Watch Tom Waits, Bill Murray, and Other Modern Bards Read Some of Your Favorite Classic Poems

Long before the print­ing press, before parch­ment and papyrus, poet­ry was a strict­ly oral form. Many of the fea­tures we asso­ciate with verse—rhyme, meter, rep­e­ti­tion, and extend­ed sim­i­les—orig­i­nat­ed as mnemon­ic devices for poets and their audi­ences in times when bards com­posed extem­po­ra­ne­ous­ly from pre­de­ter­mined for­mu­las. And while the image of the Home­r­ic poet, strum­ming a lyre and nar­rat­ing the deeds of gods and heroes seems quaint, poet­ry is still very much an oral art, in cul­tures tra­di­tion­al and mod­ern. Right this very moment, in cities across the world, poets and audi­ences gath­er in bars, cafes, book­stores, tem­ples, and libraries to hear poems spo­ken, rapped, sung, chant­ed, etc.

But we no longer assign to the poet god-like pow­er and fame. Those acco­lades are now reserved for actors and musi­cians. And while poets are often per­fect­ly good read­ers of their own work, some­times there’s noth­ing so excit­ing as hear­ing the utter­ly dis­tinc­tive voice of, say, James Earl Jones or Antho­ny Hop­kins, turn­ing over the words of a favorite poem, mak­ing them rum­ble and rus­tle in ways they nev­er did flat on the page. So today we bring you some mod­ern gods read­ing the ancient form, begin­ning with the great, grav­el-voiced Tom Waits, who reads the great, grav­el-voiced Charles Bukowski’s “The Laugh­ing Heart” (top, full text here). A more per­fect union of read­er and poet you may nev­er find.

Also above, watch my favorite com­ic actor, and prob­a­bly yours, Bill Mur­ray, read my favorite arcane mod­ernist poet, Wal­lace Stevens. Mur­ray reads Steven’s “The Plan­et on the Table” and “The Rab­bit as the King of Ghosts” (Orig­i­nal text here and here). His unaf­fect­ed Mid­west­ern voice sounds noth­ing like Steven’s posh East­ern bari­tone, but he brings to the poems a gen­uine ten­der­ness that Stevens’ read­ings lack.

Final­ly, the unmis­tak­able voice of Sean Con­nery (backed by the music of Van­ge­lis) beau­ti­ful­ly con­veys the epic jour­ney of C.P. Cavafy’s “Itha­ca” (above, full text here). These are but three exam­ples of the art of actors read­ing poets. Below, you’ll find sev­er­al oth­ers, along with a cou­ple of writers—Tennessee Williams and Harold Bloom—thrown in for good mea­sure. Hear­ing poet­ry read, and read well, cre­ates space in a widen­ing sea of dis­trac­tions for that most ancient of human crafts.

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

Three University Projects Use Twitter to Understand Happiness, Hate and Other Emotions in America

It turns out that the fleet­ing pro­nounce­ments we post on Twit­ter are cat­nip for aca­d­e­mics and oth­ers eager to find the elu­sive pulse of Amer­i­can soci­ety. Since Twit­ter launched in 2006, researchers have been hard at work fig­ur­ing out how to turn those 140-char­ac­ter mus­ings into tea leaves with some­thing mean­ing­ful to say about us all.

Here come three new projects that claim to pro­vide a win­dow into the Amer­i­can soul through Twit­ter. Whether they suc­ceed or not, well, that’s still unclear. (And, by the way, you can start fol­low­ing Open Cul­ture on Twit­ter here.)

Most fever­ish­ly excit­ed about its work are the team behind the Glob­al Twit­ter Heart­beat, which so far focus­es most­ly on the Unit­ed States. With the help of a huge SGI proces­sor to process a live feed of pub­lic social media data, a team of researchers from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Illi­nois at Urbana-Cham­paign has made a heat map to show how peo­ple react (through Twit­ter) to big events.

They looked at two things: Hur­ri­cane Sandy (top) and the 2012 Pres­i­den­tial Elec­tion (above). Using Twitter’s “gar­den hose feed”—a ran­dom sam­pling of 10 per­cent of the rough­ly 500 mil­lion tweets sent every day—researchers col­or-cod­ed tweets red for neg­a­tive tone and blue for pos­i­tive and showed the shift­ing con­cen­tra­tions of Twit­ter activ­i­ty across the coun­try. It looks like a map of a talk­ing weath­er sys­tem as occa­sion­al dia­logue box­es open up to show rep­re­sen­ta­tive tweets. Researcher Kalev Lee­taru argues that track­ing Twit­ter activ­i­ty gives us the poten­tial to track the heart­beat of soci­ety.

geographyofhate

Two oth­er projects look in an on-going way at tweet “tone,” or the negativity/positivity of mes­sages. One spin on this research is the Geo­graph­ic Hate Map (sam­ple map above), a project by Dr. Mon­i­ca Stephens of Hum­boldt State Uni­ver­si­ty in North­ern Cal­i­for­nia. To begin their work, Stephens and her team accessed a mas­sive data­base of geo­graph­i­cal­ly tagged tweets sent between June, 2012  and April, 2013.

They used only tweets that con­tained any of ten “hate words.” They read each tweet to be sure the words were used in a neg­a­tive way and built a map based on where the tweets came from. Then they aggre­gat­ed to the coun­ty lev­el and nor­mal­ized for the amount of twit­ter traf­fic in that area so that dense­ly pop­u­lat­ed areas don’t look more racist or homo­pho­bic by default.

Then there’s the glass half full. The Hedo­nome­ter mea­sures hap­pi­ness, or lack there­of, as expressed by tweets, cal­cu­lat­ing aver­ages based on what the researchers call “word shifts” (watch an expla­na­tion above). This research project, put togeth­er by the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ver­mont Com­plex Sys­tems Cen­ter, uses the same gar­den hose feed as the Glob­al Twit­ter Heart­beat. This project search­es for fre­quent­ly used words to mea­sure how good a day Twit­ter users are hav­ing. Since 2008 the Hedo­nome­ter has kept track of how often words like “hap­py,” “yes,” and “love” pop up in tweets, as opposed to “hate,” “no,” and “unhap­py.” The sad­dest day on Hedo­nome­ter record so far is April 15, 2013, the day bombs explod­ed at the Boston Marathon fin­ish line. Christ­mas Day tends to rank as the hap­pi­est day of the year.

To be sure, any tool that uses tweets for data is mea­sur­ing a very young and spe­cif­ic sub­group of peo­ple. Tweets are not a reli­able mea­sure of any­thing, real­ly, but maybe with some tweak­ing, these research mod­els will come up with some­thing inter­est­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Data Visu­al­iza­tion: How to Tell Com­plex Sto­ries Through Smart Design

Watch a Cool and Creepy Visu­al­iza­tion of U.S. Births & Deaths in Real-Time

An Ani­mat­ed Visu­al­iza­tion of Every Observed Mete­orite That Has Hit Earth Since 861 AD

Kate Rix writes about edu­ca­tion and dig­i­tal media. Fol­low dai­ly ups and downs on Twit­ter @mskaterix.

Ricky Gervais Presents “Learn Guitar with David Brent”

To help cel­e­brate YouTube’s first Com­e­dy Week, Ricky Ger­vais has revived David Brent, the bum­bling “Region­al Man­ag­er” that ran the Wern­ham Hogg Paper Com­pa­ny in the UK ver­sion of The Office. Although the sit­com pre­sent­ed him as the ‘boss from hell,’ Brent fan­cied him­self “a philoso­pher to rival Descartes, a musi­cian to rival Texas, a dancer to rival MC Ham­mer.” And a “bril­liant singer-song­writer” too. Per­haps you’ll remem­ber a favorite moment from the show, when Brent led his staff in a sing-a-long to Free Love Free­way? (If not, we have it below, and you can find the chords and lyrics here.) Any­way, Brent is back, and he’s now offer­ing gui­tar lessons on YouTube — lessons guar­an­teed to teach you absolute­ly noth­ing about play­ing gui­tar. If you want real lessons, James Tay­lor has you cov­ered here.

You can find the first les­son above; the sec­ond les­son will hit Ricky Ger­vais’ YouTube Chan­nel on June 3.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Learn Eng­lish With Ricky Ger­vais,” A New Pod­cast Debuts (NSFW)

Sein­feld, Louis C.K., Chris Rock, and Ricky Ger­vais Dis­sect the Craft of Com­e­dy (NSFW)

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Hear Kurt Vonnegut’s Very First Public Reading from Breakfast of Champions (1970)

When we think of Kurt Von­negut, we tend to think of Slaugh­ter­house-Five. Maybe we also think of the short sto­ry “Har­ri­son Berg­eron,” which gets assigned in class by slight­ly alter­na­tive-mind­ed Eng­lish teach­ers. Now that I think about it, I real­ize that those two works of Von­negut’s have both become movies: George Roy Hill’s Slaugh­ter­house-Five hit the­aters in 1972, and Bruce Pittman’s Har­ri­son Berg­eron debuted on Show­time in 1995. But the beloved­ly cyn­i­cal writer pro­duced four­teen nov­els, eight sto­ry col­lec­tions, and five books of essays, and even if we just explore fur­ther into those adapt­ed for the screen, we find a per­haps under-dis­cussed piece of Von­negutia: Break­fast of Cham­pi­ons, his 1973 fol­low-up to Slaugh­ter­house-Five.

The nov­el exam­ines Dwayne Hoover, a deeply trou­bled Pon­ti­ac sales­man obsessed with the writ­ings of pulp sci-fi author Kil­go­re Trout. You may remem­ber Trout from his role in Von­negut’s pre­vi­ous book, whose “unstuck-in-time” pro­tag­o­nist Bil­ly Pil­grim he invites to his wed­ding anniver­sary. Break­fast of Cham­pi­ons sets Trout on a col­li­sion course with Hoover in the fic­tion­al Amer­i­can town of Mid­land City, bring­ing in a great vari­ety of char­ac­ters, themes, and ele­ments from Von­negut’s oth­er work in so doing. In the clip above, you can hear the author’s very first pub­lic read­ing of the book, record­ed on May 4, 1970 at New York’s 92nd Street Y. After it became avail­able to read­ers three years lat­er, Break­fast of Cham­pi­ons would become a favorite among the Von­negut faith­ful. The 1999 Bruce Willis-star­ring film adap­ta­tion… less so.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kurt Von­negut Reads from Slaugh­ter­house-Five

Vonnegut’s Eight Tips on How to Write a Good Short Sto­ry

Kurt Von­negut: “How To Get A Job Like Mine” (2002)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Daniel Dennett Presents Seven Tools For Critical Thinking

dennett critical thinking

Image via Flickr Com­mons

Love him or hate him, many of our read­ers may know enough about Daniel C. Den­nett to have formed some opin­ion of his work. While Den­nett can be a soft-spo­ken, jovial pres­ence, he doesn’t suf­fer fuzzy think­ing or banal plat­i­tudes— what he calls “deepities”—lightly. Whether he’s explain­ing (or explain­ing away) con­scious­ness, reli­gion, or free will, Dennett’s mate­ri­al­ist phi­los­o­phy leaves lit­tle-to-no room for mys­ti­cal spec­u­la­tion or sen­ti­men­tal­ism. So it should come as no sur­prise that his lat­est book, Intu­ition Pumps And Oth­er Tools for Think­ing, is a hard-head­ed how-to for cut­ting through com­mon cog­ni­tive bias­es and log­i­cal fal­lac­i­es.

In a recent Guardian arti­cle, Den­nett excerpts sev­en tools for think­ing from the new book. Hav­ing taught crit­i­cal think­ing and argu­men­ta­tion to under­grad­u­ates for years, I can say that his advice is pret­ty much stan­dard fare of crit­i­cal rea­son­ing. But Dennett’s for­mu­la­tions are uniquely—and bluntly—his own. Below is a brief sum­ma­ry of his sev­en tools.

1. Use Your Mis­takes

Dennett’s first tool rec­om­mends rig­or­ous intel­lec­tu­al hon­esty, self-scruti­ny, and tri­al and error. In typ­i­cal fash­ion, he puts it this way: “when you make a mis­take, you should learn to take a deep breath, grit your teeth and then exam­ine your own rec­ol­lec­tions of the mis­take as ruth­less­ly and as dis­pas­sion­ate­ly as you can man­age.” This tool is a close rel­a­tive of the sci­en­tif­ic method, in which every error offers an oppor­tu­ni­ty to learn, rather than a chance to mope and grum­ble.

2. Respect Your Oppo­nent 

Often known as read­ing in “good faith” or “being char­i­ta­ble,” this sec­ond point is as much a rhetor­i­cal as a log­i­cal tool, since the essence of per­sua­sion involves get­ting peo­ple to actu­al­ly lis­ten to you. And they won’t if you’re over­ly nit­picky, pedan­tic, mean-spir­it­ed, hasty, or unfair. As Den­nett puts it, “your tar­gets will be a recep­tive audi­ence for your crit­i­cism: you have already shown that you under­stand their posi­tions as well as they do, and have demon­strat­ed good judg­ment.”

3. The “Sure­ly” Klax­on

A “Klax­on” is a loud, elec­tric horn—such as a car horn—an urgent warn­ing. In this point, Den­nett asks us to treat the word “sure­ly” as a rhetor­i­cal warn­ing sign that an author of an argu­men­ta­tive essay has stat­ed an “ill-exam­ined ‘tru­ism’” with­out offer­ing suf­fi­cient rea­son or evi­dence, hop­ing the read­er will quick­ly agree and move on. While this is not always the case, writes Den­nett, such ver­biage often sig­nals a weak point in an argu­ment, since these words would not be nec­es­sary if the author, and read­er, real­ly could be “sure.”

4. Answer Rhetor­i­cal Ques­tions

Like the use of “sure­ly,” a rhetor­i­cal ques­tion can be a sub­sti­tute for think­ing. While rhetor­i­cal ques­tions depend on the sense that “the answer is so obvi­ous that you’d be embar­rassed to answer it,” Den­nett rec­om­mends doing so any­way. He illus­trates the point with a Peanuts car­toon: “Char­lie Brown had just asked, rhetor­i­cal­ly: ‘Who’s to say what is right and wrong here?’ and Lucy respond­ed, in the next pan­el: ‘I will.’” Lucy’s answer “sure­ly” caught Char­lie Brown off-guard. And if he were engaged in gen­uine philo­soph­i­cal debate, it would force him to re-exam­ine his assump­tions.

 5. Employ Occam’s Razor

 The 14th-cen­tu­ry Eng­lish philoso­pher William of Occam lent his name to this prin­ci­ple, which pre­vi­ous­ly went by the name of lex par­si­mo­nious, or the law of par­si­mo­ny. Den­nett sum­ma­rizes it this way: “The idea is straight­for­ward: don’t con­coct a com­pli­cat­ed, extrav­a­gant the­o­ry if you’ve got a sim­pler one (con­tain­ing few­er ingre­di­ents, few­er enti­ties) that han­dles the phe­nom­e­non just as well.”

6. Don’t Waste Your Time on Rub­bish

Dis­play­ing char­ac­ter­is­tic gruff­ness in his sum­ma­ry, Dennett’s sixth point expounds “Sturgeon’s law,” which states that rough­ly “90% of every­thing is crap.” While he con­cedes this may be an exag­ger­a­tion, the point is that there’s no point in wast­ing your time on argu­ments that sim­ply aren’t any good, even, or espe­cial­ly, for the sake of ide­o­log­i­cal axe-grind­ing.

7. Beware of Deep­i­ties

Den­nett saves for last one of his favorite boogey­men, the “deep­i­ty,” a term he takes from com­put­er sci­en­tist Joseph Weizen­baum. A deep­i­ty is “a propo­si­tion that seems both impor­tant and true—and profound—but that achieves this effect by being ambigu­ous.” Here is where Dennett’s devo­tion to clar­i­ty at all costs tends to split his read­ers into two camps. Some think his dri­ve for pre­ci­sion is an admirable ana­lyt­ic eth­ic; some think he man­i­fests an unfair bias against the lan­guage of meta­physi­cians, mys­tics, the­olo­gians, con­ti­nen­tal and post-mod­ern philoso­phers, and maybe even poets. Who am I to decide? (Don’t answer that).

You’ll have to make up your own mind about whether Dennett’s last rule applies in all cas­es, but his first six can’t be beat when it comes to crit­i­cal­ly vet­ting the myr­i­ad claims rou­tine­ly vying for our atten­tion and agree­ment.

via Mefi

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Daniel Den­nett and Cor­nel West Decode the Phi­los­o­phy of The Matrix in 2004 Film

Daniel Den­nett (a la Jeff Fox­wor­thy) Does the Rou­tine, “You Might be an Athe­ist If…”

90 Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

Doors Keyboardist Ray Manzarek Tells the Story of the Classic Song, ‘Riders on the Storm’

Ray Man­zarek of the Doors died Mon­day of can­cer. He was 74. Man­zarek’s jazz-inflect­ed, clas­si­cal­ly influ­enced key­board play­ing, woven togeth­er with Jim Mor­rison’s bari­tone vocals, helped define the sound of the 1960s.

Man­zarek and Mor­ri­son were both recent grad­u­ates of the UCLA film school in 1965 when they had a chance encounter on Venice Beach. Mor­ri­son sang a few songs for Man­zarek, and the two decid­ed right then and there to start a band. Drum­mer John Dens­more and gui­tarist Rob­by Krieger soon joined, and the Doors were born.

From the begin­ning, the clas­si­cal­ly trained Man­zarek played musi­cal foil to Mor­rison’s poet­ic wild­man per­sona. “We just com­bined the Apol­lon­ian and the Dionysian,” Man­zarek said of the band in 1997. “The Dionysian side is the blues, and the Apol­lon­ian side is clas­si­cal music. The prop­er artist com­bines Apol­lon­ian rig­or and cor­rect­ness with Dionysian fren­zy, pas­sion and excite­ment. You blend those two togeth­er, and you have the com­plete, whole artist.”

For a fas­ci­nat­ing look at just how beau­ti­ful­ly things blend­ed togeth­er with the Doors, watch above as Man­zarek tells the sto­ry of the band’s clas­sic 1971 sin­gle, “Rid­ers on the Storm.” The scene is from the 2011 doc­u­men­tary Mr. Mojo Risin’: The Sto­ry of L.A. Woman, which chron­i­cles the mak­ing of the Doors’ sixth and final stu­dio album. The band record­ed “Rid­ers on the Storm” in Decem­ber of 1970. By the time L.A. Woman was released in April of 1971, Mor­ri­son had already moved to Paris, where he died a few months lat­er. “Rid­ers on the Storm” reached num­ber 14 on the Bill­board charts in Amer­i­ca. You can hear the fin­ished record­ing below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Young, Clean Cut Jim Mor­ri­son Appears in a 1962 Flori­da State Uni­ver­si­ty Pro­mo Film

Ani­ma­tions Revive Lost Inter­views with David Fos­ter Wal­lace, Jim Mor­ri­son & Dave Brubeck

Dream, A Short Documentary on the Art and Culture of Burning Man

Every year, right before Labor Day, 50,000 peo­ple trav­el to Black Rock City, Neva­da to take part in Burn­ing Man — an exper­i­men­tal com­mu­ni­ty ded­i­cat­ed to rad­i­cal self reliance, rad­i­cal self-expres­sion and art. As Burn­ing Man’s own web site will tell you, “Try­ing to explain what Burn­ing Man is to some­one who has nev­er been to the event is a bit like try­ing to explain what a par­tic­u­lar col­or looks like to some­one who is blind.” Nonethe­less, the Burn­ing Man orga­niz­ers offer a short, intro­duc­to­ry essay and a First-Timer’s Guide to get you start­ed, plus some pho­to gal­leries to help fill out the pic­ture. And then above, we have a new­ly-made short film that offers a glimpse into the art and cul­ture of the Burn­ing Man expe­ri­ence. It high­lights some won­drous artis­tic cre­ations and the artists, design­ers, builders and sundry minds behind them. The doc­u­men­tary, Dream: Art & Cul­ture of Burn­ing Man, pre­miered at the Sono­ma Inter­na­tion­al Film Fes­ti­val.

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!

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Watch Picasso Create Entire Paintings in Magnificent Time-Lapse Film (1956)

How did Pablo Picas­so do it? Art his­to­ri­ans have spent much time and many words answer­ing that ques­tion, but in the video above, you can watch the painter in the act of cre­ation — or, rather, you can watch a series of his paint­ings as they come into being, evolv­ing from spare but evoca­tive col­lec­tions of mark­er strokes into com­plete images, alive with col­or. We see Picas­so’s visu­al ideas emerge, and then we see him refine and revise them, some­times toward a sur­pris­ing result. All of this hap­pens in under two min­utes, since film­mak­er Hen­ri-Georges Clouzot shot the artist work­ing with time-lapse pho­tog­ra­phy, com­press­ing each cre­ative process into mere sec­onds.

This par­tic­u­lar sequence became the trail­er of Clouzot’s 1956 doc­u­men­tary The Mys­tery of Picas­so. The paint­ings in it, we read at the end, “can­not be seen any­where else. They were destroyed upon com­ple­tion of the film.” Though word on the street has it that one or two of them may actu­al­ly sur­vive some­where today, the idea of Picas­so paint­ings exist­ing only on film does cap­ture the imag­i­na­tion, and it moved the French gov­ern­ment to offi­cial­ly declare The Mys­tery of Picas­so a nation­al trea­sure. Picas­so had, of course, paint­ed on film before, as you might recall from see­ing us fea­ture Paul Hae­saerts’ 1950 Vis­ite à Picas­so.

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!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Icon­ic Artists at Work: Rare Videos of Picas­so, Matisse, Kandin­sky, Renoir, Mon­et, Pol­lock & More

Picas­so Paint­ing on Glass

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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