In a world of accelÂerÂatÂing obsoÂlesÂcence, of plasÂtic prodÂucts and digÂiÂtal inforÂmaÂtion, a few old-school craftsÂman are still hangÂing on. But they’re getÂting hardÂer and hardÂer to find. In this pair of short films we meet a few craftsÂmen on both sides of the Atlantic who are stubÂbornÂly perÂsistÂing while the world changes around them. Above is Ink & Paper by Ben ProudÂfoot, a stuÂdent at the UniÂverÂsiÂty of SouthÂern CalÂiÂforÂnia School of CinÂeÂmatÂic Arts. It tells the stoÂry of the men who run the last surÂvivÂing letÂterÂpress printÂing comÂpaÂny in downÂtown Los AngeÂles, and the oldÂest paper comÂpaÂny. Below is Le Mer de Pianos (The Sea of Pianos) by Tom WrigÂglesworth and MathÂieu CuveÂliÂer, about the man who has spent 28 years (the last 15 as ownÂer) runÂning the oldÂest piano repair shop in Paris.
The online bookÂseller Good Books donates 100 perÂcent of its retail profÂit to Oxfam’s charÂiÂty projects, which tells you the sense of moral “good” their name means to evoke. But what about the othÂer sense, the sense of “good” you’d use when telling a friend about a thrilling litÂerÂary expeÂriÂence? Good Books clearÂly have their own ideas about that as well, and if you’d call Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and MetaÂmorÂphoÂsis “good books,” you’re of the same mind they are. HavÂing comÂmisÂsioned a series of proÂmoÂtionÂal videos on the theme of Great WritÂers, Good Books show us the kind of readÂers they are by beginÂning it with an intriÂcateÂly aniÂmatÂed mash-up of the spirÂits of Franz KafÂka and Hunter S. ThompÂson. Under a buckÂet hat, behind aviÂaÂtor sunÂglassÂes, and deep into an altered menÂtal state, our narÂraÂtor feels the sudÂden, urgent need for a copy of Kafka’s MetaÂmorÂphoÂsis. UnwillÂing to make the purÂchase in “the great rivÂer of mediÂocÂrity,” he instead makes the buy from “a bunch of rose-tintÂed, willÂfulÂly deluÂsionÂal PollyanÂnas givÂing away all the monÂey they make — every guilt-ridÂden cent.”
The aniÂmaÂtion, creÂatÂed by a stuÂdio called Buck, should easÂiÂly meet the aesÂthetÂic demands of any viewÂer in their own altered state or lookÂing to get into one. Its ever-shiftÂing shapes both chase and anticÂiÂpate the words of the narÂraÂtor’s loopÂing, stagÂgerÂing monoÂlogue, comÂpleÂmentÂing the eeriÂly ThompÂsonÂian voice with wave after wave of trouÂblingÂly Kafkan imagery (at least, whenÂevÂer it setÂtles into recÂogÂnizÂable figÂures). AniÂmaÂtion enthuÂsiÂasts can learn more about the painstakÂing work that went into all of this in MotionoÂgÂraÂpher’s interÂview with BuckÂ’s creÂative direcÂtors. What, you wonÂder, was the hardÂest shot to aniÂmate? ProbÂaÂbly the one “with the tethÂered goat and hunÂdreds of beeÂtles,” they reply. Some fret about the increasÂing interÂminÂgling between comÂmerÂcials and the stranger, more raw, less salÂable arts, but if this at all repÂreÂsents the future of adverÂtiseÂments, for charÂiÂty stores or othÂerÂwise, I say bring on the goats and beeÂtles alike. via The Atlantic
The clip brings you back to the final interÂview and moments of the great filmÂmakÂer Orson Welles. On OctoÂber 10, 1985, Welles appeared on The Merv GrifÂfin Show. He had just turned 70 and, rather omiÂnousÂly, the conÂverÂsaÂtion brought Welles to take stock of his life. Again and again, the conÂverÂsaÂtion returned to aging and the decline of his lovers and friends. Just two hours latÂer, Welles would die of a heart attack at his home in Los AngeÂles. And gone was the talÂent who gave us CitÂiÂzen Kane, The Stranger (watch in full), and The TriÂal (ditÂto), not to menÂtion the famous War of the Worlds radio broadÂcast and great narÂraÂtions of works by PlaÂto, KafÂka and Melville…
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The great blueÂgrass banÂjo playÂer Earl ScrugÂgs died WednesÂday at the age of 88. ShortÂly afterÂward, Steve MarÂtin sent out a tweet callÂing ScrugÂgs the most imporÂtant banÂjo playÂer who ever lived. “Few playÂers have changed the way we hear an instruÂment the way Earl has,” wrote MarÂtin earÂliÂer this year in The New YorkÂer, “putting him in a catÂeÂgoÂry with Miles Davis, Louis ArmÂstrong, Chet Atkins, and Jimi HenÂdrix.”
MarÂtin writes of ScrugÂgs:
Some nights he had the stars of North CarÂoliÂna shootÂing from his finÂgerÂtips. Before him, no one had ever played the banÂjo like he did. After him, everyÂone played the banÂjo like he did, or at least tried. In 1945, when he first stood on the stage at the Ryman AudiÂtoÂriÂum in Nashville and played banÂjo the way no one had heard before, the audiÂence respondÂed with shouts, whoops, and ovaÂtions. He perÂformed tunes he wrote as well as songs they knew, with clarÂiÂty and speed like no one could imagÂine, except him. When the singer came to the end of a phrase, he filled the theÂatre with sparkling runs of notes that became a sigÂnaÂture for all blueÂgrass music since. He wore a suit and a StetÂson hat, and when he played he smiled at the audiÂence like what he was doing was effortÂless. There aren’t many earthÂquakes in TenÂnessee, but that night there was.
In NovemÂber of 2001 MarÂtin had the opporÂtuÂniÂty to play the banÂjo alongÂside his hero on the David LetÂterÂman show. (See above.) They played ScrugÂgs’s clasÂsic, “FogÂgy MounÂtain BreakÂdown,” with ScrugÂgs’s sons Randy on acoustic guiÂtar and Gary on HarÂmonÂiÂca, and a stelÂlar group that includÂed Vince Gill and Albert lee on elecÂtric guiÂtar, MarÂty StewÂart on manÂdolin, Glen DunÂcan on fidÂdle, JerÂry DouÂglas on Dobro, Glenn Wolf on bass, HarÂry StinÂson on drums, Leon RusÂsell on organ and Paul ShafÂfer on piano.
DependÂing on which cirÂcles you run in, you might have first spotÂted singer-songÂwriter-actor Glen Hansard as the leader of the rock band The Frames, as an actor in Alan ParkÂer’s film The ComÂmitÂments, or, more recentÂly, as one half of the folk-rock duo The Swell SeaÂson. But if the sucÂcess of John CarÂney’s movie Once is anyÂthing to go by, you may well have become aware of Glen Hansard while watchÂing it. CarÂney, The Frames’ forÂmer bassist, knew that Hansard had accuÂmuÂlatÂed just the kind stoÂries in his youth spent buskÂing around Dublin to shape his film’s down-and-out musiÂcian proÂtagÂoÂnist. By shootÂing time, Hansard had takÂen on the role himÂself, ensurÂing that a whole new, large audiÂence would soon learn of a secÂond inimÂitable Irish voice to put on their playlists.
The first, of course, would have to be Van MorÂriÂson, whose artisÂtic capÂtiÂvaÂtion of genÂerÂaÂtions of lisÂtenÂers extends to Hansard himÂself. InvitÂed to MorÂrison’s birthÂday parÂty by a GuinÂness heiress whom he befriendÂed while buskÂing, Hansard seized the chance to get near his favorite singer. Like some brave fans, he found a way to approach the reputÂedÂly brusque and temÂperaÂmenÂtal MorÂriÂson. Unlike most of those fans, Hansard’s expeÂriÂence turned into a uniqueÂly close and perÂsonÂal one. Watch the clip from Kevin PolÂlak’s Chat Show below and hear him tell the stoÂry of how he inadÂverÂtentÂly parÂlayed a brushed-off song request (“You don’t know me!” was MorÂrison’s devÂasÂtatÂing disÂmissal) into an entire night spent exchangÂing songs alone with his musiÂcal idol.
Hansard likens this memÂoÂry to one of “jamÂming with a BeaÂtÂle,” before corÂrectÂing himÂself: “No, betÂter than a BeaÂtÂle — it’s Van MorÂriÂson!” Though Hansard hails from Dublin and MorÂriÂson from Belfast — the root of such innate difÂferÂence, Hansard explains, that he can’t even imiÂtate MorÂrison’s accent — it seems only to make good sense that the two artists could engage in such a brief yet intense conÂnecÂtion. Despite comÂing from sepÂaÂrate genÂerÂaÂtions and subÂculÂtures, these two immeÂdiÂateÂly recÂogÂnizÂable Irish musiÂcians sound posÂsessed of, or posÂsessed by, someÂthing unusuÂal. In both casÂes, their pecuÂliarÂly expresÂsive vocal and rhythÂmic enerÂgies defy easy descripÂtion. In his book When That Rough God Goes RidÂing: LisÂtenÂing to Van MorÂriÂson, critÂic Greil MarÂcus describes this qualÂiÂty in MorÂriÂson as “the yarragh.” LisÂten to the covÂer of MorÂrison’s “Astral Weeks” above and wonÂder: what to call it in Hansard? H/T MetafilÂter
Last week, the Albert EinÂstein Archive went online, bringÂing thouÂsands of the physiÂcist’s papers and letÂters to the web. This week, we get the launch of the NelÂson ManÂdela DigÂiÂtal Archive, which makes availÂable thouÂsands of papers belongÂing to the man who galÂvaÂnized the anti-apartheid moveÂment in South Africa, before evenÂtuÂalÂly becomÂing the leader of the nation. (Don’t miss his first recordÂed TV interÂview from 1961 here.)
Made posÂsiÂble by a $1.25 milÂlion grant from Google, the archive orgaÂnizes ManÂdeÂla’s papers chronoÂlogÂiÂcalÂly and theÂmatÂiÂcalÂly. You can jump into secÂtions covÂerÂing his EarÂly Life, Prison Years, and PresÂiÂdenÂtial Years, or explore his extenÂsive book colÂlecÂtions and work with youngÂsters. And, much like EinÂstein, you’ll get to know a difÂferÂent side of ManÂdela, the priÂvate side that was often hidÂden from pubÂlic view.
We had to do it. We had to bring back a wonÂderÂful litÂtle aniÂmaÂtion of The Bayeux TapesÂtry — you know, the famous embroiÂdery that offers a picÂtoÂrÂiÂal interÂpreÂtaÂtion of the NorÂman ConÂquest of EngÂland (1066) and the events leadÂing up to this pivÂotal moment in medieval hisÂtoÂry. CurÂrentÂly residÂing in France, the tapesÂtry meaÂsures 20 inchÂes by 230 feet, and you can now see an aniÂmatÂed verÂsion of the stoÂry it narÂrates. The clip above starts roughÂly halfway through the hisÂtorÂiÂcal narÂraÂtive, with the appearÂance of HalÂley’s Comet, and it conÂcludes with the BatÂtle of HastÂings in 1066. The video creÂatÂed by David NewÂton began as a stuÂdent project at GoldÂsmiths ColÂlege.
DurÂing the late 1990s, when the interÂnet first boomed, we talked a lot about creÂative destrucÂtion — about how old busiÂnessÂes would colÂlapse, makÂing way for new ones to emerge. And, indeed, comÂpaÂnies like AmaÂzon, Dell.com, and eBay changed the way we buy our books, comÂputÂers and everyÂday items. Years latÂer, we’re seeÂing new interÂnet techÂnoloÂgies changÂing the arts world. KickÂstarter, a platÂform that uses crowdÂsourcÂing to fund creÂative projects, may evenÂtuÂalÂly bring more fundÂing to the arts than the NEA, proÂvidÂing supÂport for countÂless new artists. CreÂative ComÂmons and its libÂerÂatÂing copyÂright regime already lets artists disÂtribÂute their creÂative works to the broadÂest audiÂence posÂsiÂble. And The CreÂators Project, a globÂal arts iniÂtiaÂtive creÂatÂed by Intel and Vice, is redefinÂing our conÂcept of the art stuÂdio and art exhiÂbiÂtion. That’s the stoÂry told by Art in the Era of the InterÂnet, a video creÂatÂed by PBS’ Off Book web series.
SpeakÂing of CreÂative ComÂmons, the CalÂiÂforÂnia nonÂprofÂit (along with the U.S. DepartÂment of EduÂcaÂtion and the Open SociÂety InstiÂtute) has launched the Why Open EduÂcaÂtion MatÂters Video ComÂpeÂtiÂtion. The comÂpeÂtiÂtion will award cash prizes for the best short videos explainÂing the use of Open EduÂcaÂtionÂal Resources and the opporÂtuÂniÂties these mateÂriÂals creÂate for teachÂers, stuÂdents and schools. CreÂate a great video (by June 5th) and you can win $25,000. Get more details at WhyOpenEdMatters.org
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