartphones, tablets, computers and related peripherals. Sometimes you need to spend more time with a device to get accustomed to certain choices in its operating system, user interface, and general design. Sometimes you need to spend more time with a software application (or service) to have a better understanding of its abilities or to fully realise its usefulness — and not necessarily because of a fault in the software, but because its usefulness is designed to be experienced the more you use the software (or service). Not everything is designed to stand out by instant gratification.

On the other hand, if you are given just a couple of days to review a product and you have no choice or say in it, at least don’t start your piece that way. You can do better by mentioning in your conclusion that, regrettably, you didn’t have as much time as you wished to properly explore the product. You may argue that this is just semantics, and you would be right, actually, but sometimes semantics is what makes people read or skip your review.

The review is about the product, not about you

A lot of reviews I read are dominated by the reviewers and their long shadow. I enjoy the personal style, the occasional quip and so on, but I think that the more you disappear from a review, the more you try to keep it balanced and remove as much bias as you can, the more your review will be informed, informative and useful for the prospective buyer/customer. How you use a device shouldn’t be used as a metric to make quick judgments on the usefulness of a particular feature or design choice. (You could certainly use yourself as a type of user among others and point out that those who have similar habits/peeves as yours will probably find a particular feature useful, cool, handy or not).

Of course I’m not saying you shouldn’t have an opinion — in the end a review is based on personal impressions — but I believe the most intellectually honest approach is to give ample space to observations and to clearly emphasise what is your personal opinion and judgment. In other words, the reader should be able to always ‘see’ the product while reading your review, without being obfuscated by your thick fog of opinionated (negative or positive) criticism. As I’ve often said, a good measure of your experience is how little of your personal experience you let come out in your allegedly objective essays/reviews. With your review, you’re helping people make a choice about a product, not showing them how smart you are.

Who is your audience?

This is related to the previous section. Often I read reviews where it’s immediately clear (to me) that you’re not addressing the general public: you’re really talking to your peers. Which means other tech writers, bloggers, journalists, nerds, Mac/iOS/Windows/Android fans, and so on. If you’re doing it deliberately, then everything’s fine and also everything I’ve said so far doesn’t apply. Because you’re talking to your circle, and everyone expects you to be opinionated, biased and politically incorrect. However, since your website is public, you should at least put a bit of a disclaimer in your review, stating that it is addressed more to your peers than anyone else. This way the occasional visitor who reaches your blog or website by way of a search engine will be properly informed about what to expect from your assessments and from the tone of your review.

Why do I think this is important? Because we tech-savvy geeks and power users all have our pet peeves, our habits, our preferences, our standards of excellence, our needs and expectations, which are going to be rather different from those of ‘regular people’. Our beloved iPhone may be ‘just a fancy phone’ for the man of the street, and many people don’t really care about which OS runs these fancy phones, as long as they make calls, send texts, do some email and Web browsing and have a bright screen so that they can find their way around using Google Maps. To remain within the smartphone realm, don’t assume that a two-second delay in opening an application is an unacceptable performance in a modern smartphone and that this is going to be a deal-breaker for everyone. You will be surprised at the amount of people who don’t even notice such a lag. (Or, if they do notice, they might not mind that two-second wait).

If you’re trying to write an objective review, just keep in mind that the end user may come from a radically different experience than yours when you’re judging what’s good and what’s bad in a product. For instance, writing things such as “If you’re accustomed to iOS and the responsiveness of an iPhone 4, you’ll need time to get used to this other smartphone’s interface and you’ll probably find its performance disappointing” is more useful (and accurate) than just saying “This other smartphone’s performance is ridiculous and these design flaws in its UI certainly don’t help either”. Users’ perceptions vary a lot, depending on what they’ve been using before. My parents both have old-school Nokia mobile phones, and when they tried my old iPhone 3G, they found it quite snappy and pleasant to use, while I find it annoyingly sluggish and at times unresponsive since I became accustomed to my iPhone 4’s general performance.

That said…

…Products (both hardware and software) have flaws, bugs, terrible design and usability choices, and other problems that clearly go beyond the subjective realm, and an honest review ought to point these things out. Again, your knowledge and expertise should guide you and suggest the best way to express such faults and issues, so that people can understand whether a certain issue is a big deal per se (e.g. a lack that makes a device patently less useful or usable, a feature that is poorly implemented by today’s standards or in comparison with competing products), or an annoyance that largely depends on personal habits and experience (e.g. I like to have applications with menubar icons for easy access and this app lacks one, and it sucks for that).

Maybe I have stated the obvious here, but if you read certain reviews carefully, you will start noticing the same things I did. If I’m not making direct examples isn’t for lack of honesty, but just because it doesn’t seem fair to single out anyone in particular. Reviews, especially of big products, are important, as they may contribute to their success or failure. Writing thoughtful and thorough pieces may take longer than you’d like (and sometimes all that matters is that the review be ‘out there’ just after the product’s introduction), but you’ll eventually provide a better service for your readers and your reputation will benefit in return.

The double-edged revolution

November 27, 2011

by Riccardo Mori

Tech Life

In reaction to Bret Victor’s now well-known Brief Rant on the Future of Interaction Design, iOS developer David Barnard wrote a piece titled “Pictures Under Glass” is Revolutionary, Not Transitional. His conclusion:

There are certain cases in which more tactile feedback may be able to enhance human-computer interaction without adding to the learning curve — such as the pneumatic displays Bret links to in his post — but I can’t get over the hunch that tactile interaction, like Siri and other voice input technologies, will augment and enhance Pictures Under Glass interaction, not revolutionize human-computer interaction.

In a following article, Barnard admits to being annoyed by the tone Bret Victor used in his rant:

I’m pissed off because Bret, in his post about the future of interface design, denigrated the very thing I’m most passionate about and spend every day working on — Multi-Touch user interfaces on touch screen devices. Well, just iOS really. In his follow up post, Bret did clarify that he doesn’t think the iPhone and iPad are bad, for now anyway, but overall the follow-up was similarly dismissive.

I’ve already said enough about some of Bret’s arguments I think are flawed, but I want to talk more about the tone of his post. I think it was arrogant, distasteful, and ultimately counter productive.

While I understand Barnard’s position and sentiments, I have to disagree as regards to Bret Victor’s tone. Perhaps because not only have I read Victor’s posts but I also translated them into another language, I certainly didn’t find his tone arrogant or distasteful. Since I still haven’t had the chance to share my views on the matter, I figured this was a good start.

About Victor’s tone: let’s don’t forget it’s a rant. When people rant, they usually have to get things out of their system because they’re generally not satisfied with the status quo. Educated people tend to write their rants in a provoking manner so that the audience receives the message with a similar, um, ‘dose of annoyance’ as the person writing their rant. To put it another way, in a rant one reflects part of his annoyance to the public, resulting in a bitter — but hopefully thought-provoking — tone. Which is what I think is happening with Bret Victor’s Brief Rant.

About “Pictures Under Glass”: in his Brief Rant, Bret Victor writes:

Pictures Under Glass is an interaction paradigm of permanent numbness. It’s a Novocaine drip to the wrist. It denies our hands what they do best. And yet, it’s the star player in every Vision Of The Future.

To me, claiming that Pictures Under Glass is the future of interaction is like claiming that black-and-white is the future of photography. It’s obviously a transitional technology. And the sooner we transition, the better.

I believe that some people have misunderstood Victor here. He is not criticising the present. He is not saying that Pictures Under Glass (Multi-touch technology) is bad/limited per se. What I think he’s criticising is that all these Visions of the future basically revolve around a technology that doesn’t seem to be much different or evolved from what we have today. And I have to agree with him.

Yet I also feel the same as David Barnard when he says I can’t get over the hunch that tactile interaction, like Siri and other voice input technologies, will augment and enhance Pictures Under Glass interaction, not revolutionize human-computer interaction. And I can’t help feeling it’s a pity.

See, Multi-touch technology has been (still is) a revolutionary step in human-computer interaction, but my fear (and probably Bret Victor’s) is that this technology will overstay its welcome, so to speak. This is what I mean with double-edged revolution: something that starts as being unquestionably revolutionary and then ends up being something we’re unable to really move away from. It’s probably going to be a slow-paced evolution by more and more refined iterations. Multi-touch technology is already propagating on other devices and machines by contagion and replacing their previous interfaces.

And it’s not always good. I have already seen scanners, printers, photocopiers, mini hi-fi systems, dishwashers, washing machines with touch interfaces. Some of their original interfaces, essentially made of physical buttons, levers and knobs, were well-designed and usable. In short, there wasn’t (and isn’t) anything really wrong about them. The only drawback, possibly, is that buttons, levers and knobs are mechanical parts that may break after excessive use. The great advantage of some of this ‘low tech’ interfaces is that for the most part they are really simple and can be operated without even looking once you’ve familiarised with their controls. Touch panels, especially touch panels with changing screens, must be operated while looking at them. Sure, a buttonless home appliance with just a touch screen looks so cool and screams ‘future’ from a mile away, but how do I turn the damn thing on? Does an all-in-one printer really need to have an iPhone-like interface, with apps you can add such as the weather, a daily planner, Google Analytics, Facebook, Twitter search and BBC News?

In my opinion, for some applications, the Multi-touch interface brings an unnecessary layer of complexity. With my washing machine, if I want to set the Delicates/Silk program, I just turn two knobs, one for the temperature, another for the program itself, each program being characterised by a letter. If I want to use less water (because I’m only washing a couple of things, for example), I also press a button with the icon of a basin filled with water and “1/2” above it (meaning “half the usual amount of water”). Each knob has a different tactile and auditory feedback, and I could set the program with my eyes closed. With a touch panel or a touch screen is another story.

But I’m afraid that’s what’s going to happen in the next years: an increasing amount of devices, machines, appliances, with unnecessary touch interfaces slapped onto them (because multi-touch is revolutionary and is ‘the future’) and perhaps with even less regard for true usability (because multi-touch interfaces are perceived as invariably ‘simple’ and ‘intuitive’). Bret Victor’s rant is an invitation not to rest on our laurels, not to content ourselves with moving a finger on a glassy surface, not to make the same error we made with traditional computers, their interfaces and interaction paradigms — that is, holding on to them for decades until they become too limited and inadequate. For me, one of the most important passages in Bret Victor’s rant is this:

And this is my plea — be inspired by the untapped potential of human capabilities. Don’t just extrapolate yesterday’s technology and then cram people into it.

I love multi-touch, and I certainly recognise its importance. iOS’s interface has made technologically advanced and sophisticated devices more approachable for the less tech-savvy and for those who have always had a struggling relationship with computers in general. However, like Bret Victor, I surely hope that twenty years from now I won’t be interacting with my ‘tablet’ (or whatever device it will be) in the same way I’m doing today, with a finger touching an unresponsive surface.

Small adjustments

November 23, 2011

by Riccardo Mori

Handpicked

These past days have been hectic, and I couldn’t update this website and associated blogs as often as I wanted. Regrettably, I’m still far from being able to sustain myself through this space only, so every time a surge in my translation work comes up, I struggle. During this last semi-hiatus, I also noticed two things:

That I’ve been neglecting The Quillink annotated, the tumblelog I (should) use to reblog other people’s interesting stuff and post the occasional photo or quote.
That sometimes I read articles or other people’s commentary to which I’d like to reply, without having to write a longish article in response. One small drawback of the layout of this website is that very short articles don’t look really good in the single-post page view. Plus, I don’t want to clutter the Linked section with that kind of quick responses.

So I thought: issue #1 and issue #2 can effectively solve each other. I could use The Quillink annotated also as an apparatus criticus, posting there those brief responses I don’t really have a place for in my main website. Therefore, if you’re interested, start checking The Quillink annotated more often in the following days, as you may notice a little more activity there as well.

Listen

November 23, 2011

by Riccardo Mori

Et Cetera

Kenwood

I’m not the kind of audiophile people think when they read the term audiophile — the stereotype being a guy who spends incredible amounts of money on esoteric audio equipment, from turntables to preamplifiers, from speakers to cables, and has his own ‘music room’ with perfect acoustics where he sits in the twilight listening to rare classical music recordings handpicked from his huge vinyl collection. I find that a bit excessive, although I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t do that if I won the lottery or something.

Yet I’m the kind of person who has a fine ear, loves music, and can distinguish a mediocre recording from a better one. I’ve always been a musical type. My mother often recalls the positive effect music had on me since I was very little, and how I loved listening to music and changing 45rpm singles on my parents’ portable record-player (I still couldn’t read English, so I used to look at the various colourful labels to remember which songs I liked most). When I was living with my grandparents, my grandfather used to listen to a lot of classical and opera music on his hi-fi stereo. By the time I was a teenager, I had accumulated a considerable musical knowledge and a liking for the most varied genres, from 1980s pop music to progressive rock, from big-band jazz to Sixteenth-Century lute music.

I don’t mean to boast about my early musical achievements with this premise. If I’m telling you this is because I want you to understand how I used to listen to music without sounding too weird. Listening to music, for me, was like a personal ritual. If you’re a coffee or tea-lover, you know what I mean. When I felt like listening to a record or a tape or, later, a CD, I used to sit near my stereo, wear the huge Technics headphones my father gave me, and… listen. Just listen, to the whole record, tape, CD. Listening to music was an activity in itself.

For our busy, always-connected, multitasking lifestyles of this day and age, that must look like a waste of time. How could you just sit there for 45 minutes without doing anything else other than listening to music? I hear you ask. For some it must sound unnerving. That is probably because our busy, always-connected, multitasking lifestyle is eating at our attention all the time. Today most people’s musical experience is having a streaming service like Spotify or Rdio always in the background while they work or read or even talk on the phone. Today, for the most part, music is heard, consumed, not listened.

The shift from analogue to digital may have a part in it. Older media such as vinyl records and tapes, in their beautiful awkwardness, encouraged the listener towards a sequential audio experience. You usually bought an album to listen to it from beginning to end, at least of one side. Skipping was of course possible, but not practical. Those were the times of what I call ‘the album culture’. If people wanted a more casual listening, they usually purchased singles — smaller 45rpm records with one (or sometimes two) track per side. Then came the CD, and things got easier. The album format was still strong, but you could easily skip songs, choose to play one song on repeat and even program your ‘playlist’ of favourite songs in an album, leaving out the ones you didn’t like much. Or just listen to all songs in a random order. Fragmentation began, and with the digital revolution — songs as audio files you can very easily purchase individually — the phenomenon has become widespread, cultural.

It’s another field where the technological progress has brought us convenience while giving a blow to quality as part of the tradeoff. Our current listening experience is degraded on many levels: in the audio quality of what we ~~listen~~ hear, and in the way we tend to experience music, i.e. as a musical salad-mix-style background while we engage in other activities. Like it were chewing gum. Something disposable. Attending to live concerts is, from what I’m observing, one surviving way of giving music our full attention.

I have experienced the transition from analogue to digital myself, and as my life got busier, I’m guilty as charged for having ruined my music listening habits. When I bought my first iPod in 2003 the convenience it served me on a silver platter was intoxicating: hundred of tracks with me everywhere. If undecided, just press Shuffle and off you go, etc. But I also started feeling a weird detachment from the music I used to listen and absorb. Even when I chose to play one album in its entirety on my iPod while I was walking or commuting or working, I often found myself listening to one of the last tracks and wonder: Whoa, have I already got to the end of it? I wasn’t even noticing. The weird thing I was feeling was that, despite potentially being with me everywhere all the time, music was really elsewhere, just a more organised background noise. That filled me with sadness. Perhaps it’ll sound silly to you, but as you may have guessed if you’ve read this so far, listening to music has always been a big deal to me.

The way I used to listen to albums on my stereo was greatly fulfilling. After a listening session (especially after listening to a freshly-bought album discovered by chance at the record shop and being positively struck by it) I usually felt more inspired and started writing at once, still holding on to the various feelings, moods and poetry connected with the music I’d listened. In recent times I’ve realised I couldn’t find that intensity, intimacy and inspiration anymore, so I decided to go back to that place. Of course it’s harder than 15 years ago: my life and daily routine have changed a lot. But I’m back on a ‘music rediscovery’ path. Every time I want to listen to music, I try to give it its own space, sitting and listening to it in my headphones without doing anything else. I still can’t do sessions of 45–60 minutes like I used to, but 20-minute bits are better than nothing, for now. And it’s vinyl or CD, not iTunes or Spotify.

Again, you might think this is crazy. I find it almost therapeutic. The sensation of feeling the music, not consuming it.

A Potential Threat to Anonymous Bloggers

November 17, 2011

by Riccardo Mori

Handpicked

Source: Google Analytics A Potential Threat to Anonymous Bloggers — Waxy.org.

Andy Baio:

Last month, an anonymous blogger popped up on WordPress and Twitter, aiming a giant flamethrower at Mac-friendly writers like John Gruber, Marco Arment and MG Siegler. As he unleashed wave after wave of spittle-flecked rage at “Apple puppets” and “Cupertino douchebags,” I was reminded again of John Gabriel’s theory about the effects of online anonymity.

Out of curiosity, I tried to see who the mystery blogger was.

He was using all the ordinary precautions for hiding his identity — hiding personal info in the domain record, using a different IP address from his other sites, and scrubbing any shared resources from his WordPress install.

Nonetheless, I found his other blog in under a minute — a thoughtful site about technology and local politics, detailing his full name, employer, photo, and family information. He worked for the local government, and if exposed, his anonymous blog could have cost him his job.

I didn’t identify him publicly, but let him quietly know that he wasn’t as anonymous as he thought he was. He stopped blogging that evening, and deleted the blog a week later.

So, how did I do it? The unlucky blogger slipped up and was ratted out by an unlikely source: Google Analytics.

Make sure to read the whole article to understand how all this works and follow Baio’s informed advice if you have to blog anonymously.

By the way, I had the chance to read some of the entries of the anonymous blogger Andy mentions. I understand the need for anonymity of certain people who are living a situation where revealing their identity could very well cost them their lives. But to basically call people names from behind a veil of anonymity looks quite lame and cowardly to me. If I want to criticise John Gruber, Marco Arment, MG Siegler and other Mac-friendly writers, I don’t have any problems in doing so publicly. I love intelligent debate and I can defend my opinions and my name. That guy only came across as a sad troll and nothing more.