The Wisdom & Advice of Maurice Ashley, the First African-American Chess Grandmaster

I don’t know about you, but when I’ve thought of chess grand­mas­ters, I’ve often thought of Rus­sians, north­ern Euro­peans, the occa­sion­al Amer­i­can, the guy on the Chess­mas­ter box — pure­ly by stereo­type, in oth­er words. I’ve nev­er thought of any­one from, say, Jamaica, the coun­try of birth of Mau­rice Ash­ley, not just a chess grand­mas­ter but a chess com­men­ta­tor, writer, app and puz­zle design­er, speak­er and Fel­low at the Media Lab at MIT. Since we’ve only just entered Feb­ru­ary, known in the Unit­ed States as Black His­to­ry Month, why not high­light the Brook­lyn-raised (and Brook­lyn-park trained) Ash­ley’s sta­tus as, in the words of his offi­cial web site, “the first African-Amer­i­can Inter­na­tion­al Grand­mas­ter in the annals of the game”?

Giv­en the impres­sive­ness of his achieve­ments, we might also ask what we can learn from him, whether or not we play chess our­selves. You can learn a bit more about Ash­ley, the work he does, and the work his stu­dents have gone on to do, in The World Is a Chess Board, the five-minute Mash­able doc­u­men­tary at the top of the post. Even in that short run­time, he has much to say about how the game (which, he clar­i­fies, “we con­sid­er an art form”) not only reflects life, and reflects the per­son­al­i­ties of its play­ers, but teach­es those play­ers — espe­cial­ly the young ones who may come from less-than-ide­al begin­nings — all about focus, deter­mi­na­tion, choice, and con­se­quence. Per­haps the most impor­tant les­son? “You’ve got to be ready to lose.”

Ash­ley expounds upon the val­ue of chess as a tool to hone the mind in “Work­ing Back­ward to Solve Prob­lems,” a clip from his TED Ed les­son just above. He begins by wav­ing off the mis­per­cep­tion, com­mon among non-chess-play­ers, that grand­mas­ters “see ahead” ten, twen­ty, or thir­ty moves into the game, then goes on to explain that the sharpest play­ers do it not by look­ing for­ward, but by look­ing back­ward. He pro­vides a few exam­ples of how using this sort of “ret­ro­grade analy­sis,” com­bined with pat­tern recog­ni­tion, applies to prob­lems in a range of sit­u­a­tions from proof­read­ing to biol­o­gy to law enforce­ment to card tricks. If you ever have a chance to enter into a bet with this man, don’t.

That’s my advice, any­way. As far as Ash­ley’s advice goes, if we endorse any par­tic­u­lar take­away from what he says here, we endorse the first step of his chess-learn­ing strat­e­gy for absolute begin­ners, which works equal­ly well as the first step of a learn­ing strat­e­gy for absolute begin­ners in any­thing: “The best advice I could give a young per­son today is, go online and watch some videos.” Stick with us, and we’ll keep you in all the videos you need.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­cel Duchamp, Chess Enthu­si­ast, Cre­at­ed an Art Deco Chess Set That’s Now Avail­able via 3D Print­er

Kas­parov Talks Chess, Tech­nol­o­gy and a Lit­tle Life at Google

Free App Lets You Play Chess With 23-Year-Old Nor­we­gian World Cham­pi­on Mag­nus Carlsen

Watch Bill Gates Lose a Chess Match in 79 Sec­onds to the New World Chess Cham­pi­on Mag­nus Carlsen

A Famous Chess Match from 1910 Reen­act­ed with Clay­ma­tion

Chess Rivals Bob­by Fis­ch­er and Boris Spassky Meet in the ‘Match of the Cen­tu­ry’

Vladimir Nabokov’s Hand-Drawn Sketch­es of Mind-Bend­ing Chess Prob­lems

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. 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.

Hear the Experimental Music of the Dada Movement: Avant-Garde Sounds from a Century Ago

dadamusic2

When we think of Dada, we think of an art movement—or anti-art movement—that embraced chance oper­a­tions, futur­ism, and exper­i­men­ta­tion and reject­ed all of the pre­vi­ous doc­trines of the for­mal art world as mori­bund and fraud­u­lent. As Dada artist and the­o­rist Tris­tan Tzara wrote in his 1918 man­i­festo, the aims of the estab­lish­ment art world had been “to make mon­ey and cajole the nice nice bour­geois.” This new breed would have none of it. In their attack on bour­geois artis­tic and polit­i­cal val­ues, artists like Tzara, Mar­cel Duchamp, Man Ray, Hans Richter, Kurt Schwit­ters and oth­ers will­ful­ly tres­passed for­mal bound­aries, using any means or medi­um they hap­pened to find of inter­est in the moment. We have Dada paint­ing, sculp­ture, typog­ra­phy, and film; Dada poet­ry, the­ater, dance, and even Dadaist pol­i­tics, so well rep­re­sent­ed by Tzara’s man­i­festo.

One medi­um we don’t often asso­ciate with Dada, how­ev­er, is music. And yet, those same artists who waged war on the estab­lish­ment with ready­made uri­nals and ram­bling man­i­festos also did so with musi­cal com­po­si­tions that were as influ­en­tial as the paint­ing, film, and poet­ry.

Dada, and its imme­di­ate suc­ces­sor, sur­re­al­ism, “exert­ed a per­va­sive influ­ence on 20th-cen­tu­ry music,” writes Matthew Green­baum at New Music Box, but “the pres­ence of Dada and sur­re­al­ism is gen­er­al­ly unrec­og­nized or for­got­ten” in dis­cus­sions of “mid-cen­tu­ry avant-garde com­posers” in New York, like Ste­fan Wolpe, Mor­ton Feld­man, and John Cage. And yet, the repet­i­tive, machine-like qual­i­ties we asso­ciate with mid-cen­tu­ry min­i­mal­ism come more or less direct­ly from the Dadaists, as does the high con­cept exper­i­men­ta­tion.

Dada artists, adds Green­baum, “paid close atten­tion to advanced and devel­op­ing tech­nol­o­gy, and the repet­i­tive beau­ty of machines was a ubiq­ui­tous image.” Works like Mar­cel Duchamp’s con­cep­tu­al musi­cal “assem­blages cun­ning­ly obscure the bound­aries of text, music, rep­re­sen­ta­tion, and nota­tion a half-cen­tu­ry before John Cage’s exper­i­ments in inde­ter­mi­na­cy.” Greenbaum’s essay makes a strong case for this lin­eage, but the most direct way to trace the steps from Duchamp, et al., to Cage is to lis­ten to the Dada artists’ exper­i­ments with music first­hand, and you can hear a selec­tion of them here, excerpt­ed from the 1985 com­pi­la­tion Dada For Now and brought to us cour­tesy of Ubuweb, who host the full album. Many of these com­po­si­tions are exper­i­ments with lan­guage, the­atri­cal per­for­mance, and text (the album is shelved in the “Spo­ken Word” cat­e­go­ry), though none of the com­posers would have drawn any lines between word and music.

At the top of the post, hear Anto­nio Russolo’s 1921 com­po­si­tion “Corale and Ser­e­na­ta,” which sounds like a rather tra­di­tion­al march, but for the omi­nous roar­ing that shad­ows the orches­tra­tion and occa­sion­al­ly breaks in to dis­rupt it entire­ly, sound­ing like the rush of tires on a high­way or work­ings of a huge, indus­tri­al machine. Next is Hugo Ball’s 1916 com­po­si­tion “Karawane,” in which a trio of vocalists—Trio Exvoco—grows loud­er and more gut­tur­al as they chant in uni­son, their only accom­pa­ni­ment what sounds like a trol­ley bell. Fur­ther down, in Tris­tan Tzara and oth­ers’ “L’amiral cherche une mai­son a louer,” also from 1916, that same trio per­forms some sort of exu­ber­ant com­e­dy, with accom­pa­ny­ing whiz-bang sound effects that one would hear in radio plays of the suc­ceed­ing decades. And just above, in Kurt Schwit­ters’ 1919 “Simul­tangedicht kaa gee dee,” Trio Exvo­co begins a chant that soon devolves into stac­ca­to vocal­iza­tions and gib­ber­ish.

A few of these pieces, like the Rus­so­lo at the top, are orig­i­nal record­ings. The rest are recon­struc­tions. All of them are strange, as is to be expect­ed, but it’s impos­si­ble to hear just how strange—and how taste­less and absurd, perhaps—they would have sound­ed to audi­ences one hun­dred years ago. As Green­baum argues, what was once rev­o­lu­tion­ary in Dada became nor­ma­tive as it was inte­grat­ed into the Amer­i­can art estab­lish­ment in the lat­er 20th cen­tu­ry. But to hear it with fresh ears is to recap­ture how Dadaist art sound­ed as rad­i­cal as it looked.

Hear more Dadaist music over at Ubu.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The ABCs of Dada Explains the Anar­chic, Irra­tional “Anti-Art” Move­ment of Dadaism

Three Essen­tial Dadaist Films: Ground­break­ing Works by Hans Richter, Man Ray & Mar­cel Duchamp

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

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

Animated Interview: Sally Ride Tells Gloria Steinem About the Challenge of Being the First American Women in Space (1983)

Blank on Blank returned this week with the lat­est episode in “The Exper­i­menters,” a minis­eries high­light­ing the icons of STEM. This new ani­ma­tion brings to life a 1983 inter­view fea­tur­ing one trail­blaz­er, Glo­ria Steinem, talk­ing with anoth­er, Sal­ly Ride, a physi­cist who became the first Amer­i­can woman in space, and endured a lot of gen­der stereo­typ­ing along the way. Oth­er episodes in “The Exper­i­menters” series have focused on Buck­min­ster Fuller, Richard Feyn­man, and Jane Goodall.

Note: Glo­ria Steinem recent­ly pub­lished a new mem­oir called My Life on the Road. You can down­load it as a free audio­book if you head over to Audible.com and reg­is­ter for a 30-day free tri­al. The tri­al lets you down­load two audio­books for free. Then, when the tri­al is over, you can con­tin­ue your sub­scrip­tion, or can­cel it, and still keep the audio books. The choice is yours. Get more info here.

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 an Ani­mat­ed Buck­min­ster Fuller Tell Studs Terkel All About “the Geo­des­ic Life”

What Ignit­ed Richard Feynman’s Love of Sci­ence Revealed in an Ani­mat­ed Vide

Ani­mat­ed: The Inspi­ra­tional Sto­ry of Jane Goodall, and Why She Believes in Big­foot

How Stanley Kubrick Became Stanley Kubrick: A Short Documentary Narrated by the Filmmaker

Stan­ley Kubrick, the direc­tor of such beloved films as Dr. Strangelove2001: A Space Odyssey, and The Shin­ing, a man whose name remains, more than fif­teen years after his death, almost a byword for the cin­e­mat­ic auteur, got into film­mak­ing because of a mis­un­der­stand­ing. While work­ing as a pho­to­jour­nal­ist in his ear­ly twen­ties, he befriend­ed an even younger fel­low named Alex Singer, who would go on to become a well-known direc­tor of film and tele­vi­sion him­self, but back then he held a low­ly posi­tion in the office of The March of Time news­reels. Singer hap­pened to men­tion that each news­reel cost the com­pa­ny some­thing like $40,000 to pro­duce, which got Kubrick research­ing the price of film and cam­era rentals, then think­ing: could­n’t I make a doc­u­men­tary of my own for less?

Indeed; he and Singer put togeth­er $1,500 and col­lab­o­rat­ed on the box­ing short-sub­ject Day of the Fight, which played in the­aters in 1951. But it did­n’t turn a prof­it, since no dis­tri­b­u­tion com­pa­ny offered the $40,000 he expect­ed — nor had they ever offered The March of Time, whose news­reel busi­ness went under before long, enough to cov­er their own exor­bi­tant costs. So Kubrick did­n’t make mon­ey on his first film, but he did make a career, going on to do two more doc­u­men­taries, then the low-bud­get fea­tures Fear and DesireKiller’s Kiss, and The Killing. Then came the crit­i­cal­ly acclaimed Paths of Glo­ry star­ring Kirk Dou­glas, which even­tu­al­ly brought about an offer to Kubrick from the icon­ic actor to take the direc­to­r­i­al reins on Spar­ta­cus. Next came Loli­taDr. Strangelove2001, and the rest is cin­e­ma his­to­ry.

Of course, Kubrick did­n’t know the full extent of the cin­e­ma his­to­ry he would make back in 1966, on the set of 2001, when he sat down with physi­cist-writer Jere­my Bern­stein, doing research for a New York­er pro­file. The film­mak­er brought out one of his tape recorders (devices he adopt­ed ear­ly and used to write scripts) and record­ed 77 min­utes of his and Bern­stein’s con­ver­sa­tions, almost a half hour of which Jim Casey uses as the nar­ra­tion of the short doc­u­men­tary Stan­ley Kubrick: The Lost Tapes. Only recent­ly redis­cov­ered, these record­ings fea­ture Kubrick­’s first-hand sto­ries of grow­ing up indif­fer­ent to all things aca­d­e­m­ic and lit­er­ary, hon­ing his “gen­er­al prob­lem-solv­ing method” as a pho­tog­ra­ph­er, get­ting into movies as a result of the afore­men­tioned mis­con­cep­tion, and build­ing the career that film fans and schol­ars scru­ti­nize to this day. It does make you won­der: what glo­ri­ous work have we missed the chance to cre­ate because we ran the num­bers a lit­tle too rig­or­ous­ly?

via Devour

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dis­cov­er the Life & Work of Stan­ley Kubrick in a Sweep­ing Three-Hour Video Essay

1966 Film Explores the Mak­ing of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (and Our High-Tech Future)

What’s the Dif­fer­ence Between Stan­ley Kubrick’s & Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (A Side-by-Side Com­par­i­son)

The Let­ter Between Stan­ley Kubrick & Arthur C. Clarke That Sparked the Great­est Sci-Fi Film Ever Made (1964)

Inside Dr. Strangelove: Doc­u­men­tary Reveals How a Cold War Sto­ry Became a Kubrick Clas­sic

Vladimir Nabokov’s Script for Stan­ley Kubrick’s Loli­ta: See Pages from His Orig­i­nal Draft

Fear and Desire: Stan­ley Kubrick’s First and Least-Seen Fea­ture Film (1953)

Killer’s Kiss: Where Stan­ley Kubrick’s Film­mak­ing Career Real­ly Begins

Lost Kubrick: A Short Doc­u­men­tary on Stan­ley Kubrick’s Unfin­ished Films

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Daugh­ter Shares Pho­tos of Her­self Grow­ing Up on Her Father’s Film Sets

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Jazz Pho­tog­ra­phy and The Film He Almost Made About Jazz Under Nazi Rule

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Rare 1965 Inter­view with the New York­er

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. 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.

Hunter S. Thompson Talks with Keith Richards in a Very Memorable and Mumble-Filled Interview (1993)

Here’s a vari­a­tion on the par­lor game ques­tion, “what famous per­son would you most like to have din­ner with, and why?” What two famous peo­ple would you like to stick in a room togeth­er for ten min­utes, and why? I imag­ine a fair num­ber of read­ers might think of Hunter S. Thomp­son and Kei­th Richards, and the why is pret­ty obvi­ous. Both impress us, writes Fla­vor­wire, for “hav­ing remained alive” for oh so many years “after all those drugs” and crazed exploits. If Thomp­son was gonzo, Thomp­son plus Richards equals “dou­ble gonzo.”

Well, your wish is grant­ed, in the almost ten-minute video above, in which Thomp­son and Richards have a mum­ble-off, dis­cussing such sub­jects as J. Edgar Hoover’s rein­car­na­tion (he would return as “a fart,” Kei­th says), the Hel­l’s Angels, The Bea­t­les, drugs, blood trans­fu­sions, and that Alta­mont inci­dent.

In the first minute of tape, we have a ram­bling solo intro­duc­tion from Thomp­son, and he assures us that he and Kei­th “have a sense of his­to­ry you don’t.” Hav­ing put the view­er in their place (or the cameraman—more on that anon), Thomp­son prompt­ly segues to the inter­view, which took place at the Ritz Car­leton in Aspen.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, no one has thought to add sub­ti­tles to this bizarre exchange, which has cir­cu­lat­ed on Youtube for some time now. That was where the man who shot the inter­view, Wayne Ewing, first saw the grainy video of footage he shot for a 1993 ABC series called “In Con­cert.” The project was fraught from the begin­ning. The orig­i­nal plan was to have the two meet in New York, then have MTV shoot the inter­view and Ewing shoot the whole scene with a third cam­era “while Kei­th and Hunter emp­tied the mini-bar and chat­ted.” Instead, Thomp­son “came down with a vir­u­lent flu,” and the pro­duc­ers had to lat­er lure Richards to Col­orado.

So remem­bers Ewing in a 2009 intro­duc­tion to notes he took down the day after the March 15th shoot. The jour­nal reveals Thomp­son’s agi­tat­ed state of mind in the week lead­ing up to the shoot, as he lashed out at his staff, at Ewing, and at “col­lege sopho­mores on ski vaca­tions demand­ing auto­graphs… hold­ing out soiled nap­kins with pens for a record of their momen­tary brush with fame.” He’s clear­ly ner­vous about Richards’ arrival, obsess­ing over the state of the local shoot­ing range, and when Ewing sug­gest­ed “goofy ideas for the video with Kei­th,” Thomp­son growled, “it’s not your movie! It’s Kei­th’s!” Ewing’s notes are both amus­ing and a lit­tle dis­tress­ing, giv­en the posi­tion of Thomp­son’s belea­guered assis­tants.

Both of these fig­ures rep­re­sent the epit­o­me of our ten­den­cy to roman­ti­cize writer/­mu­si­cian-addicts, but the effects on those around them don’t gen­er­al­ly make for great sto­ries (just ask their kids). And in Thomp­son’s case espe­cial­ly here, we can see the toll his drink­ing had tak­en on him at this stage in his life. But Richards is sur­pris­ing­ly lucid, as he con­tin­ues to often­times be, remem­ber­ing spe­cif­ic dates and details, and the whole inter­view is an inter­est­ing exer­cise in fol­low­ing the free-asso­cia­tive log­ic of two addled, but still bril­liant and always enter­tain­ing per­son­al­i­ties. No need to say more. Watch the tape.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hunter S. Thomp­son Gets Con­front­ed by The Hell’s Angels (1967)

Hunter S. Thompson’s Har­row­ing, Chem­i­cal-Filled Dai­ly Rou­tine

Chuck Berry Takes Kei­th Richards to School, Shows Him How to Rock (1987)

Hear Demos of Kei­th Richards Singing Lead Vocals on Rolling Stones Clas­sics: “Gimme Shel­ter,” “Wild Hors­es” & More

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

Dave Grohl Shows How He Plays the Guitar As If It Were a Drum Kit

For decades now, debate has raged on whether Neil Young is a “gui­tar god or gui­tar slob.” His play­ing is slop­py and untu­tored, but so com­plete­ly heart­felt, so total­ly engross­ing, that it’s nev­er mat­tered to his fans, myself includ­ed. I come firm­ly down on the “gui­tar god” side of the ques­tion, and not only because he’s inspired me when I’ve felt less than accom­plished as a musi­cian, but because I gen­er­al­ly pre­fer musi­cian­ship that’s kin­da messy, impro­vi­sa­tion­al, and idio­syn­crat­ic ver­sus clas­si­cal­ly-trained virtuosity—at least in rock and roll, where mak­ing a mess is kind of the point. Young him­self couldn’t care less what peo­ple think about his rudi­men­ta­ry lead gui­tar play­ing. “When you’re able to express your­self and feel good,” he said in a 1992 inter­view, “then you know why you’re play­ing. The tech­ni­cal aspect is absolute hog­wash as far as I’m con­cerned.”

The dif­fer­ence between Neil Young and many an unschooled ama­teur musi­cian is often pret­ty clear: He’s a great song­writer with such a feel for rhythm, tone, and dynam­ics that intu­itive musi­cal­i­ty, one might say, is at the heart of his musi­cian­ship. I would say sim­i­lar things about a play­er like Dave Grohl, who—as a drum­mer and a guitarist—has always pos­sessed a con­fi­dent, intu­itive sense of what music is and does. And he’s done it, as he says in the inter­view above, with bare­ly a les­son to speak of. He’s pret­ty much entire­ly self taught on both instru­ments, and—like Neil Young, Jimi Hen­drix, and a whole pas­sel of oth­er famous players—hasn’t mem­o­rized much the­o­ry or learned hun­dreds of chords. When he moved from pri­mar­i­ly play­ing drums to gui­tar, as he demon­strates above, Grohl learned to think of the gui­tar strings as cor­re­spond­ing to the parts of a drum kit.

He shows how the riff for “Ever­long,” for exam­ple, came to him by think­ing about strum pat­terns as drum pat­terns, and it makes per­fect sense. He also talks about how his gui­tar tech­nique cor­re­sponds not only to drum tech­nique, but also to what­ev­er means of expres­sion he needs at a par­tic­u­lar moment in a song—whatever sounds good, as he puts it. Part of his ethos comes from a punk rock, DIY atti­tude of want­i­ng to “just fig­ure it out,” and not read the instruc­tions. It’s a musi­cal stance that can work per­fect­ly well in punk, hard­core, or the Foo Fight­ers’ melod­ic alt-rock. Or in the sham­bling folk-rock of Neil Young. Not so much in, say, jazz or most gen­res of heavy met­al or prog rock, forms of music that seem to have arisen express­ly around vir­tu­oso play­ing. If that’s what you’re into, you may need a few lessons. But what­ev­er kind of music you play, as Grohl dis­cuss­es above, the per­fect is still the ene­my of the good.

Grohl says he tries “to appre­ci­ate an imper­fect per­for­mance, or an off-the-cuff idea, or a lyric that might seem unfin­ished or in such a sim­ple form it doesn’t seem sophis­ti­cat­ed enough….” To let one’s inner edi­tor step in and try to guide the process is to give up the unforced spon­tane­ity that makes music excit­ing. “When,” he asks, “did per­fec­tion become so impor­tant in music?” He doesn’t spec­u­late, but I would say it might cor­re­late to the rise of the dig­i­tal machines in music pro­duc­tion, which allow pro­duc­ers to edit every sin­gle note, fix every off-key vocal, move every drum hit into a per­fect grid, smooth out every rough, messy performance—or do away with the “imper­fect” human ele­ment alto­geth­er. Such pro­duc­tion kills the spir­it of record­ed rock and roll—and even, I’d argue, makes for dull, unin­spired elec­tron­ic music. And such per­fec­tion in play­ing live music is, Grohl says, “unat­tain­able.”

I’d per­son­al­ly say that the ascen­den­cy of slick pro­duc­tion over inter­est­ing per­for­mance has been in large part respon­si­ble for the declin­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty of main­stream rock and roll, as its edges are too often planed away and it’s ren­dered safe and bor­ing. Grohl has his own the­o­ry, which he dis­cuss­es above, relat­ing to a back­lash against the post-Nir­vana com­mer­cial­ism of the 90s and a nascent elit­ism among rock bands. His idea is as much a defense of the Foo Fight­ers’ “pop­ulism” as an expla­na­tion for why rock songs are rarely hit songs any­more. If you pre­fer his ear­ly work, you can hear him dis­cuss his role in Nir­vana, below, and talk about his rela­tion­ship with Kurt Cobain in this excerpt from the longer inter­view with Sam Jones of Off­Cam­era.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Dave Grohl’s First Foo Fight­ers Demo Record­ings, As Kurt Cobain Did in 1992

1,000 Musi­cians Per­form Foo Fight­ers’ “Learn to Fly” in Uni­son in Italy; Dave Grohl Responds in Ital­ian

Lis­ten to The John Bon­ham Sto­ry, a Radio Show Host­ed by Dave Grohl

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

Jacques Derrida on Seinfeld: “Deconstruction Doesn’t Produce Any Sitcom”

Jacques Der­ri­da could enjoy a good movie like any­one else. In a 2002 inter­view with TIME, he declared “I have watched The God­fa­ther 10 times. I must watch it when­ev­er it’s on.” Who could­n’t?

Cop­po­la films were one thing. Appar­ent­ly sit­coms quite anoth­er. In anoth­er 2002 inter­view, a jour­nal­ist asked the French philoso­pher whether, in so many words, decon­struc­tion shared any­thing in com­mon with Sein­feld and the ironic/parodic way it looks at the world. This was tak­ing things too far. “Decon­struc­tion, as I under­stand it,” said Der­ri­da, “does­n’t pro­duce any sit­com. If sit­com is this, and peo­ple who watch this think decon­struc­tion is this, the only advice I have to give them is just stop watch­ing sit­com, do your home­work, and read.” The cringe­wor­thy scene orig­i­nal­ly appeared in the doc­u­men­tary, Der­ri­da, direct­ed by Kir­by Dick and Amy Zier­ing Hoff­man.

via Peter B. Kauf­man 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da Inter­views Jazz Leg­end Ornette Cole­man: Talk Impro­vi­sa­tion, Lan­guage & Racism (1997)

Teacher Calls Jacques Derrida’s Col­lege Admis­sion Essay on Shake­speare “Quite Incom­pre­hen­si­ble” (1951)

Hear the Writ­ing of French The­o­rists Jacques Der­ri­da, Jean Bau­drillard & Roland Barthes Sung by Poet Ken­neth Gold­smith

130+ Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

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Hear James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake Read Unabridged & Set to Music By 17 Different Artists

If you want a guide through James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake—the mod­ernist author’s “wordi­est aria,” writes Kirkus Reviews, “and sure­ly the strangest ever sung in any language”—you’d be hard pressed find a bet­ter one than nov­el­ist Antho­ny Burgess. Not only did Burgess turn his study of Joyce to very good account in cre­at­ing his own poly­glot lan­guage in A Clock­work Orange, but he has “taste­ful­ly select­ed the more read­able por­tions” of Joyce’s final nov­el in an abridged ver­sion, A Short­er Finnegans Wake. No doubt “pedants will object,” writes Kirkus, but if any­one can edit Joyce, it’s Burgess, who has writ­ten a thor­ough intro­duc­tion to Joyce’s lan­guage, a guide to Joyce “for the Ordi­nary Read­er,” and the most com­pre­hen­sive sum­ma­ry of Joyce’s last nov­el that I’ve ever encountered—proving that it can be done. Finnegans Wake makes sense!… sort of…

But not, how­ev­er, as any straight­for­ward sto­ry; after all, writes Burgess, “What Joyce is doing… is to make his hero re-live the whole of his­to­ry in a night’s sleep.” And what Burgess does is show us the com­plex scaf­fold­ing and sym­bol­ism of that dream. What he does not do is explain away the music of Joyce’s novel—for it is, after all, not only one long dream, but one long song, the “strangest ever sung.” We can hear Joyce him­self sing from the nov­el­’s Anna Livia Plura­belle sec­tion in the video at the top (accom­pa­nied by sub­ti­tles and a very cool ani­ma­tion, I must say). His lilt­ing tenor enthralls, but his is not the only way to sing Finnegans Wake. Indeed, the nov­el, though very odd and very dif­fi­cult, is Joyce’s invi­ta­tion to the world.

And the world has respond­ed (“Here Comes Every­body!”). Last year, Way­words and Mean­signs, a Joyce project co-found­ed by Derek Pyle, brought togeth­er artists and musi­cians from around the globe to sing, read, and set to music the words of Finnegans Wake. Open Cul­ture’s Ted Mills wrote a post describ­ing the “stag­ger­ing 30+ hours” of Joyce inter­pre­ta­tion, and con­clud­ed, “Those who read this and feel they’ve missed out on the cre­ativ­i­ty of tack­ling Finnegans Wake, don’t wor­ry.” The project was then solic­it­ing con­trib­u­tors for a forth­com­ing sec­ond edi­tion, and now it has arrived. You can hear it in full above, an answer to the ques­tion “How many ways are there to read James Joyce’s great and bizarre nov­el?”

Sev­en­teen dif­fer­ent musi­cians from all around the world, each assigned to ren­der a chap­ter aural­ly. The only require­ments: the chap­ter’s words must be audi­ble, unabridged, and more or less in their orig­i­nal order.

We begin with pages 3–29, “The Fall,” read in a rapid dead­pan over avant-garde free jazz by Mr. Smolin & Dou­ble Naught Spy Car. Next, we have “The Humphri­ad I: His Agnomen and Rep­u­ta­tion,” read by pro­duc­er David Kahne against a back­drop of min­i­mal­ist synths, tin­kling key­boards, and waves of bur­bling elec­tron­ic noise. Per­haps one of my favorite musicians—whose song­writ­ing has always struck me as par­tic­u­lar­ly Joycean—Mike Watt of the Min­ute­men and fIRE­HOSE promis­es to deliv­er his musi­cal con­tri­bu­tion for “Shem the Pen­man” very soon. In its place is a mes­sage from Pyle, who urges you to sign up for the Way­words and Mean­signs mail­ing list for updates. After his mes­sage is a brief excerpt from con­ver­sa­tion he had with Watt on the bass play­er’s pod­cast.

Finnegans Wake, says Watt, “shares with Ulysses the idea of want­i­ng to try and talk about every­thing.” Joyce, Watt goes on, want­ed to “tran­scend” in his writ­ing the cir­cum­stances of his trou­bled fam­i­ly life, fail­ing eye­sight, and finan­cial dif­fi­cul­ties; and he was also just “hav­ing some fun.” That’s also a good descrip­tion of the var­i­ous ren­der­ings of Joyce rep­re­sent­ed in this com­pi­la­tion as these artists try to tran­scend ordi­nary ways of read­ing great lit­er­a­ture, and clear­ly have lots fun in the doing. See the Way­words and Mean­signs web­site for pro­duc­tion cred­its and a com­plete track­list­ing indi­cat­ing the spe­cif­ic pages, chap­ters, and sec­tions of each read­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake Read Aloud & Set to Music: 31 Hours of Free Unabridged Audio

Hear Joey Ramone Sing a Piece by John Cage Adapt­ed from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake

James Joyce Reads ‘Anna Livia Plura­belle’ fromFinnegans Wake

See What Hap­pens When You Run Finnegans Wake Through a Spell Check­er

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

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