Construct Your Own Bayeux Tapestry with This Free Online App

A wise woman once quoth that one man’s adult col­or­ing book is another’s Medieval Tapes­try Edit.

If tak­ing crayons to emp­ty out­lines of man­dalas, flo­ral pat­terns, and for­est and ocean scenes has failed to calm your mind, the His­toric Tale Con­struc­tion Kit may cure what ails you.

Pro­gram­mers Leonard Allain-Lau­nay and Math­ieu Thoret­ton and soft­ware engi­neer Maria Cos­mi­na Ete­gan cre­at­ed the online kit as a trib­ute to a late, great, ear­ly 21st-cen­tu­ry appli­ca­tion designed by Acad­e­my of Media Arts Cologne stu­dents Björn Karnebo­gen and Gerd Jung­bluth.

They sep­a­rat­ed out var­i­ous ele­ments of the Bayeux Tapes­try, allow­ing you to freely mess around with 1000-year-old images of war­riors, com­mon­ers, beasts, and build­ings:

Craft thy own Bayeux Tapes­try

Slay mis­chie­vous beasts

Rule the king­dom

Rotate, resize, clone

Choose a back­ground, add some text in your choice of Bayeux or Augus­ta font and you’ll have done your bit to revive the fad­ing art of the Medieval Macro (or meme.)

The orig­i­nal tapes­try used some 224 feet of wool-embroi­dered linen to recount the Bat­tle of Hast­ings and the events lead­ing up to it.

You need not have such lofty aims.

Per­haps test the waters with a Father’s Day greet­ing, resiz­ing and rotat­ing until you feel ready to export as a PNG.

The inter­face is extreme­ly user friend­ly, kind of like a tech-savvy 11th-cen­tu­ry cousin of the online drag-and-drop graph­ic design tool, Can­va.

The His­toric Tale Con­struc­tion Kit’s most impres­sive bells and whis­tles reside in the paint­brush tool in the low­er left cor­ner, which allows you to lay down great swaths of folks, birds, or corpses in a sin­gle sweep.

Your palette will be lim­it­ed to the shades deployed by the Bayeux embroi­der­ers, who obtained their col­ors from plants—dyer’s woadmad­der, and dyer’s rock­et (or weld).

The text, of course, is entire­ly up to you.

It pleased us to go with the emi­nent­ly quotable David Bowie, and only after we groped our way into the three fledg­ling efforts you see above did we dis­cov­er that we’re not the only ones.

Pre­sent­ing Ear­ly Pre-Bowie Ref­er­ences to “Space Odd­i­ty”


Throw on some Bard­core and begin rework­ing the Bayeux Tapes­try with the His­toric Tale Con­struc­tion Kit here.

If you are inter­est­ed in some­thing a bit more tech­ni­cal, the design­ers have put the open­source code on GitHub for your cus­tomiz­ing plea­sure.

The Bayeux Tapes­try has also been recent­ly dig­i­tized. Explore it here: The Bayeux Tapes­try Gets Dig­i­tized: View the Medieval Tapes­try in High Res­o­lu­tion, Down to the Indi­vid­ual Thread

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to Medieval Cov­ers of “Creep,” “Pumped Up Kicks,” “Bad Romance” & More by Hilde­gard von Blin­gin’

160,000 Pages of Glo­ri­ous Medieval Man­u­scripts Dig­i­tized: Vis­it the Bib­lio­the­ca Philadel­phien­sis

Why Knights Fought Snails in Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Fast Can a Vaccine Be Made?: An Animated Introduction

From Ted-Ed comes a video that answers a time­ly ques­tion: How fast can a vac­cine be made?

They write: “When a new pathogen emerges, our bod­ies and health­care sys­tems are left vul­ner­a­ble. And when this pathogen caus­es the out­break of a pan­dem­ic, there’s an urgent need for a vac­cine to cre­ate wide­spread immu­ni­ty with min­i­mal loss of life. So how quick­ly can we devel­op vac­cines when we need them most? Dan Kwartler describes the three phas­es of vac­cine devel­op­ment.” Explorato­ry research, clin­i­cal test­ing, and man­u­fac­tur­ing.

When you’re done, you can watch their relat­ed video: When is a pan­dem­ic over?

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Why This Font Is Everywhere: How Cooper Black Became Pop Culture’s Favorite Font

You know Times New Roman, you know Hel­veti­ca, you know Com­ic Sans — and though you may not real­ize it, you know Coop­er Black as well. Just think of the “VOTE FOR PEDRO” shirt worn in Napoleon Dyna­mite (and in real life for years there­after), or a few decades ear­li­er, the cov­er of Pet Sounds. In fact, the his­to­ry of Coop­er Black extends well before the Beach Boys’ mid-1960s mas­ter­piece; to see and hear the full sto­ry, watch the Vox video above. It begins, as nar­ra­tor Estelle Caswell explains, in Chica­go, at the turn of the 1920s when type design­er Oswald Bruce Coop­er cre­at­ed the series of fonts that bear his name. Near­ly a cen­tu­ry after the 1922 intro­duc­tion of the vari­ant Coop­er Black, we see it every­where, not just on album cov­ers and T‑shirts but store­fronts, movie posters, and can­dy wrap­pers all over the world.

 

The evo­lu­tion of print­ing, specif­i­cal­ly the evo­lu­tion from carved wood type to cast met­al, made Coop­er Black pos­si­ble. Its dis­tinc­tive look — and the curved edges that made it for­giv­ing to imper­fect print­ing process­es — made it a hit. And when film strips replaced met­al type, allow­ing the kind of close­ly-spaced print­ing that Coop­er thought best pre­sent­ed his font, the already-pop­u­lar Coop­er Black under­went a renais­sance.

“It thrived, as always, in adver­tis­ing,” says Caswell. “Its friend­ly curves fit the tongue-in-cheek aes­thet­ic of the 1960s and 70s, but it also showed up in mag­a­zines, movies, and hun­dreds of album cov­ers.” To typog­ra­phy enthu­si­asts, Pet Sounds seem­ing­ly remains Coop­er Black­’s finest hour: “Just look at the way the D works with the E and the Y, and ‘Boys’ fits so nice­ly over the O,” as art direc­tor Stephen Heller says in the video.

In the 1920s Coop­er Black not only show­cased cut­ting-edge print­ing tech­nol­o­gy, its aes­thet­ic looked exhil­a­rat­ing­ly mod­ern as well. Now, of course, it looks com­fort­ing­ly retro, evoca­tive of the era of hand­made graph­ic design slip­ping out of liv­ing mem­o­ry in our dig­i­tal 21st cen­tu­ry. But the 21st cen­tu­ry so far has also been a time of “retro­ma­nia”: with all pre­vi­ous media increas­ing­ly at our fin­ger­tips, we draw inspi­ra­tion (and even mate­r­i­al) for our art and design more direct­ly and instinc­tive­ly than ever from the trends of the past. No won­der we con­tin­ue to feel a res­o­nance in Coop­er Black, whose let­ters, as Caswell puts it, bring with them the weight of “a cen­tu­ry’s worth of changes in tech­nol­o­gy and pop cul­ture.” Nor is Coop­er Black­’s next cen­tu­ry, what­ev­er uses it sees the font put to, like­ly to dimin­ish its appeal.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Typog­ra­phy Told in Five Ani­mat­ed Min­utes

Com­ic Sans Turns 25: Graph­ic Design­er Vin­cent Connare Explains Why He Cre­at­ed the Most Hat­ed Font in the World

Down­load Hel­l­veti­ca, a Font that Makes the Ele­gant Spac­ing of Hel­veti­ca Look as Ugly as Pos­si­ble

The Mak­ing (and Remak­ing) of the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds, Arguably the Great­est Rock Album of All Time

Enter the Cov­er Art Archive: A Mas­sive Col­lec­tion of 800,000 Album Cov­ers from the 1950s through 2018

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Take Free Online Courses on African-American History from Yale and Stanford: From Emancipation, to the Civil Rights Movement, and Beyond

As every Amer­i­can knows, Feb­ru­ary is Black His­to­ry Month. And as every Amer­i­can also knows — if the events of 2020 haven’t warped their sense of time too bad­ly — is isn’t Feb­ru­ary right now. But thanks to online learn­ing tech­nol­o­gy, we all have the free­dom to study any sub­ject we want, as much as we want, when­ev­er we want, irre­spec­tive of the time of year. Sources of inter­net-based edu­ca­tion have pro­lif­er­at­ed in the 21st cen­tu­ry, but long-respect­ed insti­tu­tions of high­er learn­ing have also got in on the action. Yale Uni­ver­si­ty, for exam­ple, has pro­duced the online course African Amer­i­can His­to­ry: Eman­ci­pa­tion to the Present, whose 25 lec­tures by his­to­ry pro­fes­sor Jonathan Hol­loway you can watch on YouTube, or at Yale’s web site. The first lec­ture appears above.

Orig­i­nal­ly record­ed in the spring of 2010, Hol­loway’s course exam­ines “the African Amer­i­can expe­ri­ence in the Unit­ed States from 1863 to the present,” involv­ing such chap­ters of his­to­ry as “the end of the Civ­il War and the begin­ning of Recon­struc­tion” and “African Amer­i­cans’ urban­iza­tion expe­ri­ences.”

It also includes lec­tures on the “thought and lead­er­ship of Book­er T. Wash­ing­ton, Ida B. Wells-Bar­nett, W.E.B. Du Bois, Mar­cus Gar­vey, Mar­tin Luther King Jr., and Mal­colm X” — all writ­ers and thinkers Open Cul­ture read­ers will have encoun­tered before, but a course like African Amer­i­can His­to­ry: Eman­ci­pa­tion to the Present offers the oppor­tu­ni­ty to con­sid­er their lives and work in clear­er con­text and greater detail.

Black his­to­ry has deep­er roots in some parts of the Unit­ed States than oth­ers. But that does­n’t mean the uni­ver­si­ties of the west have noth­ing to offer in this depart­ment: take, for exam­ple, Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty’s African-Amer­i­can His­to­ry: Mod­ern Free­dom Strug­gle, taught by the his­to­ri­an (and edi­tor of MLK’s papers) Clay­borne Car­son. Avail­able to watch on YouTube and iTunes (or right above), its 18 lec­tures deliv­er an intro­duc­tion to “African-Amer­i­can his­to­ry, with par­tic­u­lar empha­sis on the polit­i­cal thought and protest move­ments of the peri­od after 1930, focus­ing on select­ed indi­vid­u­als who have shaped and been shaped by mod­ern African-Amer­i­can strug­gles for free­dom and jus­tice.” Tak­en togeth­er, these online cours­es offer you more than enough mate­r­i­al to hold your own Black His­to­ry Month right now.

Note: Clay Car­son­’s course can also be tak­en as a MOOC on edX. Enroll now in Amer­i­can Prophet: The Inner Life and Glob­al Vision of Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. And find the cours­es list­ed above in our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

200 Online Cer­tifi­cate & Micro­cre­den­tial Pro­grams from Lead­ing Uni­ver­si­ties & Com­pa­nies

Online Degrees & Mini Degrees: Explore Mas­ters, Mini Mas­ters, Bach­e­lors & Mini Bach­e­lors from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es

Watch Cor­nel West’s Free Online Course on W.E.B. Du Bois, the Great 20th Cen­tu­ry Pub­lic Intel­lec­tu­al

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris Shot by Shot: A 22-Minute Breakdown of the Director’s Filmmaking

“What is Bres­son’s genre? He does­n’t have one. Bres­son is Bres­son,” wrote mas­ter film­mak­er Andrei Tarkovsky in his sem­i­nal book Sculpt­ing in Time. “The very con­cept of genre is as cold as the tomb.”

Nonethe­less, Tarkovsky made two of the most praised, best-regard­ed sci­ence fic­tion films in cin­e­ma. Stalk­er is a meta­phys­i­cal rid­dle wrapped in the trap­pings of a sci-fi thriller. In the ver­dant area called the Zone, ringed off by miles of barbed wire and armed sol­diers, pil­grims come to behold an uncan­ny land­scape ruled by a pow­er­ful, oth­er­world­ly intel­li­gence. The film seemed to pre­fig­ure the Cher­nobyl dis­as­ter that hap­pened years lat­er and proved to be the unlike­ly inspi­ra­tion for a video game.

Adapt­ed from a nov­el by Stanis­law Lem, Solaris is about a space sta­tion that orbits a sen­tient plan­et that caus­es hal­lu­ci­na­tions in the cos­mo­nauts. The hyper-ratio­nal pro­tag­o­nist, Kris Kelvin, is thrown for a loop when he is con­front­ed by a dop­pel­ganger of his dead wife who killed her­self years ear­li­er. The log­i­cal side of him knows that this is a hal­lu­ci­na­tion but he falls in love any­way, only to lose her again. Kelvin is caught in a hell of repeat­ing the mis­takes of his past.

Solaris was seen as a Cold War-era response to Stan­ley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. Both movies are mind-alter­ing deep-space epics that raise more ques­tions than they answer. Yet Tarkovsky hat­ed 2001’s osten­ta­tious use of cut­ting-edge spe­cial effects. “For some rea­son, in all the sci­ence-fic­tion films I’ve seen, the film­mak­ers force the view­er to exam­ine the details of the mate­r­i­al struc­ture of the future,” he told Russ­ian film jour­nal­ist Naum Abramov in 1970. “More than that, some­times, like Kubrick, they call their own films pre­mo­ni­tions. It’s unbe­liev­able! Let alone that 2001: A Space Odyssey is pho­ny on many points, even for spe­cial­ists. For a true work of art, the fake must be elim­i­nat­ed.”

Indeed, Tarkovsky seemed to delib­er­ate­ly half-ass the gener­ic ele­ments of film. He used leisure­ly shots of tun­nels and high­ways of 1971 Tokyo to depict the city of the future. He devot­ed only a cou­ple min­utes of the film’s near­ly three hour run­ning time to things like space­ships. And you have to love the fact that the space sta­tion in Solaris has such dis­tinct­ly unfu­tur­is­tic design ele­ments as a chan­de­lier and a wood-pan­eled library.

Tarkovsky, of course, isn’t inter­est­ed in sci­ence. He’s inter­est­ed in art and its way to evoke the divine. And his pri­ma­ry way of doing this is with long takes; epic shots that res­onate pro­found­ly even if the mean­ing of those images remains elu­sive. Solaris opens with a shot of water flow­ing in a brook and then, lat­er in the scene, there is a sud­den down­pour. The cam­era press­es into a shot of a teacup fill­ing with rain. It’s a beau­ti­ful, mem­o­rable, evoca­tive shot. Maybe the image means some­thing. Maybe its beau­ty is, in and of itself, its mean­ing. Either way, Tarkovsky forces you to sur­ren­der to his delib­er­ate cin­e­mat­ic rhythm and his pan­the­is­tic view of the world.

In a piece called Tarkovsky Shot by Shot, video essay­ist Anto­nios Papan­to­niou dis­sects a few scenes from Solaris, break­ing down each accord­ing to cam­era angle, shot type and dura­tion while point­ing out recur­ring visu­al motifs. “Dia­met­ri­cal­ly dif­fer­ent from Hollywood’s extrav­a­gant moviemak­ing Tarkovsky’s Solaris is in a cin­e­mat­ic uni­verse of its own,” writes Papan­to­niou in one of the video’s copi­ous inter­ti­tles. “Sym­bol­ic images and meta­phys­i­cal man­i­fes­ta­tions are cre­at­ed and expressed in a poet­ic way where every visu­al detail mat­ters.” Watch­ing Shot by Shot, you get a real sense of just how beau­ti­ful­ly his films unfold with those gor­geous­ly chore­o­graphed long takes. You can watch the full video above.

Note: This post orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site in June, 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Mas­ter­ful Polaroid Pic­tures Tak­en by Film­mak­er Andrei Tarkovsky

Tarkovsky’s Advice to Young Film­mak­ers: Sac­ri­fice Your­self for Cin­e­ma

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Mes­sage to Young Peo­ple: “Learn to Be Alone,” Enjoy Soli­tude

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

The Grateful Dead’s “Ripple” Played By Musicians Around the World (with Cameos by David Crosby, Jimmy Buffett & Bill Kreutzmann)

Poet and Grate­ful Dead lyri­cist Robert Hunter penned some of the band’s best-known songs. Even if you’re only casu­al­ly famil­iar with the Dead’s vast cat­a­logue and even vaster labyrinth of live record­ings, you can prob­a­bly sing along to clas­sics like “Casey Jones” or “Box of Rain.” Both came about dur­ing the most pro­lif­ic phase of Hunter and Jer­ry Garcia’s col­lab­o­ra­tion on the coun­try-folk mas­ter­pieces Workingman’s Dead and Amer­i­can Beau­ty, released one after the oth­er in 1970.

Among these col­lec­tions of time­less tunes, one stands above the rest: “Rip­ple” is “per­haps the quin­tes­sence of both the band’s del­i­cate stu­dio mag­ic and the Garcia/Hunter part­ner­ship,” writes Jim Beviglia at Amer­i­can Song­writer. Hunter him­self, when asked about his favorite lyric, answered, “’Let it be known there is a foun­tain / That was not made by the hands of men.’ That’s pret­ty much my favorite line I ever wrote, that’s ever popped into my head. And I believe it, you know?”

The line popped into his head in Lon­don in 1970. Jer­ry Garcia’s melody arrived short­ly there­after. “We were in Cana­da,” says Hunter, “on that train trip [the Fes­ti­val Express, 1970] and one morn­ing the train stopped and Jer­ry was sit­ting out on the tracks not too far off, in the sun­rise, set­ting ‘Rip­ple’ to music. That’s a good mem­o­ry.” They debuted it right away, “in an acoustic set at the Fill­more West on August 19, 1970,” notes David Dodd at the offi­cial Dead site, “along with first per­for­mances of ‘Broke­down Palace,’ ‘Oper­a­tor,’ and ‘Truckin’.’”

What’s so great about “Rip­ple”? Where to start. “The Dead had damn near per­fect­ed the har­monies they used heav­i­ly on Workingman’s Dead,” Beviglia writes. “The ensem­ble voic­es on ‘Rip­ple’ pro­vide com­fort when the words evoke hard­ship.” Such is the bal­ance struck by the most beau­ti­ful­ly bit­ter­sweet of Amer­i­can folk songs, from “You Are My Sun­shine” to “Will the Cir­cle Be Unbro­ken.” The lyrics them­selves “evoke cos­mic wis­dom and seren­i­ty with­out ignor­ing the dark­ness on the fringes of even the most blessed lives.”

C’mon, the cho­rus is a freakin’ haiku…

“Each of us has our own indi­vid­ual path, for our steps alone,” Dodd writes of the song. “That might seem like a fright­en­ing thought, but I find the uni­ver­sal­i­ty of it a com­fort: we’re all in the same boat.” This truth is inescapable, whether we approach it philo­soph­i­cal­ly, con­tem­pla­tive­ly, or Bib­li­cal­ly, as the song’s vers­es seem to do (with allu­sions to William But­ler Yeats). What bet­ter illus­tra­tion of this theme than a col­lec­tion of musi­cians from around the world—some famous some obscure—playing the song alone togeth­er in Play­ing for Change’s excel­lent col­lab­o­ra­tion video above?

Among the famous names we have Jim­my Buf­fett, David Cros­by, David Hidal­go of Los Lobos, and Bill Kreutz­mann him­self. The joy this song evokes is unmis­tak­able on the faces of the musi­cians: no mat­ter who sings it, “Rip­ple” is a song that brings peo­ple togeth­er by remind­ing us that exis­tence is much vaster than our indi­vid­ual lives. Play­ing for Change has pre­vi­ous­ly brought togeth­er inter­na­tion­al musi­cians for oth­er clas­sic sing-along songs from the Amer­i­can (and Jamaican and Cana­di­an) pop­u­lar song­book. See more in the links below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Icon­ic Songs Played by Musi­cians Around the World: “Stand by Me,” “Redemp­tion Song,” & More

Musi­cians Around the World Play The Band’s Clas­sic Song, “The Weight,” with Help from Rob­bie Robert­son and Ringo Starr

Musi­cians Around the World Play “Lean on Me,” the Uplift­ing Song by Bill With­ers (RIP)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Artificial Intelligence Brings to Life Figures from 7 Famous Paintings: The Mona Lisa, Birth of Venus & More

Denis Shiryaev is an AI wiz­ard who has lib­er­al­ly applied his mag­ic to old film—upscaling, col­oriz­ing, and oth­er­wise mod­ern­iz­ing scenes from Vic­to­ri­an Eng­land, late Tsarist Rus­sia, and Belle Époque Paris. He trained machines to restore the ear­li­est known motion pic­ture, 1888’s Round­hay Gar­den Scene and one of the most mythol­o­gized works of ear­ly cin­e­ma, the Lumière Broth­ers 50-sec­ond Arrival of a Train at La Cio­tat Sta­tion.

Shiryaev’s casu­al dis­tri­b­u­tion of these efforts on YouTube can make us take for grant­ed just how extra­or­di­nary they are. Such recre­ations would have been impos­si­ble just a decade or so ago. But we should not see these as his­toric restora­tions. The soft­ware Shiryaev uses fills in gaps between the frames, allow­ing him to upscale the frame rate and make more natur­is­tic-look­ing images. This often comes at a cost. As Ted Mills wrote in an ear­li­er Open Cul­ture post on Shiryaev’s meth­ods, “there are a lot of arti­facts, squooshy, mor­ph­ing moments where the neur­al net­work can’t fig­ure things out.”

But it’s an evolv­ing tech­nol­o­gy. Unlike wiz­ards of old, Shiryaev hap­pi­ly reveals his trade secrets so enter­pris­ing coders can give it a try them­selves, if they’ve got the bud­get. In his lat­est video, above, he plugs the NVIDIA Quadro RTX 6000, a $4,000 graph­ics card (and does some grip­ing about rights issues), before get­ting to the fun stuff. Rather than make old film look new, he’s “applied a bunch of dif­fer­ent neur­al net­works in an attempt to gen­er­ate real­is­tic faces of peo­ple from famous paint­ings.”

These are, Shiryaev empha­sizes, “esti­ma­tions,” not his­tor­i­cal recre­ations of the faces behind Leonardo’s Mona Lisa and Lady with an Ermine, Botticelli’s mod­el for The Birth of Venus, Vermeer’s for Girl with a Pearl Ear­ring, or Rembrandt’s The Night Watch. In the case of Amer­i­can Goth­ic, we have a pho­to of the mod­el, artist Grant Wood’s sis­ter, to com­pare to the AI’s ver­sion. Fri­da Kahlo’s Self-Por­trait with Thorn Neck­lace and Hum­ming­bird gets the treat­ment. She left per­haps a few hun­dred pho­tographs and some films that prob­a­bly look more like her than the AI ver­sion.

The GIF-like “trans­for­ma­tions,” as they might be called, may remind us of a less fun use of such tech­nol­o­gy: AI’s abil­i­ty to cre­ate real­is­tic faces of peo­ple who don’t exist for devi­ous pur­pos­es and to make “deep fake” videos of those who do. But that needn’t take away from the fact that it’s pret­ty cool to see Botticelli’s Venus, or a sim­u­la­tion of her any­way, smile and blink at us from a dis­tance of over 500 years.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Scenes from Czarist Moscow Vivid­ly Restored with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence (May 1896)

Watch AI-Restored Film of Labor­ers Going Through Life in Vic­to­ri­an Eng­land (1901)

Icon­ic Film from 1896 Restored with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence: Watch an AI-Upscaled Ver­sion of the Lumière Broth­ers’ The Arrival of a Train at La Cio­tat Sta­tion

The Ear­li­est Known Motion Pic­ture, 1888’s Round­hay Gar­den Scene, Restored with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Tom Jones Performs “Long Time Gone” with Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young–and Blows the Band & Audience Away (1969)

Welsh croon­er Tom Jones made an unlike­ly come­back in the late 80s, cov­er­ing Prince’s “Kiss” with Art of Noise. Then in the mid-90s, he showed up on The Fresh Prince of Bel Air to sing mid-60s hit “It’s Not Unusu­al” for super­fan Carl­ton Banks. This was a time of 60s come­backs all around, but Jones’ resur­gence was a lit­tle odd (though per­fect­ly in char­ac­ter for Carl­ton Banks). Tom Jones had been a big star in the mid to late 60s, with his own TV show and a string of inter­na­tion­al hits. But Tom Jones was nev­er exact­ly cool in the way that, say, Neil Young was cool in 1969, the year he and Jimi Hen­drix stole a truck to get to Wood­stock.

“Tom Jones and his show might’ve been seen as some­what ‘square’ by the rock­star stan­dards of CSNY,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds,” but when the four­some agreed to appear in Sep­tem­ber of that year, just weeks after the mas­sive fes­ti­val in upstate New York, it turned into a mem­o­rable tele­vi­sion event, with Jones tak­ing lead vocals on “Long Time Gone” and blow­ing the audi­ence and the band away.

“The man’s mighty lungs inspire the rest of them to keep up, it must be said,” even Young, whose “face goes from one of disdain/’What am I doing here?’ to ‘This fuck­ing rocks’ about halfway through.”

Even stranger than this com­bi­na­tion is the fact that Young agreed to do it at all. He had become noto­ri­ous­ly averse to doing tele­vi­sion, even turn­ing down The Tonight Show with John­ny Car­son and cit­ing his hatred of TV as a rea­son for leav­ing Buf­fa­lo Spring­field two years ear­li­er. Though he may have been caught up in the moment, he lat­er regret­ted it, as his long­time man­ag­er Eliot Roberts told biog­ra­ph­er Jim­my McDo­nough: “Neil went, ‘The Tom Jones show! What pos­sessed you? It’s that shit.’ He always used to say ‘that shit.’ Cros­by had this weed of doom… Neil nev­er for­gave me for that. He ripped me about it for a very, very long time. Years.”

“It was high­ly rat­ed,” says Roberts, “sold a lot­ta records, but in ret­ro­spect it was embar­rass­ing.” Young prob­a­bly shouldn’t have wor­ried. Weed of doom or no, it didn’t seem to hurt his cred­i­bil­i­ty as much as his bewil­der­ing (though crit­i­cal­ly re-appraised) 1982 New Wave record, Trans. Jones has done just fine, rein­vent­ing him­self in the 80s and 90s in good-humored self-par­o­dies, then becom­ing a bona fide pop star once more. He has yet to appear again with Neil Young.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Janis Joplin & Tom Jones Bring the House Down in an Unlike­ly Duet of “Raise Your Hand” (1969)

Neil Young Per­forms Clas­sic Songs in 1971 Con­cert: “Old Man,” “Heart of Gold” & More

Who Is Neil Young?: A Video Essay Explores the Two Sides of the Ver­sa­tile Musician–Folk Icon and Father of Grunge

The Time Neil Young Met Charles Man­son, Liked His Music, and Tried to Score Him a Record Deal

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

John Cleese’s Comedically Explains the Psychological Advantages of Extremism: “It Makes You Feel Good Because It Provides You with Enemies”

Extrem­ist: in any polit­i­cal squab­ble, and espe­cial­ly any online polit­i­cal squab­ble, the label is sure to get slapped on some­one soon­er or lat­er. Of course, we nev­er con­sid­er our­selves extrem­ists: it’s the para­me­ters of accept­able polit­i­cal dis­cus­sion that wrong­ly frame our entire­ly rea­son­able, truth-informed views. But what if we were to embrace the extreme? “What we nev­er hear about extrem­ism is its advan­tages,” says Mon­ty Python’s John Cleese in the tele­vi­sion adver­tise­ment above. “The biggest advan­tage of extrem­ism is that it makes you feel good because it pro­vides you with ene­mies.” When you have ene­mies, “you can pre­tend that all the bad­ness in the whole world is in your ene­mies and all the good­ness in the whole world is in you.”

If you “have a lot of anger and resent­ment in you any­way,” you can jus­ti­fy your own unciv­i­lized behav­ior “because these ene­mies of yours are such very bad per­sons, and that if it was­n’t for them, you’d actu­al­ly be good-natured and cour­te­ous and ratio­nal all the time.” Sign on with the “hard left,” Cleese says, and you’ll receive “their list of autho­rized ene­mies: almost all kinds of author­i­ty, espe­cial­ly the police, the City, Amer­i­cans, judges, multi­na­tion­al cor­po­ra­tions, pub­lic schools, fur­ri­ers, news­pa­per own­ers, fox hunters, gen­er­als, class trai­tors — and of course, mod­er­ates.” If you pre­fer the “hard right,” they have a list of their own, one includ­ing “noisy minor­i­ty groups, unions, Rus­sia, weirdos, demon­stra­tors, wel­fare sponges, med­dle­some cler­gy, peaceniks, the BBC, strik­ers, social work­ers, com­mu­nists — and of course, mod­er­ates.”

As Cleese tweet­ed this past week­end, “Hard to tell if I record­ed this 30 years or 10 min­utes ago.” In fact he record­ed it more than 30 years ago, as an endorse­ment of the cen­trist SDP-Lib­er­al Alliance between the Unit­ed King­dom’s Social Demo­c­ra­t­ic Par­ty and Lib­er­al Par­ty. Hav­ing formed in 1981 and gone defunct by 1988 (when it became the par­ty now known as the Lib­er­al Democ­rats), the SDP-Lib­er­al Alliance leaves lit­tle in the way of a lega­cy, but this clip has only grown more rel­e­vant with time. As an extrem­ist, Cleese reminds us “you can strut around abus­ing peo­ple and telling them you could eat them for break­fast and still think of your­self as a cham­pi­on of the truth, a fight­er for the greater good, and not the rather sad, para­noid schizoid that you real­ly are” — a state­ment that, uttered in our inter­net era, would sure­ly make more than a few ene­mies.

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mon­ty Python’s John Cleese Wor­ries That Polit­i­cal Cor­rect­ness Will Lead Us into a Humor­less World, Rem­i­nis­cent of Orwell’s 1984

John Cleese on How “Stu­pid Peo­ple Have No Idea How Stu­pid They Are” (a.k.a. the Dun­ning-Kruger Effect)

John Cleese Cre­ates Ads for the Amer­i­can Philo­soph­i­cal Asso­ci­a­tion

The Psy­chol­o­gy That Leads Peo­ple to Vote for Extrem­ists & Auto­crats: The The­o­ry of Cog­ni­tive Clo­sure

John Cleese Plays the Dev­il, Makes a Spe­cial Appeal for Hell, 1966

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

When Punk & Reggae Fans Launched the “Rock Against Racism” Movement and Pushed Back Against Britain’s Racist Right (1976)

The UK of the late-70s was, in many unfor­tu­nate respects, like the UK (and US) of today, with far-right attacks against West Indi­an and Asian immi­grants becom­ing rou­tine, along with increased aggres­sion from the police. Enoch Powell’s inflam­ma­to­ry 1968 “Rivers of Blood” speech (denounced in the papers as a naked “appeal to racial hatred) ener­gized the far-right Nation­al Front. Nazi punks and skin­heads began vio­lent cam­paigns in the mid-70s. A very hot sum­mer in 1976 saw a riot at the Not­ting­ham Car­ni­val, when police attacked the West Indi­an fes­ti­val. Car­ni­val-goers fought back, includ­ing the Clash’s Joe Strum­mer and Paul Simenon, who describe the events below.

Strum­mer was inspired to pen “White Riot,” a call to arms for white punks against the police and far right, and the band moved increas­ing­ly toward reg­gae, includ­ing a cov­er of Junior Murvin’s “Police & Thieves.”

Into this boil­ing caul­dron stepped Eric Clap­ton to drunk­en­ly declare his sup­port for Pow­ell onstage in Birm­ing­ham and repeat­ed­ly chant the Nation­al Front slo­gan “keep Britain white!” In out­raged response, pho­tog­ra­ph­er and for­mer Clap­ton fan Red Saun­ders and oth­ers found­ed Rock Against Racism, pub­lish­ing a let­ter in the NME to recruit peo­ple to join the cause. The short note addressed Clap­ton’s glar­ing hypocrisy direct­ly: “Come on Eric… Own up. Half your music is black. You’re rock music’s biggest colonist.”

The let­ter artic­u­lat­ed the dis­gust felt by thou­sands around the coun­try. Paul Fur­ness, work­ing as a med­ical records clerk in Leeds at the time, found the anti-racist dec­la­ra­tion “pos­i­tive” and “life affirm­ing,” as he says in the short film at the top. He helped orga­nize the first Rock Against Racism car­ni­val in 1978 and was amazed “that there were thou­sands and thou­sands and thou­sands of peo­ple descend­ing on Lon­don. The excite­ment of it, just this real­iza­tion…. That you can change things, that you can could actu­al­ly make a dif­fer­ence.”

Cre­at­ed with the Anti-Nazi League, the April 1978 Rock Against Racism Car­ni­val in London’s Vic­to­ria Park was the moment “punk became a pop­ulist move­ment to be reck­oned with,” writes Ian Fort­nam at Clas­sic Rock. (Learn more in the doc­u­men­tary above.) “Nev­er before had so many peo­ple been mobi­lized for that sort of cause,” head­lin­er Tom Robin­son remem­bers. “It was our Wood­stock.” The Clash were there—you can hear their per­for­mance just above. It was, writes Fort­nam, “their finest hour”:

The Clash were on fire, feed­ing off of an ecsta­t­ic audi­ence and pre­mier­ing as yet unrecord­ed mate­r­i­al (even­tu­al­ly released on Give ‘Em Enough Rope the fol­low­ing Novem­ber) like Tom­my Gun and The Last Gang In Town. The show was a rev­e­la­tion.

The Rock Against Racism Car­ni­val brought togeth­er punk and reg­gae bands, and fans of both, start­ing a tra­di­tion of mul­ti-racial line­ups at RAR con­certs into the 80s that fea­tured X‑Ray Specs, the Ruts, the Slits, Gen­er­a­tion X, Elvis Costel­lo, Steel Pulse, Aswad, and Misty in Roots, among many oth­ers. “When you saw a band like ours jam­ming with Tom Robin­son or Elvis Costel­lo,” says singer Poko of Misty in Roots, who played more RAR shows than any oth­er band, “it showed that if you love music we can all live togeth­er.”

That mes­sage res­onat­ed through­out the coun­try and the sound sys­tems of the streets. At the first Car­ni­val, Fort­nam writes, “pha­lanx­es of police held back counter-demon­strat­ing skin­heads” while an esti­mat­ed 80,000 peo­ple marched through the streets chant­i­ng “Black and white unite and fight, smash the Nation­al Front.” Rock Against Racism became a mas­sive move­ment that did cre­ate uni­ty and pushed back suc­cess­ful­ly against far-right attacks. But it wasn’t only about the pol­i­tics, as pho­tog­ra­ph­er Syd Shel­ton recalls below. It was also a fight for what British punk would become—the music of fas­cism and the far right or a syn­the­sis of sounds and rhythms from the for­mer Empire and its for­mer colonies.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Stay Free: The Sto­ry of the Clash” Nar­rat­ed by Pub­lic Enemy’s Chuck D: A New 8‑Episode Pod­cast

Lon­don Call­ing: A New Muse­um Exhi­bi­tion Cel­e­brates The Clash’s Icon­ic Album

The Clash Play Their Final Show (San Bernardi­no, 1983)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

Can Reality TV Save the Fine Arts? Body Painter Robin Slonina (Skin Wars) on Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #47

Fine art and real­i­ty TV are typ­i­cal­ly rat­ed our high­est and low­est forms of enter­tain­ment, yet cre­ative com­pe­ti­tion shows com­bine the two. Robin Sloni­na grad­u­at­ed from Chicago’s Art Insti­tute and lived in the gallery world doing sculp­tures, paint­ings and instal­la­tions for sev­er­al years before dis­cov­er­ing body paint­ing and open­ing Skin City Body Paint­ing in Las Vegas, per­haps the fore­most insti­tu­tion of its type in the world.

Robin then served as a judge (along with RuPaul!) on the show Skin Wars for its three sea­sons (2014–2017) before The Game Show Net­work decid­ed that the whole thing was too expen­sive to pro­duce. She joins Mark, Eri­ca, and Bri­an to  fig­ure out the degree to which the com­pe­ti­tion real­i­ty show for­mat lets the art shine through.

To learn more, scan these rel­e­vant arti­cles:

Learn more at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion with Robin about pub­lic art and the protests that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts or start with the first episode.


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