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

Gandhi Writes Letters to Hitler: “We Have Found in Non-Violence a Force Which Can Match the Most Violent Forces in the World” (1939/40)

Gandhi Hitler

It must come up in every sin­gle argu­ment, from sophis­ti­cat­ed to sopho­moric, about the prac­ti­ca­bil­i­ty of non-vio­lent paci­fism. “Look what Gand­hi and Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. were able to achieve!” “Yes, but what about Hitler? What do you do about the Nazis?” The rebut­tal implies future Nazi-like enti­ties loom­ing on the hori­zon, and though this reduc­tio ad Hitlerum gen­er­al­ly has the effect of nul­li­fy­ing any con­tin­ued ratio­nal dis­cus­sion, it’s dif­fi­cult to imag­ine a sat­is­fy­ing paci­fist answer to the prob­lem of naked, implaca­ble hatred and aggres­sion on such a scale as that of the Third Reich. Even Gand­hi’s own pro­pos­al sounds like a joke: in 1940, Adolph Hitler aban­dons his plans to claim Leben­sraum for the Ger­man peo­ple and to dis­place, enslave, or erad­i­cate Ger­many’s neigh­bors and unde­sir­able cit­i­zens. He adopts a pos­ture of non-vio­lence and “uni­ver­sal friend­ship,” and Ger­man forces with­draw from Czecho­slo­va­kia, Poland, Den­mark, France, agree­ing to resolve dif­fer­ences through inter­na­tion­al con­fer­ence and com­mit­tee.

Hitler may have been a veg­e­tar­i­an, but that’s like­ly where any sym­pa­thy between him and Gand­hi began and end­ed.  And yet, the above is pre­cise­ly what Mahat­ma Gand­hi asked of the Fuhrer, in a let­ter dat­ed Decem­ber 24, 1940. Engaged ful­ly in the strug­gle for Indi­an inde­pen­dence, Gand­hi found him­self torn by the entry of Britain into the war against Ger­many. On the one hand, Gand­hi ini­tial­ly pledged “non­vi­o­lent moral sup­port” for the war, sens­ing an enemy–Germany–even more threat­en­ing to world peace and sta­bil­i­ty. (That stance would change in short order as the Indi­an Nation­al Con­gress revolt­ed and resigned en masse rather than par­tic­i­pate in the war). On the oth­er hand, Gand­hi did not see the British Empire as cat­e­gor­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent from the Nazis. As he put it in his let­ter to Hitler, whom he address­es as “Friend” (this is “no for­mal­i­ty,” he writes, “I own no foes”): “If there is a dif­fer­ence, it is in degree. One-fifth of the human race has been brought under the British heel by means that will not bear scruti­ny.”

Gand­hi acknowl­edges the absur­di­ty of his request: “I am aware,” he writes, “that your view of life regards such spo­li­a­tions as vir­tu­ous acts.” And yet, he mar­shals a for­mi­da­ble argu­ment for non­vi­o­lence as a force of pow­er, not weak­ness, show­ing how it had weak­ened British rule: “The move­ment of inde­pen­dence has been nev­er so strong as now,” he writes, through “the right means to com­bat the most orga­nized vio­lence in the world which the British pow­er rep­re­sents”:

It remains to be seen which is the bet­ter orga­nized, the Ger­man or the British. We know what the British heel means for us and the non-Euro­pean races of the world. But we would nev­er wish to end the British rule with Ger­man aid. We have found in non-vio­lence a force which, if orga­nized, can with­out doubt match itself against a com­bi­na­tion of all the most vio­lent forces in the world. In non-vio­lent tech­nique, as I have said, there is no such thing as defeat. It is all ‘do or die’ with­out killing or hurt­ing. It can be used prac­ti­cal­ly with­out mon­ey and obvi­ous­ly with­out the aid of sci­ence of destruc­tion which you have brought to such per­fec­tion. It is a mar­vel to me that you do not see that it is nobody’s monop­oly. If not the British, some oth­er pow­er will cer­tain­ly improve upon your method and beat you with your own weapon. You are leav­ing no lega­cy to your peo­ple of which they would feel proud. They can­not take pride in a recital of cru­el deed, how­ev­er skill­ful­ly planned. I, there­fore, appeal to you in the name of human­i­ty to stop the war.

As an alter­na­tive to war, Gand­hi pro­pos­es an “inter­na­tion­al tri­bunal of your joint choice” to deter­mine “which par­ty was in the right.” His let­ter, Gand­hi writes, should be tak­en as “a joint appeal to you and Sign­or Mus­soli­ni…. I hope that he will take this as addressed to him also with the nec­es­sary changes.”

Gand­hi also ref­er­ences an appeal he made “to every Briton to accept my method of non-vio­lent resis­tance.” That appeal took the form of an open let­ter he pub­lished that July, “To Every Briton,” in which he wrote:

You will invite Herr Hitler and Sign­or Mus­soli­ni to take what they want of the coun­tries you call your pos­ses­sions. Let them take pos­ses­sion of your beau­ti­ful island, with your many beau­ti­ful build­ings. You will give all these, but nei­ther your souls, nor your minds. If these gen­tle­men choose to occu­py your homes, you will vacate them. If they do not give you free pas­sage out, you will allow your­self, man, woman and child, to be slaugh­tered, but you will refuse to owe alle­giance to them.

When Gand­hi vis­it­ed Eng­land that year, he found the viceroy of colo­nial India “dumb­struck” by these requests, writes Stan­ley Wolpert in his biog­ra­phy of the Indi­an leader, “unable to utter a word in response, refus­ing even to call for his car to take the now more deeply despon­dent Gand­hi home.”

Gand­hi’s 1940 let­ter to Hitler was actu­al­ly his sec­ond addressed to the Nazi leader. The first, a very short mis­sive writ­ten in 1939, one month before the ill-fat­ed Sovi­et Non-Aggres­sion Pact, strikes a con­cil­ia­to­ry tone. Gand­hi writes that he resist­ed requests from friends to pen the let­ter “because of the feel­ing that any let­ter from me would be an imper­ti­nence,” and though he calls on Hitler to “pre­vent a war which may reduce human­i­ty to a sav­age state,” he ends with, “I antic­i­pate your for­give­ness, If I have erred in writ­ing to you.” But again, in this very brief let­ter, Gand­hi appeals to the “con­sid­er­able suc­cess” of his non­vi­o­lent meth­ods. “There is no evi­dence,” The Chris­t­ian Sci­ence Mon­i­tor remarks, “to sug­gest Hitler ever respond­ed to either of Gand­hi’s let­ters.”

As the war unavoid­ably raged, Gand­hi redou­bled his efforts at Indi­an inde­pen­dence, launch­ing the  “Quit India” move­ment in 1942, which—writes Open Uni­ver­si­ty—“more than any­thing, unit­ed the Indi­an peo­ple against British rule” and has­tened its even­tu­al end in 1947. Non-vio­lence suc­ceed­ed, improb­a­bly, against the British Empire, though cer­tain oth­er for­mer colonies won inde­pen­dence through more tra­di­tion­al­ly war­like meth­ods. And yet, though Gand­hi believed non-vio­lent resis­tance could avert the hor­rors of World War II, those of us with­out his lev­el of total com­mit­ment to the prin­ci­ple may find it dif­fi­cult to imag­ine how it might have suc­ceed­ed against the Nazis, or how it could have appealed to their total­iz­ing ide­ol­o­gy of dom­i­na­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Tol­stoy and Gand­hi Exchange Let­ters: Two Thinkers’ Quest for Gen­tle­ness, Humil­i­ty & Love (1909)

Hear Gandhi’s Famous Speech on the Exis­tence of God (1931)

Watch Gand­hi Talk in His First Filmed Inter­view (1947)

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

Watch the Destruction of Pompeii by Mount Vesuvius, Re-Created with Computer Animation (79 AD)

A good dis­as­ter sto­ry nev­er fails to fas­ci­nate — and, giv­en that it actu­al­ly hap­pened, the sto­ry of Pom­peii espe­cial­ly so. Buried and thus frozen in time by the erup­tion of Mount Vesu­vius in 79 AD, the ancient Roman town of 11,000 has pro­vid­ed an object of great his­tor­i­cal inter­est ever since its redis­cov­ery in 1599. Baths, hous­es, tools and oth­er pos­ses­sions (includ­ing plen­ty of wine bot­tles), fres­coes, graf­fi­ti, an amp­ithe­ater, an aque­duct, the “Vil­la of the Mys­ter­ies”: Pom­peii has it all, as far as the stuff of first-cen­tu­ry Roman life goes.

The ash-pre­served ruins of Pom­peii, more than any oth­er source, have pro­vid­ed his­to­ri­ans with a win­dow into just what life in that time and place was like. A Day in Pom­peii, an exhi­bi­tion held at the Mel­bourne Muse­um in 2009, gave its more than 330,000 vis­i­tors a chance to expe­ri­ence Pom­pei­i’s life even more vivid­ly. The exhi­bi­tion includ­ed a 3D the­ater instal­la­tion that fea­tured the ani­ma­tion above. Watch it, and you can see Pom­peii brought back to life with com­put­er-gen­er­at­ed imagery — and then, in snap­shots over the course of 48 hours, entombed by Vesu­vius again.

As inher­ent­ly com­pelling as we find the sto­ry of Pom­peii, mod­ern dra­ma has strug­gled to cap­ture the pow­er of the dis­as­ter that defines it. The late-1960s BBC show Up Pom­peii! offered a comedic ren­der­ing of life in the city before the explo­sion, but more seri­ous inter­pre­ta­tions, like the 2014 Hol­ly­wood movie Pom­peii, met with only luke­warm crit­i­cal recep­tion. Best, it seems, to stick to the words of Pliny the Younger, wit­ness to the destruc­tion and still its most evoca­tive describer:

You could hear the shrieks of women, the wail­ing of infants, and the shout­ing of men; some were call­ing their par­ents, oth­ers their chil­dren or their wives, try­ing to rec­og­nize them by their voic­es. Peo­ple bewailed their own fate or that of their rel­a­tives, and there were some who prayed for death in their ter­ror of dying. Many besought the aid of the gods, but still more imag­ined there were no gods left, and that the uni­verse was plunged into eter­nal dark­ness for ever­more.

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via Metafliter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vis­it Pom­peii (also Stone­henge & Ver­sailles) with Google Street View

Rome Reborn: Take a Vir­tu­al Tour Through Ancient Rome, 320 C.E.

The His­to­ry of Rome in 179 Pod­casts

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dat­ing Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

Ten Dis­cov­er­ies That Rewrote His­to­ry

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.

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

Alan Rickman Recites “If Death Is Not the End,” a Moving Poem by Robyn Hitchcock

Odd­ball singer-song­writer Robyn Hitch­cock is a man who knows how to mark mile­stones. Back in 2003, he staged a con­cert at London’s Queen Eliz­a­beth Hall in hon­or of his own 50th birth­day, and in so doing, cre­at­ed a time release mile­stone of sorts for his friend, actor Alan Rick­man.

Mark­ing a half-cen­tu­ry with pas­sive aggres­sive-gag gifts and cards may suf­fice for the rab­ble, but a lyri­cist as gift­ed as Hitch­cock deserves bet­ter. No one can deny Rick­man of fail­ing to deliv­er, when he regaled the crowd in Queen Eliz­a­beth Hall with a recita­tion of Hitchcock’s own poem, “If Death Is Not the End,” above.

It’s an inim­itable per­for­mance that becomes all the more poignant when one lis­tens to it again, fol­low­ing Rickman’s recent death at the age of 69:

Life is what hap­pened to the dead.

For­ev­er we do not exist

Except for now.

Birth­day Boy Hitch­cock cap­tured Rickman’s appeal in a trib­ute post­ed to his Face­book page:

His morose erot­ic drawl and glo­ri­ous­ly dis­dain­ful demeanor shel­tered a pas­sion­ate artist and made for a charis­mat­ic per­former whom I was proud to have as a friend. I just can’t believe I’ll nev­er see him again.

As the poem says, he was made of life.

If Death Is Not the End

If death is not the end, I’d like to know what is.

For all eter­ni­ty we don’t exist,

except for now.

In my gumshoe mac, I shuf­fled to the clifftop,

Stood well back,

and struck a match to light my life;

And as it flared it fell in dark­ness

Light­ing noth­ing but itself.

I saw my life fall and thought:

Well, kiss my physics!

Time is over, or it’s not,

But this I know:

Life pass­es through us like the blade

Of bam­boo grow­ing through the pris­on­er pegged down in the glade

It pierces your blood, your scream­ing head -

Life is what hap­pened to the dead.

For­ev­er we do not exist

Except for now.

Life pass­es through us like a beam

Of char­coal green — a gold­en gleam,

The oppo­site of how it seems:

It’s not you that goes through life

- life is the knife that cuts your dream

Around the seam

And leaves you turned on in the stream, laugh­ing with your mouth

open,

Until the stream is gone,

Leav­ing you cracked mud,

Not even there to be absent,

From the heart­beat of a dying fish.

In bed, upstairs, I feel your pulse run with the clock

And reach your hand

And lock us with our fin­gers

As if we were bump­ing above the Pole.

Yet I know by dawn

Your hand will be dry bone

I’ll have slept through your good­bye, no mat­ter how long I wake.

Life winds on,

Through Cheri and Karl who can no longer smell choco­late,

Or see with won­der wind inflate the sail,

Or answer mail

Life flies on

Through Katy who was Cather­ine but is bound for Kate

Who looks over her shoul­der at the demon Azmodeus,

And sees the Dai­ly Mail

(I clutch my purse. I had it just now.)

Life slices through

The frozen but­ter in the Alpine wreck.

(I found your pho­to upside down

I nev­er kissed a girl so long,

So long, so love­ly or so wrong)

Life is what kills you in the end

And I can cry

But you won’t be there to be sor­ry

You were made of life

For ever we did not exist

We woke and for a sec­ond kissed.

via Audi­boom

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Late, Great Alan Rick­man Reads Shake­speare, Proust & Thomas Hardy

Samuel Beck­ett Play Brought to Life in an Eerie Short Film Star­ring Alan Rick­man & Kristin Scott Thomas

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Her play, Fawn­book, opens in New York City lat­er this fall. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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