Culture

Signed, sealed, delivered: the strange history of the mechanical signature

Hugh Linehan: Bob Dylan has been caught out badly, but do we overvalue the supposed authenticity of the signed edition?

An autopen signature on The Philosophy of Modern Song by Bob Dylan, which appeared in a limited edition of 900 books that were selling for $599 each.

Hugh Linehan's face
Hugh Linehan
Sat Dec 3 2022 - 07:00

Bob Dylan has apologised for the “error in judgment” he made when using a mechanical device called an autopen to sign a limited run of 900 editions of his new book, which were then advertised as “hand-signed” by publishers Simon & Schuster and sold for $599 each.

All signed copies came with a letter of authenticity from the publisher. But when purchasers started sharing pictures of Bob’s signature online, it quickly became obvious that each one was identical

The Philosophy of Modern Song, featuring the Nobel Prize-winner’s thoughts on songs by other artists, was released in early November, and all signed copies came with a letter of authenticity from the publisher. But when purchasers started sharing pictures of Bob’s signature online, it quickly became obvious that each one was identical.

Within a few days, Simon & Schuster had ‘fessed up, albeit with the rather Jesuitical acknowledgment: “As it turns out, the limited edition books do contain Bob’s original signature, but in a penned replica form.” Purchasers have been offered full refunds. But questions have since been raised about the authenticity of signatures on recent Dylan art prints.

In a Facebook post to fans and followers, the 81-year-old musician acknowledged there was a problem. ”I’ve hand-signed each and every art print over the years, and there’s never been a problem,” he wrote (or someone wrote for him).

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“However, in 2019 I had a bad case of vertigo and it continued into the pandemic years. It takes a crew of five working in close quarters with me to help enable these signing sessions, and we could not find a safe and workable way to complete what I needed to do while the virus was raging. So, during the pandemic, it was impossible to sign anything and the vertigo didn’t help. With contractual deadlines looming, the idea of using an auto-pen was suggested to me, along with the assurance that this kind of thing is done ‘all the time’ in the art and literary worlds.”

There’s no reason to doubt the sincerity of the regret expressed. What’s more interesting is that Dylan was told that mechanical signing was a common practice. Stories have emerged casting doubt over recent limited signed releases from Ozzy Osbourne, Dolly Parton and Van Morrison, among others. Sinéad O’Connor threw a spanner in the works of the promotion of her autobiography by acknowledging she had used a stamp to sign copies.

It is customary at this point to decry the money-grubbing fakery of modern culture. In fact the autopen predates our age of celebrity by almost two centuries. Thomas Jefferson was the first of many US presidents to use it, although they all lied through their teeth about it until Lyndon Johnson was photographed with one in the 1960s. The point is not that it was used, but that it was used to deceive. Barack Obama became the first president to dispense with pretence when he officially signed a Bill into law with an autopen in 2011.

Meanwhile, down the decades, from bobbysoxers to Beatlemaniacs to Bay City Rollers followers, millions of starstruck fanclub members have treasured the “signed” photos they received. The grey zone of creative ambiguity that surrounded their authenticity seems to have benefited all parties.

False pretences

That now appears to be changing, for a couple of reasons. The main one, obviously, is money. It’s one thing to send Debbie in Whitstable a signed glossy with best wishes for 1965 from John, George, Paul and Ringo. It’s quite another to be flogging a new book for six hundred bucks on false pretences. Even if the original retailer isn’t making a fat profit, the highly sophisticated online resale market means provenance and authenticity will be closely interrogated.

The extinction of handwriting, and the even more recent disappearance of the handwritten signature from most of our daily transactions, means that these become scarcer and therefore more valuable

But there may also be something more intangible going on that has to do with how we value physical objects and personal connection in a virtualised age. The extinction of handwriting, and the even more recent disappearance of the handwritten signature from most of our daily transactions, means that these become scarcer and therefore more valuable. Anyone who’s had to struggle with the palaver of getting a meaningless squiggle on some online document required by an officious and antiquated registration process may look forward to its imminent demise. Contactless payments increasingly mean that your face is your signature (not necessarily a welcome development).

Meanwhile, authors are increasingly pressured to stick their names on everything they produce. I have sat alongside one very famous writer as he ploughed through skyscrapers of his latest best-seller with the grim focus of a migrant farmworker determined to make enough money to get his family through the winter. One wonders what real value this delivers to anyone.

In the Dublin music scene of the 1980s, it was said of one particular artiste’s first album that the unsigned copies were the real collectors’ items. It might perhaps be worth revisiting that lesson today.

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