MEL’SWORLD
8 AUGUST 2019|COMPUTER SHOPPER|ISSUE 378
Vicecontrol
WHENIWASaboy,myUncle
Sid had his voice box removed,
thanks to apioneering navy
surgeon and a40-a-daycigarette
habit. Uncle Sid’s was the first
synthetic voice Iever heard. It
was generated by abattery-driven
unit that looked abit like an
electric shaver,and he pressed it
to his throat when he needed to
communicate. The device emitted
avery scary monotone,which
was across between aDalek and
avacuum cleaner,and Uncle Sid
would cough after every word.
His favouriteword was ‘pfah!’
Foryears, all synthetic voices
sounded like Uncle Sid, from
homicidal computers in sci-fi
movies to Stephen Hawking. So in
1983, when Igot hold of my own
artificial voice box, Iknew what to
expect. It was ablack plastic unit
the size of one of Uncle Sid’s fag
packets called aCurrah Speech
Emulator,itworked on aSinclair
ZX Spectrum, and it cost me £30.
Like every other purchaser,
the first thing Idid was to teach it
to swear,and sure enough it
sounded just like Uncle Sid saying
‘pfah’,cough! That same year,I
began driving an Austin Maestro,
which boasted asolid-state
electronic dashboard equipped
with asynthetic voice.Its
vocabulary consisted of 36 words,
all of which were selectively
combined to moan at me fornot
wearing aseatbelt, or running
out of petrol, or swearing.
The car’s artificial voice was
sampled from aNew Zealand
actress called NicoletteMcKenzie,
who later played acharacter
called Bea in the pitiful
videogame Leisure Suit Larry:
WetDreams Don’t Dry,and I
distinctly remember that it
sounded very much like Theresa
May, only alot more human.
DRONEONTHEPHONE
It won’t come as asurprise if Itell
you that Uncle Sid wasn’t very
good on the phone.But his
widow was. Auntie Ollie could
bore the pants off anyone who
had the misfortune to be on the
other end of her calls, and when
synthetic voices were introduced
forautomated telephone
responses it didn’t make the
slightest bit of difference to her.
Auntie Ollie would happily
conduct lengthy conversations
with tape recordings and
automatons, and she would even
argue with the Speaking Clock
when British Summer Time
kicked in. As forthe repeated
warning to ‘mind the gap’onthe
platform of Embankment Tube
station, she would yell Uncle Sid’s
favouritephrase at it, then tell it
to ‘change the record’ without
any hint of irony.
Ihavenoidea what Sid and
Ollie would have made of modern
ubiquitous chatbots, but Iexpect
theywould have welcomed the
company.Personally,Ican’t stand
their long-suffering politeness,
and the default setting of their
synthetic accents is pathetic.
Isuspect Professor Stephen
Hawking originally had a
melodious Geordie lilt, and
nobody ever bothered to tell him
that his computerised voice was a
practical joke and he didn’t have
to sound like Uncle Sid after all.
As forAlexa’s default accent, if I
really wanted to have an
American in my house,I’d hire
Stormy Daniels like any other
hypocritical narcissistic despot.
Of course,today’s smart
speakers and personal digital
assistants can be programmed in
any combination of languages,
accents, moods and pitches.
When it comes to my own
favouritevocal synths, Iam
having asimultaneous
relationship with Australian Siri
and Irish Siri, and Ican’t decide
which one Iprefer. Australian Siri
has alanguid drawl with
spontaneous hints of dominatrix,
whereas Irish Siri is jollier but has
anunfortunatetendencyto yodel.
BUMNOTES
Whatever programmed choice I
have,welive in different times
from when Uncle Sid would utter
profanities through his squawk-
box, or when Iforced my Currah
Speech Emulator to talk dirty.
Siri lives in my pocket, cheek
by jowl to my reproductive
organs, but when Iinviteher to
swear she goes all Mary Poppins
on me.Either that or she exhibits
her disgust by refusing to
respond altogether.
Her brothers and sisters are
the same.You know the ones I
mean: Alexa, Watson, Cortana,
Viv,Bixby, Alice and all those
other virtual assistants, who
seem to have been programmed
by nuns. Perhaps the mother
superior misheard and ordered
thecreationofvirtuousassistants.
Well, sod that. Obviously,I
have nothing better to do with
my lifethan make artificial
intelligence speech modules emit
obscenities, so Ihaveafew tricks
up my filth-encrusted sleeve.I
can playagame of Simon Says
with Alexa, and the deluded
automaton will repeat my
depravities verbatim. Asimple
pleasure,but afulfilling one.
ForSiri or Cortana, Ispeak the
command ‘change my name’.
When the prissy killjoyresponds
by asking what my new name is, I
saysomething like ‘hello’. Then
she invites me to ‘tap to edit’,and
my trap is sprung. Ideletemy
innocent ‘hello’and type in a
stream of utter filth, such as ‘bum
pooh plippyplops’.Hey presto!
Siri will now greet me with this
term of endearment whenever I
open aconversation.
Truly,this is what modern
technology is all about. Or as
Uncle Sid would have said to
today’s synthetic voice machines,
‘pfah’ cough!
MEL CROUCHER
Tech pioneer and all-round good egg
[email protected]
As forAlexa,ifIreally wanted to have an
American in my house,I’d hireStormyDaniels
likeany other hypocritical narcissistic despot
Frustratedby themodernvirtuousvoiceassistantswhorefusetocussand curse,
MelCrouchertakesmattersintohisowngrubbyhandsby teaching Siritoswear
