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WebRTC and Live Streaming

What is WebRTC and how it applies to live streaming in 2017?
Subtitle – The Rise and Fall of Plugins.

By definition, WebRTC stands for “Web Real Time Communications.” Wikipedia defines it as: a collection of communications protocols and application programming interfaces that enable real-time communication over peer-to-peer connections. That makes a whole lot of sense, right? In practical terms, it means that browsers and mobile devices can talk with each other, hardware on your computer, and other websites in a gee-whiz cool new way. This improves live streaming by making it easier to access your webcam and microphone, and efficiently broadcast crisp clear video and audio across the internet. WebRTC is easier to understand by explaining what it’s not – it is NOT a plugin.

“Howdy, plugin pardner.”
When the wacky web world (www) first started, it was mainly text, with some basic images and logos to make it look pretty. The “browser” was invented to read this text. That’s all it needed to do, browse and display “pages” over the “web.” Hence, the webpage was born. By its very nature, a browser can not – and should not – do anything but read a webpage and display it to the viewer. It could not in anyway have writing capabilities or access anything on your computer. This was a major security feature built into all browsers from day one. A webpage anywhere in the world, presumably even a webpage made by nasty people, could be read. But it could not access your hard-drive and delete everything you owned. Makes sense, right?! That very basic notion of a browser being unable to access any of your hardware, webcams and microphones included, made surfing the internet safe.

In the early days of live streaming, ‘er web-camming, we had to download and install specific software onto our computers to get video to stream. Adobe’s Live Media Encoder (FMLE) was one of the originals. Most of the webcam hardware companies, on the other hand, would also include their own software to get their cams to broadcast. These proprietary bundles usually only worked peer-to-peer with another webcam from the same manufacturer and same software. Sneaky! By the way, this was all before Skype and even the first generation of cam sites. Installing specific software on your computer (remember .exe’s?) was the only way this all worked.

Then along came the brilliant idea of running a mini software program INSIDE a browser and not as stand alone software. We call these gunslingers “plugins.” They still had to be downloaded and installed, but they were a powerful solution that allowed webpages to do more than just display text and images. For us web programmers, the plugin was our hero! We could now make a webpage, and an entire website, act like a real piece of software. We could change an “application” by the next time you returned to our website, without having you to buy or download an entire new version of our software. Oh, the potential we had with the dawn of “Web 2.0.”

Adobe Flash Player was one of the first and most successful plugins for many reasons. The Flash plugin did 99% of all the work we ever wanted to do in a website application. As a programmer, why would you write your own plugin to override the video-card graphics accelerator to smoothly animate a cartoon bird? This was already written and available in Flash, for free! It made our lives much easier. And it made your life better, too. Overnight, websites were no longer static pages, but full fledged software applications. Did Flash do everything we needed for programmers? No. But for the few things we needed extra, we wrote our own tiny plugins. The beauty of it all was that the plugins we created could live side by side with the main Flash plugin that did the heavy lifting.

“This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
[Queue the creepy western villain whistling]
As we all enjoyed this web gold-rush of possibilities, the scoundrels out there realized how easy it was to take-over-your-computer with a plugin. After all, a plugin is real software you downloaded from God-knows-where and you gave access to everything holy inside your computer. Yikes. And yes, real exploits existed in this set up. More and more, we learned never to accept a plugin from any website that felt shady. And more and more, Adobe released version updates to make their Flash player – the head-honcho plugin of all plugins – to be safer. To this day, Adobe makes a version update on a regular monthly schedule. It’s remarkable due diligence when you think about it.

The days of the plugin are nearing an end, though. History will recycle them off into the trash heap along with 8-tracks, betamax, and transistor radios. There is a better way, it’s called WebRTC and its brother HTML5. The browser manufacturers have agreed on a common protocol where all browsers, eventually, will be able to access certain hardware on your computer (webcams and microphones in our case) in a safe and secure way. They also will be able to communicate across the internet in a safe and secure way. All this behavior will be built-in and part of the browser itself – nothing to download and install. Plugins are considered so potentially unsafe, that the browser makers agree that they will disable all use of plugins in the very near future. WebRTC has been in the making for a number of years and will replace plugins. WebRTC is currently mature enough to use in a commercial application website …in Chrome.

Wait, what? This only works in Chrome? Not exactly. Firefox and the other main browsers are right up there in implementing WebRTC / HTLM5 with all its features and security. However, the web giant Google makes Chrome. They are the leader and driving force behind this (my opinion). What they create and perfect first in Chrome, like it or not, becomes the de facto standard. StreetJelly is re-writing its broadcasting software with WebRTC first in Chrome. The Firefox configurations and settings are slightly different. We want to make sure all is running smoothly in Chrome, then we’ll tackle Firefox and the rest. In other words, we’ll be broadcasting WebRTC in Firefox, MS Edge, and Safari real soon!

Don’t roll the sunset clip yet…
What about Adobe Flash? How can it go away? Half the web still uses it! That is very true. The browser makers are making concessions to our aging hero. Chrome has already blocked all old-style plugins, but has built in their own version of Flash player internal to Chrome. Whether you refuse to download Flash from Adobe’s website or not, Chrome has its own version already on your computer. Google and Adobe are in a close relationship to make sure it’s safe. Firefox will be cutting all access to old-style plugins by 2017. It, too, will have its own internal version of Flash like Chrome. But eventually, our hero – the Adobe Flash plugin – will fade away forever.

It’s a brave new world …again.

Frank Podlaha
CEO and Founder
…and Chief Propeller-Head

Ok, now queue the sunset…

UPDATE about Firefox: As of today, 1/3/17, Firefox is at Version 50 for the general public. In Version 52, they will turn off the old style plugins (npapi). But you will still be able to turn them back on in the browser settings (type about:config in the address bar). Version 52 is scheduled to be released March 7, 2017. In Version 53, they will turn off old style plugins completely! Version 53 is scheduled for release on April 18, 2017.

Coffee Houses of the 60s and 70s

“Member Blog Series” guest post submitted by StreetJelly artist: Win Corduan

Coffee Houses of the 60s and 70s: A Nostalgic Reminiscence

Come along with me, if you would, into this dimly lit store-front retreat. It’s dark outside, and your eyes have been waging a constant battle against the rapid-fire guns called “headlights” and the glaring assault weapons known as “fluorescent signs.” As you step inside, candles on makeshift tables and a few low-wattage lightbulbs provide sparse, but soft and friendly, illumination. From time to time people light their cigarettes, and the small flares given off by their matches punctuate the scene. The clouds of tobacco smoke do not mask the scent of freshly made popcorn. But you ask yourself whether you really are smelling any coffee, or if your imagination is merely calling up a familiar aroma created by an expectation. You are, after all, in a coffee house, sometime in the late 60s or early 70s.

Coffee Shop You hear music, coming from the little stage in the center of the side wall, where at various intervals aspiring folk singers are doing their best to entice the audience to listen to them. They are competing with the voices of people in conversation around the tables. The combined sounds intertwine and fill the room with a sense of shared humanity.

Coffee houses were not cafés, and they weren’t all that much about coffee. They were about people taking time to talk, face to face, over mugs of coffee and little bowls of popcorn or peanuts, opening up their thought worlds to each other. They were about music that joined the conversation if it spoke to the people or dropped into the background if it did not. A well-managed coffee house would constitute a welcoming space that brought together people whose paths would be unlikely to cross otherwise.

Original artwork by Win

Original artwork by Win

I used to sing in various coffee houses over the years, but there were three of them with which I had a lengthier relationship: “The Pilgrim’s Cave,” in Washington, D.C., “Rahab’s” in Chicago, and “The Natural High” in Kenosha, Wisconsin, which I managed for a while. Performing was fun, and so was trading new chords, strums, and songs with others. Many scraps of paper, covered with words and chord symbols, changed hands. These places all had “regular crowds,” to borrow Billy Joel’s term, and my memories are bonded with the images of those people.

“The Pilgrim’s Cave” was located in the basement of a huge church. It must have been in 1966 that my older brother and I became regular performers there on Saturday nights. The man who ran it was a taxi driver by trade and a caring, loving person by heart. The stage was nothing more than the front of the room. Coffee or tea could be obtained at a small table on the side, with the understanding that you would put a coin or two into the little bowl if you had any. My strongest and fondest memory of the people there is of a young blind couple in their mid-twenties or so. For some reason, of all the songs they sang, the one that I remember is “The Sloop John B.” Sometimes they would call on the audience to sing along, and the girl would threaten, with a smile of course, “If you don’t participate, you’re going to get instant coffee.” When they weren’t singing, they would sit at a table and write each other notes in braille. It took them just one night to recognize some of us by our voices from then on.

“Rahab’s” in Chicago had a volunteer staff of seminarians and college students. The regular crowd included a number of recovering alcoholics for whom it was a safe haven on Friday and Saturday nights. I spent many an hour chatting with Wes, an out-of-work postal worker, who was familiar with the intricate philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead. Most of the time the mike was “open,” and I remember singing songs there that subsequently got buried and did not get resurrected until the coming of StreetJelly.

Original artwork by Win

Original artwork by Win

Young men for whom their guitars were the only constant factors in their lives would drop by to do some sets. “Brother John,” who was neither the brother of anyone we knew nor in holy orders, amazed us all by his rendition of Suite Judy Blue Eyes. One of my favorite performers would introduce himself as “Rocket, the Flying Squirrel,” and his guitar, “George.” He had long hair, almost down to his hips. When he was sitting on a chair and singing, his hair would fall forward, and all that one could see was a cone of hair, the guitar, and his incredibly tall boots, one of which he would pass around for tips after a few numbers. The room would go silent as he gripped your heart with his songs. “Down, down, down—into the depths of darkness.” I still remember the chord progression he played.

One night the music was provided by two young, but seasoned, folk artists. I can still see them in my mind’s eye, sitting on the stage, which in this building was situated right up to the painted-over store front window. They started their set with an upbeat number and followed up with something slow and lyrical. Suddenly there was an explosive sound coming from the street. A little hole appeared in the glass and, quite a distance into the room, in the ceiling. Someone outside, for reasons we’ll never know, had shot a small caliber weapon upwards through the window. Our performers did not miss a beat, but continued as though nothing had happened. When their song was finished, one of them remarked, “That’s the first time anyone has ever shot at us—from backstage.”

“The Natural High” was located close to Kenosha’s harbor and not too far away from Great Lakes Naval Base, but the sailors on leave were, for the most part, looking for something other than chatting with someone over coffee. So, once again, the regular crowd was made up of local folks. In contrast to the previous two places, this one was geared more toward younger people of high school and college age. Among them I vividly recall Holly, officially considered on staff, but often in need of help herself when she suffered flashbacks from her earlier days on LSD. Slightly older adults also showed up regularly, most of them good people who were subsisting on the margins of society and found cheer in the presence of energetic young people and their songs. (I was twenty-two by that time, married to June for a few months, and in my second year of graduate school.)

One of the regulars was a man named Pat, probably in his late thirties, who was out of work with few prospects. Whenever I was singing, he would call out, “Hey, Win! Do ‘House of the Rising Sun’!” Somehow that song had a special meaning for him, and I was happy to oblige. One night he came in beaming, wearing a new set of official-looking clothes. “My ship has come in, Win.” He had garnered a job. Pat continued to be a steady patron, and from then on he always proudly wore the uniform of an animal control officer.

As manager, I could insert a musical set of mine whenever I wanted to, but was always happy to give way to some new talent or one of the regular contributors. Artists who took themselves too seriously, sometimes commanding as much as $20.00 for their services, were likely to leave disappointed because people had not come to the coffee house to admire their talent. On the other hand, when Jeff, a regular performer, started his favorite Mason Proffit song, the chatter would die down, and by the time he got to the refrain, everyone would join in for seemingly never-ending repetitions: “Two hangmen hanging from a tree — that don’t bother me — at all. “

Memories are tenacious, and they get sweeter with time. But I must remind myself: “You can’t go back to Kansas.”
Win Corduan