Stephen King’s The Shining Is Now an Opera, and The Tickets Are All Sold Out

As a sto­ry, The Shin­ing cer­tain­ly pass­es the test of adapt­abil­i­ty: we’ve fea­tured not just the anno­tat­ed copy of Stephen King’s orig­i­nal nov­el that Stan­ley Kubrick used to make his well-known film adap­ta­tion, but its Simp­sons par­o­dy, its reimag­ined feel-good Hol­ly­wood trail­er, its remake in minia­ture as a long-form Aesop Rock music video, and even a board game based on the book. Now The Shin­ing has tak­en its lat­est form live on stage as a pro­duc­tion of the Min­neso­ta Opera, whose dig­i­tal pro­gram you can read above.

“I can’t recall an opera in which the vil­lain is a build­ing,” writes Ron Hub­bard in a review for the St. Paul Pio­neer Press, “but that’s the case with The Shin­ing, an adap­ta­tion of Stephen King’s nov­el about a haunt­ed hotel and a fam­i­ly that win­ters with­in it. While ghosts play a promi­nent role in many operas, the spir­its occu­py­ing the remote Rocky Moun­tain hotel in The Shin­ing are ser­vants to one pow­er­ful, malev­o­lent mas­ter: the build­ing itself.” Hub­bard high­lights the elab­o­rate design that recre­ates the for­bid­ding Over­look Hotel with a “state­ly set,” “swirling, spooky pro­jec­tions,” and build­ing ele­ments that “roll in and out behind screens swirling with pat­terns, cre­at­ing an unset­tling, kalei­do­scop­ic effect.”

As every opera enthu­si­ast soon finds out, no pro­duc­tion can sur­vive by design alone. But The Shin­ing, accord­ing to Hub­bard, earns full marks in oth­er areas as well, includ­ing but not lim­it­ed to its “score full of dis­com­fit­ing themes that clash and col­lide to strong­ly sung and dis­arm­ing­ly believ­able por­tray­als of char­ac­ters alive and oth­er­wise.” He also empha­sizes that the source mate­r­i­al comes not from Kubrick­’s film, but King’s nov­el: “Stan­ley Kubrick took great lib­er­ties with the sto­ry, going so far as to change how the con­flict plays out and resolves. I actu­al­ly found this oper­at­ic ver­sion con­sid­er­ably creepi­er, in large part because we get to know the ghosts bet­ter.”

The nov­el and the movie are vast­ly dif­fer­ent,” says libret­tist Mark Camp­bell in the video above, though they and they opera all tell “the sto­ry of Jack Tor­rance, who, because of eco­nom­ic rea­sons, accepts a job as the win­ter care­tak­er for a hotel in remote west­ern Col­orado.” And before long, as we know whether we’ve read the book or seen the movie, Jack “sub­mits to a num­ber of his demons” before the eyes of his ter­ri­fied and increas­ing­ly endan­gered fam­i­ly. But it remains, Camp­bell says, “the sto­ry of a man who wants to do good — he just did­n’t choose the right job, and end­ed up in a sit­u­a­tion that did every­thing it could to tear him apart.”

The Shin­ing the opera comes com­mis­sioned by Min­neso­ta Oper­a’s New Works Ini­tia­tive, “designed to invig­o­rate the oper­at­ic art form with an infu­sion of con­tem­po­rary works.” Giv­en its com­plete­ly sold-out suc­cess in St. Paul, where it pre­miered, we can safe­ly say that this pro­duc­tion has accom­plished the mis­sion of draw­ing vig­or from a per­haps unex­pect­ed source, and even that it stands a chance of bring­ing its chill­ing artistry (not to men­tion its promis­ing­ly warned-about “strong lan­guage, gun­shots, sim­u­lat­ed nudi­ty, the­atri­cal haze, and strobe light­ing”) to a city near you, prefer­ably in the dead of win­ter to best suit the sto­ry — a time that, in Min­neso­ta, already counts as for­bid­ding enough.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load & Play The Shin­ing Board Game

The Shin­ing and Oth­er Com­plex Stan­ley Kubrick Films Recut as Sim­ple Hol­ly­wood Movies

Watch a Shot-by-Shot Remake of Kubrick’s The Shin­ing, a 48-Minute Music Video Accom­pa­ny­ing the New Album by Aesop Rock

Watch The Simp­sons’ Hal­loween Par­o­dy of Kubrick’s A Clock­work Orange and The Shin­ing

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Anno­tat­ed Copy of Stephen King’s The Shin­ing

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Behold the Kinetic, 39-Ton Statue of Franz Kafka’s Head, Erected in Prague

What does Kaf­ka mean to you? To me he has always rep­re­sent­ed the tri­umph of small­ness, which is no slight; the exem­plary fig­ure of what Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guat­tari called “a minor lit­er­a­ture.” Kaf­ka made minu­ti­ae and triv­i­al­i­ty com­pelling, invest­ed the pet­ty strug­gles of every­day life with a dra­mat­ic inten­si­ty and meta­phys­i­cal aura that linger for days after read­ing him. Kafka’s let­ters show him caught in the grip of a crip­pling, yet deeply fun­ny, intel­lec­tu­al ambiva­lence; his sto­ries and nov­els equal­ly trade in absur­dist humor and philo­soph­i­cal seri­ous­ness. Kaf­ka haunts the small domes­tic spaces and tedi­um of office life, imbu­ing sec­u­lar moder­ni­ty with a tragi­com­ic strange­ness. He trem­bles at the con­tin­ued pow­er of a dethroned reli­gious author­i­ty, per­plexed by its empti­ness, rewrit­ing the inward­ness and self-nega­tion of reli­gious asceti­cism in para­bles absent of any god.

Seek­ing the source of author­i­ty, Kafka’s heroes find instead unsolv­able rid­dles and mys­te­ri­ous vacan­cies. Which is why it seems odd to me that Kaf­ka should him­self be memo­ri­al­ized as a gigan­tic head in statuary—an 11 meter, 45 ton stain­less steel head, with 42 motor­ized lay­ers that move inde­pen­dent­ly, rear­rang­ing and “meta­mor­phos­ing” the author’s face.

Called “K on Sun” and cre­at­ed by Czech artist David Černý, the shim­mer­ing, mon­u­men­tal work, installed in 2014, sits near the office build­ing where Kaf­ka worked as a clerk at an insur­ance com­pa­ny and across from the Prague City Hall. The “enor­mous mir­rored bust” writes Christo­pher Job­son at This is Colos­sal, “bril­liant­ly reveals Kafka’s tor­tured per­son­al­i­ty and unre­lent­ing self-doubt.” Per­haps. Jacob Sham­sian at Busi­ness Insid­er has anoth­er inter­pre­ta­tion: “It’s meant to dis­tract peo­ple from the frus­tra­tions of deal­ing with gov­ern­ment employ­ees.”

Maybe the key to under­stand­ing “K on Sun” is by com­par­i­son with an ear­li­er piece by Černý called Metal­mor­pho­sis, which as you can see above, uses the same mon­u­men­tal, stain­less steel design to cre­ate an enor­mous, gleam­ing, con­stant­ly rear­rang­ing head. This one sits at the White­hall Tech­nol­o­gy Park in Char­lotte, North Car­oli­na, the kind of bland, homog­e­nized cor­po­rate office cam­pus that might have dri­ven Kaf­ka mad. “Černý,” writes Atlas Obscu­ra, “notes the Metal­mor­pho­sis as some­thing of a self-por­trait of his own psy­che,” say­ing “This is how I feel; it is a men­tal self-por­trait.” Can we regard “Kaf­ka in Sun” as also some­thing of a por­trait of Černý as well, imag­in­ing him­self as Kaf­ka? Per­haps.

The artist is a trick­ster char­ac­ter, known for frus­trat­ing and infu­ri­at­ing patrons and audi­ences, “a rebel­lious mix of Antony Gorm­ley and Damien Hirst,” The Guardian opines, “as con­tro­ver­sial as he is amus­ing.” One work, “Piss,” fea­tures just that, “two gyrat­ing, mechan­i­cal men uri­nat­ing on a map of the Czech Repub­lic.” Their urine spells out famous say­ings from Prague res­i­dents. Locat­ed right next to the Franz Kaf­ka muse­um, the sculp­ture mocks the idea of art as a cul­tur­al enter­prise devot­ed to the nation­al inter­est. “Kaf­ka in Sun” presents us with a much more impos­ing­ly seri­ous piece than so many of Černý’s oth­er, more whim­si­cal, works. But it’s hard to imag­ine the satir­i­cal artist had a more seri­ous, straight­for­ward inten­tion. In imag­in­ing Kaf­ka as a huge, shiny sun­lit head, he inverts the author’s small, pri­vate, self-con­tained world, turn­ing Kaf­ka into a strange­ly loom­ing, pub­lic, author­i­ta­tive pres­ence resem­bling an enor­mous met­al god.

via This is Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Franz Kafka’s Kafkaesque Love Let­ters

Metrop­o­lis II: Dis­cov­er the Amaz­ing, Fritz Lang-Inspired Kinet­ic Sculp­ture by Chris Bur­den

The Muse­um of Mod­ern Art (MoMA) Puts Online 65,000 Works of Mod­ern Art

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

Watch 82-Year-Old Igor Stravinsky Conduct The Firebird, the Ballet Masterpiece That First Made Him Famous (1965)

The Bal­lets Russ­es, found­ed in 1909 by art crit­ic and impre­sario Sergei Diaghilev, staged some tru­ly rev­o­lu­tion­ary pro­duc­tions on the very edge of aes­thet­ic new­ness. Diaghilev’s bal­lets coor­di­nat­ed set designs by artists like Pablo Picas­so, Hen­ri Matisse, and Gior­gio de Chiri­co, chore­og­ra­phy by such mas­ters as George Bal­an­chine and Vaslav Nijin­sky, and scores by such mod­ern com­posers as Sergei Prokofiev and Erik Satie. But of course, when we think of Diaghilev’s Russ­ian bal­lets, we sure­ly think fore­most of Igor Stravin­sky, whose Rite of Spring was so rad­i­cal it famous­ly incit­ed a riot at its 1913 Parisian pre­miere and “would go on,” writes The Verge, “to leave an indeli­ble mark on jazz, min­i­mal­ism, and oth­er con­tem­po­rary move­ments.”

Just three years ear­li­er, how­ev­er, Stravin­sky was most­ly unknown. Still work­ing under the shad­ow of his teacher, Rim­sky-Kor­sakov, he was giv­en his first big break by Diaghilev only after sev­er­al oth­er com­posers refused the job. That com­mis­sion turned out to be one of the works for which Stravin­sky is best known—the score for The Fire­bird, a bal­let based on a Russ­ian folk tale about a prince who frees a mag­i­cal bird held cap­tive by a sor­cer­er. Fit­ting­ly, giv­en the mon­strous nature of the story’s antag­o­nists, Stravinsky’s score turns on a very sin­is­ter-sound­ing musi­cal inter­val, the tri­tone, whose dis­so­nance caused ear­li­er com­posers to dub it “the Devil’s Inter­val” and to avoid it entire­ly in reli­gious music. Just above, you can see Stravin­sky him­self, at age 82, con­duct “The Lul­la­by Suite” from the bal­let.

Stravinsky’s score built on Claude Debussy’s use of the tri­tone twen­ty years ear­li­er in the eerie Pre­lude to an After­noon of a Faun, and the net effect of the inter­val in these two pieces lead to its dark, moody sound becom­ing “the cen­ter of mod­ern music.” So says Carnegie Hall’s Jef­frey Gef­fen in the short video intro­duc­tion to Stravinsky’s Fire­bird. Gef­fen goes on to tell us that Debussy and Stravin­sky “looked to what was con­sid­ered the most dis­so­nant inter­val of the past 200 years and turned it into into some­thing that becomes exot­ic and per­fumed.” Although The Fire­bird’s sto­ry and many of its musi­cal themes are dis­tinct­ly Russ­ian in ori­gin (as you can see in the Khan Acad­e­my video below), the music “would not have been pos­si­ble,” says Carnegie Hall’s David Robert­son, “with­out the influ­ence of Debussy and that of his friend Mau­rice Rav­el.”

Stravin­sky’s music proved polar­iz­ing even before the riots of Rite of Spring. When leg­endary dancer Anna Pavlo­va heard the Fire­bird score, she declared it “noise” and refused to dance to it, forc­ing Diaghilev to cast Tama­ra Karsav­ina in the title role. But the pro­duc­er believed in his new com­pos­er, remark­ing to Karsav­ina on the bal­let’s pre­miere that Stravin­sky was “a man on the eve of celebri­ty.” Even the for­ward-look­ing Diaghilev could­n’t have pre­dict­ed how much influ­ence Stravin­sky would have on the next 100 years of mod­ern music. Since its first incar­na­tion in 1910, The Fire­bird has been restaged and rearranged sev­er­al times. The suite Stravin­sky con­ducts at the top of the post comes from the 1945 arrange­ment. Two years after this filmed per­for­mance, Stravin­sky con­duct­ed his very last record­ing for Colum­bia Records. He again chose to return, for the last time, to the bal­let that first made him famous, The Fire­bird.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 46 Ver­sions of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring in 3 Min­utes: A Clas­sic Mashup

Stravinsky’s “Ille­gal” Arrange­ment of “The Star Span­gled Ban­ner” (1944)

Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, Visu­al­ized in a Com­put­er Ani­ma­tion for Its 100th Anniver­sary

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

How to Build Stuff: A Free Short Course on Making Prototypes by Entrepreneur Dan Gelbart

Dan Gel­bart, a Van­cou­ver-based elec­tri­cal engi­neer, helped cre­ate a com­pa­ny called Creo, which Kodak bought in 2005 for rough­ly $1 bil­lion. If you read Gel­bart’s short auto­bi­og­ra­phy here, you can learn about the arc of his career: About how, dur­ing his ear­ly years, he start­ed work­ing for a tech com­pa­ny that pro­duced high-speed film recorders. And about how Gel­bart told the com­pa­ny that he could build a bet­ter film recorder, at a cheap­er price. And he could do it in the base­ment of his home. He explains:

After a crash course in optics, I changed the design [of the recorder], but sur­pris­ing­ly man­aged to deliv­er a ship­pable pro­to­type in 12 months with only one per­son work­ing with me. I had a small met­al­work­ing work­shop at home, many of the machines home-built, and this allowed me to fab­ri­cate most of the parts for the pro­to­type myself.

I now have a won­der­ful CNC machine shop at home, but I don’t have the bound­less enthu­si­asm of those days. How­ev­er, I still build all my pro­to­types myself, find­ing it to be faster than send­ing out draw­ings and wait­ing for parts.

Above, you can watch what Gel­bart calls “A Short Course on How to Build Stuff,” a series of 18 videos designed for stu­dents and sci­en­tists who want to build pro­to­types very quick­ly, using machines that are easy to mas­ter. Writes Make mag­a­zine, the “series begins by demon­strat­ing how to use and mod­i­fy his favorite shop tools, and reveals all kinds of enlight­en­ing short­cuts that make com­pli­cat­ed assem­blies triv­ial to pro­duce. There is a true art to uncom­pli­cat­ing things, a rar­i­ty for some engi­neers.”

You can access the com­plete playlist here. Indi­vid­ual top­ics include:

1. Intro­duc­tion
2. Safe­ty
3. Water­jet
4. Bend­ing
5. Spot Weld­ing
6. Coat­ings
7. Press­work
8. Enclo­sures
9. Mate­ri­als
10. Flex­ures
11. Non-met­als
12. Plas­tics Form­ing and Cast­ing
13. Large Struc­tures
14. Braz­ing
15. Mill and Lathe
16. Machin­ing
17. High Accu­ra­cy
18. Design

Gel­bart’s course will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

via Metafil­ter

Hunter S. Thompson Writes a Blistering, Over-the-Top Letter to Anthony Burgess (1973)

Thompson Burgess Letter

We know Antho­ny Burgess for hav­ing writ­ten A Clock­work Orange, but in total, accord­ing to Shaun Ush­er’s More Let­ters of Note: Cor­re­spon­dence Deserv­ing of a Wider Audi­ence (a book based on the well-known blog), he “pub­lished 33 nov­els, 25 non­fic­tion titles, pro­duced poet­ry, short sto­ries and screen­plays, com­posed three sym­phonies, wrote hun­dreds of musi­cal pieces, and spoke nine lan­guages flu­ent­ly.” Yet even such a “pro­lif­ic, ver­sa­tile, and high­ly intel­li­gent” man of let­ters faces writer’s block now and again.

Take the Rolling Stone think­piece Burgess could­n’t man­age to write in 1973. Con­ced­ing defeat — “things are hell here,” he wrote of his life in Rome at the time — he offered the mag­a­zine “a 50,000-word novel­la I’ve just fin­ished, all about the con­di­tion humaine, etc.” in its place. Sure­ly his edi­tor would under­stand? Alas, unluck­i­ly for Burgess, his edi­tor turned out to be one Hunter S. Thomp­son, who fired back the char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly blunt but elo­quent­ly vit­ri­olic reply you see here:

Dear Mr. Burgess,

Herr Wen­ner has for­ward­ed your use­less let­ter from Rome to the Nation­al Affairs Desk for my exam­i­na­tion and/or reply.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, we have no Inter­na­tion­al Gib­ber­ish Desk, or it would have end­ed up there.

What kind of lame, half-mad bull­shit are you try­ing to sneak over on us? When Rolling Stone asks for “a think­piece”, god­damnit, we want a fuck­ing Think­piece… and don’t try to weasel out with any of your limey bull­shit about a “50,000 word novel­la about the con­di­tion humaine, etc…”

Do you take us for a gang of brain­less lizards? Rich hood­lums? Dilet­tante thugs?

You lazy cock­suck­er. I want that Think­piece on my desk by Labor Day. And I want it ready for press. The time has come & gone when cheap­jack scum like you can get away with the kind of scams you got rich from in the past.

Get your worth­less ass out of the piaz­za and back to the type­writer. Your type is a dime a dozen around here, Burgess, and I’m fucked if I’m going to stand for it any longer.

Sin­cere­ly,

Hunter S Thomp­son

“The desired think­piece nev­er appeared in the pages of Rolling Stone,” writes the Inter­na­tion­al Antho­ny Burgess Foun­da­tion’s Gra­ham Fos­ter, “but the essay referred to in these let­ters, ‘The Clock­work Con­di­tion’, was even­tu­al­ly pub­lished in the New York­er in 2012.” In it, Burgess recalls the ori­gins of his best-known nov­el and con­sid­ers the caus­es of the soci­etal con­for­mi­ty he took as one of his themes, arriv­ing at the Orwellian notion that “the bur­den of mak­ing one’s own choic­es is, for many peo­ple, intol­er­a­ble. To be tied to the neces­si­ty of decid­ing for one­self is to be a slave to one’s will.”

That goes for “where to eat, whom to vote for, what to wear” — and, of course, for what to write a think­piece about as well as how to write it. “It is eas­i­er to be told,” Burgess writes. “Smoke Hale — nine­ty per cent less tar; read this nov­el, sev­en­ty-five weeks on the best-sell­er list; don’t see that movie, it’s art­sy-shmart­sy.” He even remem­bers, with a cer­tain fond­ness, his time in the army: “At first I resent­ed the dis­ci­pline, the removal of even min­i­mal lib­er­ty,” but “soon my reduc­tion to a piece of clock­work began to please me, soothe me.” Fair to say, though, that no mat­ter how demand­ing the offi­cers above him, the expe­ri­ence did­n’t pre­pare Burgess for a supe­ri­or like Thomp­son.

via More Let­ters of Note and Esquire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 10 Free Arti­cles by Hunter S. Thomp­son That Span His Gonzo Jour­nal­ist Career (1965–2005)

Read 18 Lost Sto­ries From Hunter S. Thompson’s For­got­ten Stint As a For­eign Cor­re­spon­dent

Hunter S. Thomp­son, Exis­ten­tial­ist Life Coach, Gives Tips for Find­ing Mean­ing in Life

Hunter S. Thompson’s Ball­sy & Hilar­i­ous Job Appli­ca­tion Let­ter (1958)

John­ny Depp Reads Let­ters from Hunter S. Thomp­son

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

478 Dorothea Lange Photographs Poignantly Document the Internment of the Japanese During WWII

Lange 1

“This is what we did. How did it hap­pen? How could we?” –Dorothea Lange

The idea sounds coun­ter­in­tu­itive giv­en the vio­lence we read about dai­ly, but it is per­haps pos­si­ble that human soci­eties are slow­ly out­grow­ing xeno­pho­bia and war, as Har­vard psy­chol­o­gist and lin­guist Steven Pinker has argued exten­sive­ly. It’s also pos­si­ble that Pinker’s view is an “arti­cle of faith” rather than fact. In any case, we can at least be heart­ened by one thing: If we do become bet­ter at learn­ing from the past than repeat­ing it, the pri­ma­ry doc­u­ments will not have dis­ap­peared into a mem­o­ry hole. The very same tech­nolo­gies that spread fear, big­otry, and dis­in­for­ma­tion across the globe also enable us to unearth humanity’s long his­to­ry of bad deci­sion-mak­ing and pre­serve the evi­dence in wide­ly-acces­si­ble online archives.

Lange 5

One such archive, the Den­sho Dig­i­tal Repos­i­to­ry, con­tains “his­toric pho­tographs, doc­u­ments, news­pa­pers, let­ters and oth­er pri­ma­ry source mate­ri­als” from the his­to­ry of the Japan­ese in America—including, of course, a par­tic­u­lar­ly regret­table his­tor­i­cal episode, the intern­ment of Japan­ese Amer­i­cans dur­ing WWII, a grim polit­i­cal expe­di­ent that offers lessons today to those who choose to learn them. Promi­nent among the archives’ many doc­u­ments from the peri­od is the Dorothea Lange Col­lec­tion, almost 500 images tak­en by the famous pho­tog­ra­ph­er of “the many dif­fer­ent stages of mass removal and incar­cer­a­tion” of Japan­ese Amer­i­cans in Cal­i­for­nia. The pho­tographs (recent­ly high­light­ed on Kottke.org) fea­ture orig­i­nal cap­tions writ­ten by Lange that con­tex­tu­al­ize the sub­jects and some­times pro­vide their names and a few bio­graph­i­cal details.

Lange 3

The lives of Japan­ese internees were in fact doc­u­ment­ed by not one, but two famous Amer­i­can pho­tog­ra­phers, Lange and Ansel Adams. How­ev­er, Adams—whose pho­to­graph­ic series we fea­tured in a pre­vi­ous post—gained access to an intern­ment camp in the foothills of the Sier­ra Nevadas on his own, through a friend­ship with the camp’s war­den. Lange, on the oth­er hand, snapped sev­er­al hun­dred pho­tographs while on offi­cial assign­ment with the War Relo­ca­tion Author­i­ty. In 1942, the gov­ern­ment hired her to doc­u­ment the removal and impris­on­ment of over 100,000 Japan­ese Amer­i­cans in camps across the state.

Lange 11

Lange’s pho­tographs, writes Densho’s blog, have helped shape “the col­lec­tive mem­o­ry of Japan­ese Amer­i­can removal.” Despite the restric­tions placed on her by the authorities—Lange could not shoot images of barbed wire, bay­o­nets, or guard towers—“she man­aged to pro­duce a body of work that at once cap­tured the inhu­mane actions of the U.S. gov­ern­ment and the human­i­ty of the indi­vid­u­als being forced to leave their lives behind for the ‘crime’ of Japan­ese ances­try.”

Lange 13

Her pho­tographs are “seem­ing­ly unstaged and unlight­ed,” writes Dini­tia Smith in a New York Times review of Impound­ed, a book fea­tur­ing many of the close to 800 pho­tographs Lange took, most of which were only recent­ly dis­cov­ered at the Nation­al Archives, “where they had lain neglect­ed for a half-cen­tu­ry after hav­ing been impound­ed by the gov­ern­ment.” Best known for her pho­tos of Dust Bowl farm work­ers, Lange, writes schol­ar Megan Asa­ka at Den­sho, “was an odd choice, giv­en her left­ist pol­i­tics and strong sym­pa­thy for vic­tims of racial dis­crim­i­na­tion.” She was “appalled by the forced exile” and “con­fid­ed to a Quak­er pro­test­er that she was guilt strick­en to be work­ing for a fed­er­al gov­ern­ment that could treat its cit­i­zens so unjust­ly.” She took on the assign­ment “to accu­rate­ly record what the Japan­ese Amer­i­cans were under­go­ing,” but apart from “a few pho­tos that reached the pub­lic,” most of her work didn’t see the light of day for decades.

Lange 8

“What the mil­i­tary want­ed from her,” explains his­to­ri­an Lin­da Gor­don in a PBS doc­u­men­tary on Lange’s assign­ment, “was a set of pho­tographs to illus­trate that they weren’t per­se­cut­ing or tor­tur­ing these peo­ple who they evac­u­at­ed.” Gor­don, who co-edit­ed Impound­ed, notes in the book that the pho­tos “tell us that con­di­tions in the camps were much worse than most peo­ple think.” It’s hard not to be remind­ed of anoth­er, more har­row­ing, forced removal hap­pen­ing a con­ti­nent away as we see Lange’s images of Japan­ese Amer­i­can fam­i­lies forced to aban­don their homes and stores, fill out reg­is­tra­tion paper­work, gath­er their belong­ings in suit­cas­es, and board trains and bus­es en masse with num­bered tags around their necks.

Lange 10

What await­ed the internees at the camps were mil­i­tary-style bar­racks, libraries, rudi­men­ta­ry schools, and “tar-paper shacks where they endured bru­tal heat and bit­ter cold, filth, dust and open sew­ers,” writes Smith. Some internees were housed in for­mer horse stalls and many endured cav­i­ty search­es and oth­er humil­i­at­ing indig­ni­ties, as well as dai­ly fear and anx­i­ety about their even­tu­al fates. Lange’s pho­tographs, how­ev­er, “pow­er­ful­ly con­test the gov­ern­ment pro­pa­gan­da and hate­ful rhetoric aimed at vil­i­fy­ing Japan­ese Amer­i­cans,” writes Den­sho: “Often shot from a low angle, Lange places her sub­jects on a visu­al pedestal. She restores some dig­ni­ty in a moment when, many admit, they felt they had none.”

Lange 4

Unlike Ansel Adams’ fas­ci­nat­ing pho­tos, which are restrict­ed to the con­fines of one camp, Lange’s doc­u­ment the internees entire jour­ney from free­dom to impris­on­ment, as well as the respons­es of many Japan­ese Amer­i­cans to their new sta­tus as inter­nal ene­mies of the state. One shop own­er, “a Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia grad­u­ate of Japan­ese descent,” Lange not­ed, placed the sign you see above on his closed store­front.

lange4-780x350

All of the pho­tographs in the Den­sho archive are now in the pub­lic domain and can be freely used for any pur­pose. Lange, I imag­ine, would hope they force us to reflect on the futile insan­i­ty of demo­niz­ing entire pop­u­la­tions and turn­ing on fel­low cit­i­zens in times of war, xeno­pho­bic fer­vor and polit­i­cal oppor­tunism.

Lange 9

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

200 Ansel Adams Pho­tographs Expose the Rig­ors of Life in Japan­ese Intern­ment Camps Dur­ing WW II

Yale Launch­es an Archive of 170,000 Pho­tographs Doc­u­ment­ing the Great Depres­sion

1,000+ Haunt­ing & Beau­ti­ful Pho­tos of Native Amer­i­can Peo­ples, Shot by the Ethno­g­ra­ph­er Edward S. Cur­tis (Cir­ca 1905)

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

10 Digital Editions of Surrealist Journals from Argentina, Chile & Spain (1928–67)

surrealist journals

Fans of mag­i­cal real­ism know that Latin Amer­i­can writ­ers seem to pos­sess a unique mas­tery of the tra­di­tion, and any­one who thinks of sur­re­al­ism in visu­al art will soon think of Sal­vador Dalí, who began and end­ed his dis­tinc­tive career in his native Spain. Why have Span­ish-speak­ing cul­tures proven so con­ducive to the kinds of cre­ativ­i­ty that bend real­i­ty just enough to make a deep and last­ing impact on their audi­ence? Those search­ing for answers would do well to look through the Autonomous Uni­ver­si­ty of Madrid’s dig­i­tal trove of Span­ish, Chilean, and Argen­tine sur­re­al­ist jour­nals from 1928–76.

Surrealism 2

They all appear as part of an inves­tiga­tive project whose name trans­lates to “Toward a Char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of His­pan­ic Sur­re­al­ism.” The archive includes, from Argenti­na:

From Chile:

And from Spain:

Surrealism 1

When you click on one of the mag­a­zines in the archive, the site will take you to a page with more infor­ma­tion describ­ing the mag­a­zine as well as plac­ing it in the prop­er his­tor­i­cal and cul­tur­al con­text of sur­re­al­is­m’s his­to­ry. (Non-Span­ish-speak­ers can get some trans­la­tion if they view the page with Google Chrome.) From there, you can click on an indi­vid­ual issue to read it.

Surrealism 3

As you flip through these records of an artis­ti­cal­ly fas­ci­nat­ing time in a series of places well suit­ed to it, you’ll get a sense of how much the dis­course var­ied even just with­in the realm of Span­ish-speak­ing sur­re­al­ists: some have a more play­ful tone while oth­ers have a more seri­ous one (though mix­ing the two did become some­thing of a sur­re­al­ist spe­cial­ty); some look out to the rest of the world while oth­ers look inward; and some come filled with strik­ing illus­tra­tions while oth­ers stick to the analy­sis of rel­e­vant ideas through text — and lots of it.

OC surrealist journals 3

Even though the most recent of these pub­li­ca­tions came off the press­es near­ly half a cen­tu­ry ago, any vis­i­tor to Spain, Argen­tine, or Chile, as well as oth­er coun­tries in the His­panophone world, will find they still have a cer­tain sur­re­al­is­tic sen­si­bil­i­ty to them. Long may they retain it.

via Mono­skop, an always inter­est­ing resource that you can fol­low on Twit­ter.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Restored Ver­sion of Un Chien Andalou: Luis Buñuel & Sal­vador Dalí’s Sur­re­al Film (1929)

David Lynch Presents the His­to­ry of Sur­re­al­ist Film (1987)

Sal­vador Dalí’s Avant-Garde Christ­mas Cards

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Radio Caroline, the Pirate Radio Ship That Rocked the British Music World (1965)

Nowa­days musi­cians can reach hun­dreds, thou­sands, some­times mil­lions of lis­ten­ers with a few, usu­al­ly free, online ser­vices and a min­i­mal grasp of tech­nol­o­gy. That’s not to say there aren’t still eco­nom­ic bar­ri­ers aplen­ty for the strug­gling artist, but true inde­pen­dence is not an impos­si­ble prospect.

In the 1950s and 60s, on the oth­er hand, as pop­u­lar music attained new­found com­mer­cial val­ue, musi­cians found them­selves com­plete­ly behold­en to record com­pa­nies and radio sta­tions in order to have their music heard by near­ly any­one. And those enti­ties schemed togeth­er to pro­mote cer­tain record­ings and ignore or mar­gin­al­ize oth­ers. Pay­ola, in a word, ruled the day.

In the UK, a dif­fer­ent but no less impreg­nable order pre­sent­ed itself to the aspir­ing obscu­ri­ty. Rather than cor­po­rate inter­ests and well-bribed DJs, the BBC and British gov­ern­ment, writes the Modesto Radio Muse­um, “were increas­ing­ly hos­tile toward any com­pe­ti­tion for their radio monop­oly.” (After WWII, the British Broad­cast­ing Ser­vice main­tained a monop­oly on radio, and lat­er tele­vi­sion, broad­cast­ing in the UK.) Enter the pirates.

While the phrase now denotes a class of free­boot­ers who work from their ter­mi­nals, the orig­i­nal music pirates actu­al­ly took to the seas. The first, Radio Mer­cur, “estab­lished by a group of Dan­ish busi­ness­men” in 1958, “trans­mit­ted from a small ship anchored off Copen­hagen, Den­mark.” Mer­cur inspired Radio Nord in 1960, anchored off the Swedish Coast, then the Dutch Radio Veron­i­ca that same year.

Then, in 1962, Irish man­ag­er Ronan O’Rahilly met Aus­tralian busi­ness­man Allan Craw­ford. O’Rahilly had pre­vi­ous­ly attempt­ed to launch the career of musi­cian Georgie Fame, but to no avail. Record com­pa­nies would­n’t record him, and when O’Rahilly fund­ed an album, the BBC refused to play it—he wasn’t on their favored labels, EMI and Dec­ca. So O’Rahilly and Craw­ford con­spired to cre­ate their own pirate sta­tion, Radio Car­o­line (named after the daugh­ter of John F. Kennedy).

They pur­chased their first ship, the MV Mi Ami­go, in 1963, then set about secur­ing funds and rig­ging up the ves­sel with two 10 Kilo­watt AM trans­mit­ters and a 13-ton, 165 foot anten­na mast. Broad­cast­ing from 6am to 6pm dai­ly, Radio Car­o­line man­aged to break the BBC monop­oly (and launch Georgie Fame to… well actu­al, chart-top­ping fame). In 1965, a British Pathé film crew vis­it­ed the ship, and shot the footage at the top of the post, not­ing in their nar­ra­tion that “for over a year,” Radio Car­o­line had “giv­en pop music to some­thing like 20 mil­lion lis­ten­ers,” chang­ing British pop cul­ture “with the con­nivance of almost every teenag­er in South­east Eng­land.”

The sta­tion kicked off their first broad­cast, which you can hear above, on East­er Sun­day, March 1964, with the announce­ment, “This is Radio Car­o­line on 199, your all day music sta­tion.” The very first tune they played was the Rolling Stones’ cov­er of Bud­dy Hol­ly’s “Not Fade Away” (one of the band’s first major hits). In the mid-60s pirate radio, par­tic­u­lar­ly Radio Car­o­line, helped break a num­ber of bands, intro­duc­ing eager young lis­ten­ers to The Who’s first four sin­gles, for exam­ple. (The band returned the favor by attempt­ing to give 1967’s The Who Sell Out the raw sound and feel of a pirate radio broad­cast.)

Learn more about Radio Caroline’s long and sto­ried exis­tence in the doc­u­men­tary seg­ment fur­ther up, Part 6 of DMC World’s com­pre­hen­sive The His­to­ry of DJ. The Modesto Radio Museum’s thor­ough, mul­ti­part essay series, com­plete with pho­tographs, offers a rich his­to­ry, as does Ray Clark’s book, Radio Car­o­line: The True Sto­ry of the Boat that Rocked. “The world’s most famous off­shore radio sta­tion,” is still on the air today (even though the orig­i­nal ship sank in 1980) or rather, on the web, with stream­ing pro­grams and “gad­gets and wid­gets” for Android devices, iPhones, iPads, and browsers.

It’s some­thing of an irony that they’ve end­ed up just one of hun­dreds of online stream­ing sta­tions vying for lis­ten­ers’ atten­tion, but it’s safe to say that with­out their exploits in the 60s and beyond, pop music as we know it—with all its legal and not-so-legal means of dissemination—may nev­er have spread and evolved into the myr­i­ad forms we now take for grant­ed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the 1962 Bea­t­les Demo that Dec­ca Reject­ed: “Gui­tar Groups are on Their Way Out, Mr. Epstein”

David Bowie Becomes a DJ on BBC Radio in 1979; Intro­duces Lis­ten­ers to The Vel­vet Under­ground, Talk­ing Heads, Blondie & More

Jimi Hen­drix Wreaks Hav­oc on the Lulu Show, Gets Banned From BBC (1969)

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

Mad Magazine’s Al Jaffee & Other Cartoonists Create Animations to End Distracted Driving

Mod­el Ts were the aver­age American’s car of choice in 1921, when car­toon­ist Al Jaf­fee was born.

The father of MAD Mag­a­zine’s fold-ins was but sev­en when the T’s suc­ces­sor, the Mod­el A, was intro­duced.

It would be a long time before such inno­va­tions as seat belts, baby seats, and airbags were intro­duced. These safe­ty mea­sures do a fine job of min­i­miz­ing human dam­age in motor vehi­cle acci­dents, but they can’t pre­vent the col­li­sions them­selves.

To rem­e­dy this, Ford, the com­pa­ny respon­si­ble for the Mod­el T and hun­dreds of motor vehi­cles since, recent­ly enlist­ed Jaf­fee and his fel­low car­toon­ists, MK Brown and Bill Plymp­ton, to edu­cate the pub­lic on the dan­gers of dis­tract­ed dri­ving. Turns out this pre­ventable scourge rivals intox­i­ca­tion and haz­ardous road con­di­tions as a lead­ing cause of acci­dents.

Jaffee’s take, ani­mat­ed by J.J. Sedel­maier, above, will nev­er be mis­tak­en for film­mak­er Wern­er Her­zog’s har­row­ing anti-tex­ting doc­u­men­tary PSA, From One Sec­ond to the Next, or even Jaffee’s own anti-drunk dri­ving fold-in from MAD’s March 1975 issue.

Instead, he offers a gen­tle, child-friend­ly metaphor in which an uncaged bird becomes a hav­oc-wreak­ing dis­trac­tion. (For­tu­nate­ly, everyone’s wear­ing his seat­belt, and the lit­tle boy is rid­ing in back, in com­pli­ance with CDC rec­om­men­da­tions.)

Nation­al Lam­poon alum, Brown, tip­toes clos­er to the true caus­es of dis­trac­tion, with the alien-themed seg­ment, above, also ani­mat­ed by Sedel­maier. If it seems like­li­er that the alien’s earth­ling wife might do her hen­peck­ing via text rather than actu­al call these days—well, some­times dra­mat­ic lib­er­ties are war­rant­ed to get the mes­sage across.

Unsur­pris­ing­ly, Plympton’s self-ani­mat­ed con­tri­bu­tion is the most graph­ic, a direct descen­dent of his fab­u­lous­ly grotesque car­toon primers 25 Ways To Quit Smok­ing and How To Kiss. Moral? Assum­ing you want to keep your teeth in your head, the veg­etable mat­ter wedged in between can wait ’til you reach your des­ti­na­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wern­er Herzog’s Eye-Open­ing New Film Reveals the Dan­gers of Tex­ting While Dri­ving

Al Jaf­fee, the Longest Work­ing Car­toon­ist in His­to­ry, Shows How He Invent­ed the Icon­ic “Folds-Ins” for Mad Mag­a­zine

Read­ing While Dri­ving, Seri­ous­ly?

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky. Her plan for avoid­ing acci­dents is to refrain from dri­ving when­ev­er pos­si­ble. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Learning How to Learn: The Most Popular MOOC of All Time

When MOOCs (Mas­sive Open Online Cours­es) first start­ed mak­ing head­lines in 2012, we read sto­ries about thou­sands of peo­ple enrolling in cours­es on Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence and Com­put­er Sci­ence. Since then, the MOOC providers have dou­bled down on pro­mot­ing tech­ni­cal and util­i­tar­i­an courses–courses that will get stu­dents jobs, and even­tu­al­ly make the MOOC providers mon­ey. Peruse this list of the 50 most pop­u­lar MOOCs of all time, and you’ll seen plen­ty of mar­ket-ori­ent­ed cours­es top­ping the list–e.g., #4) Intro­duc­tion to Finance #3) R Pro­gram­ming, and #2) Machine Learn­ing. But what’s the most pop­u­lar course? Some­thing not entire­ly career-focused. Some­thing not imme­di­ate­ly mon­e­ti­z­able. Some­thing that can ben­e­fit us all. Ladies and gen­tle­men, the #1 course, Learn­ing How to Learn: Pow­er­ful men­tal tools to help you mas­ter tough sub­jects.

Cre­at­ed by Bar­bara Oak­ley (Uni­ver­si­ty of Oak­land) and Ter­ry Sejnows­ki (the Salk Insti­tute), Learn­ing How to Learn uses neu­ro­science to fine-tune our abil­i­ty to learn. And the course is being offered again, start­ing today, through Cours­era. You can enroll here (the course is free) and read what ground the course will cov­er below.

This course gives you easy access to the invalu­able learn­ing tech­niques used by experts in art, music, lit­er­a­ture, math, sci­ence, sports, and many oth­er dis­ci­plines. We’ll learn about the how the brain uses two very dif­fer­ent learn­ing modes and how it encap­su­lates (“chunks”) infor­ma­tion. We’ll also cov­er illu­sions of learn­ing, mem­o­ry tech­niques, deal­ing with pro­cras­ti­na­tion, and best prac­tices shown by research to be most effec­tive in help­ing you mas­ter tough sub­jects. Using these approach­es, no mat­ter what your skill lev­els in top­ics you would like to mas­ter, you can change your think­ing and change your life. If you’re already an expert, this peep under the men­tal hood will give you ideas for: tur­bocharg­ing suc­cess­ful learn­ing, includ­ing counter-intu­itive test-tak­ing tips and insights that will help you make the best use of your time on home­work and prob­lem sets. If you’re strug­gling, you’ll see a struc­tured trea­sure trove of prac­ti­cal tech­niques that walk you through what you need to do to get on track. If you’ve ever want­ed to become bet­ter at any­thing, this course will help serve as your guide.

This course gives you easy access to the invalu­able learn­ing tech­niques used by experts in art, music, lit­er­a­ture, math, sci­ence, sports, and many oth­er dis­ci­plines. We’ll learn about the how the brain uses two very dif­fer­ent learn­ing modes and how it encap­su­lates (“chunks”) infor­ma­tion. We’ll also cov­er illu­sions of learn­ing, mem­o­ry tech­niques, deal­ing with pro­cras­ti­na­tion, and best prac­tices shown by research to be most effec­tive in help­ing you mas­ter tough sub­jects. Using these approach­es, no mat­ter what your skill lev­els in top­ics you would like to mas­ter, you can change your think­ing and change your life. If you’re already an expert, this peep under the men­tal hood will give you ideas for: tur­bocharg­ing suc­cess­ful learn­ing, includ­ing counter-intu­itive test-tak­ing tips and insights that will help you make the best use of your time on home­work and prob­lem sets. If you’re strug­gling, you’ll see a struc­tured trea­sure trove of prac­ti­cal tech­niques that walk you through what you need to do to get on track. If you’ve ever want­ed to become bet­ter at any­thing, this course will help serve as your guide.

To find reviews of Learn­ing How to Learn, vis­it Class Cen­tral. To keep tabs on new MOOCs, see our list of MOOCs from Great Uni­ver­si­ties.

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!

The Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter” Played by Musicians Around the World

There’s some­thing dark and apoc­a­lyp­tic about the Rolling Stones’ 1969 song, “Gimme Shel­ter”–from the lyrics (“Oh, a storm is threat’n­ing. My very life today. If I don’t get some shel­ter. Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away”), to the grim cir­cum­stances sur­round­ing the record­ing of the track, released on the album Let It Bleed. A sense of dread runs through­out the Stones’ orig­i­nal song. Less so the ver­sion above, cre­at­ed by the mul­ti­me­dia project Play­ing for Change, which strives to cre­ate world peace through music. Record­ed back in 2011, this cov­er brings togeth­er artists from around the world: India, Italy, Jamaica, Brazil, Mali, Sier­ra Leone, Sene­gal, and the US. And it’s just one of 21 songs that appears on the DVD/CD com­bo, Songs Around the World.  Oth­er videos by Play­ing for Change can be found in the Relat­eds below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mick Jag­ger Tells the Sto­ry Behind ‘Gimme Shel­ter’ and Mer­ry Clayton’s Haunt­ing Back­ground Vocals

The Grate­ful Dead’s “Rip­ple” Played by Musi­cians Around the World

When “Stand By Me” Trav­els Around the World


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