A Visual Timeline of World History: Watch the Rise & Fall of Civilizations Over 5,000 Years

In the video above, Use­fulCharts cre­ator Matt Bak­er sug­gests that we not refer to the peri­od span­ning the fifth and the late fif­teenth cen­turies as the “dark ages.” In jus­ti­fi­ca­tion, he does­n’t put forth the argu­ment, now fair­ly com­mon, that the time in ques­tion was actu­al­ly full of sub­tle inno­va­tion occlud­ed by mod­ern prej­u­dice. The real prob­lem, as he sees it, is that the slow­ing, if not revers­ing, of the progress of human soci­ety that we’ve tra­di­tion­al­ly regard­ed as occur­ring in what are com­mon­ly known as the Mid­dle Ages only occurred in Europe. What’s more, there have been mul­ti­ple such eras in the world: take the ear­li­er “Greek dark ages” asso­ci­at­ed with the Bronze Age civ­i­liza­tion­al col­lapse of 1177 BC.

All this and more comes across at a glance on Bak­er’s Time­line of World His­to­ry, whose design is explained in the video. With char­ac­ter­is­tic Use­fulCharts clar­i­ty (also demon­strat­ed by the World Reli­gions Fam­i­ly Tree and the Evo­lu­tion of the Alpha­bet, pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture), it lays out all the peri­ods of his­to­ry we may know bet­ter by their names than by their rela­tion­ship to actu­al events.

At the top, it begins with the end of pre­his­to­ry and the start of his­to­ry: that is, when writ­ing devel­oped around 5,300 years ago. At that point, mul­ti­ple civ­i­liza­tions had already begun to estab­lish them­selves around the world, and it is their growth and decline rep­re­sent­ed by the thick­ness of the lines run­ning down the time­line’s reg­u­lar cen­tu­ry-long divi­sions.

As the ear­ly Bronze Age gives way to the Bronze Age, the Bronze Age gives way to the Iron Age, and the Iron Age gives way to Clas­si­cal Antiq­ui­ty, these lines of civ­i­liza­tion thick­en into those of empire. None come thick­er than that of ancient Rome, which occu­pies the visu­al cen­ter of the poster (itself, inci­den­tal­ly, avail­able for pur­chase from Use­fulCharts’ site), but the design’s strength lies less in under­scor­ing the impor­tance of any one empire than of reveal­ing how much his­to­ry was going on all over the world at any giv­en time. Using its ver­ti­cal lines to trace the rise and fall of the Olmecs, say, or the Aksum­ite Empire or the Mis­sis­sip­pi­an Cul­ture, one can hard­ly sup­press a feel­ing of Ozy­man­di­an tran­sience. Nor, for that mat­ter, can one ignore that all of us live out our lives with­in the span of two of its hor­i­zon­tal ones.

Relat­ed con­tent:

An Inter­ac­tive Time­line Cov­er­ing 14 Bil­lion Years of His­to­ry: From The Big Bang to 2015

The His­to­ry of Civ­i­liza­tion Mapped in 13 Min­utes: 5000 BC to 2014 AD

World Reli­gions Explained with Use­ful Charts: Hin­duism, Bud­dhism, Judaism, Islam, Chris­tian­i­ty & More

The His­to­ry of the Earth (All 4.5 Bil­lion Years) in 1 Hour: A Mil­lion Years Cov­ered Every Sec­ond

6,000 Years of His­to­ry Visu­al­ized in a 23-Foot-Long Time­line of World His­to­ry, Cre­at­ed in 1871

The Writ­ing Sys­tems of the World Explained, from the Latin Alpha­bet to the Abugi­das of India

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Hear Debussy Play Debussy: A Vintage Recording from 1913

A cen­tu­ry ago, the great French com­pos­er Claude Debussy sat down at a con­trap­tion called a Welte-Mignon repro­duc­ing piano and record­ed a series of per­for­mances for pos­ter­i­ty. The machine was designed to encode the nuances of a pianist’s play­ing, includ­ing ped­al­ing and dynam­ics, onto piano rolls for lat­er repro­duc­tion.

Debussy record­ed 14 pieces onto six rolls in Paris on or before Novem­ber 1, 1913. Accord­ing to Debussy enthu­si­ast Steve Bryson’s web site, the com­pos­er was delight­ed with the repro­duc­tion qual­i­ty, say­ing in a let­ter to Edwin Welte: “It is impos­si­ble to attain a greater per­fec­tion of repro­duc­tion than that of the Welte appa­ra­tus. I am hap­py to assure you in these lines of my aston­ish­ment and admi­ra­tion of what I heard. I am, Dear Sir, Yours Faith­ful­ly, Claude Debussy.”

The selec­tion above is “La soirée dans Grenade” (“Grena­da in the evening”), from Debussy’s 1903 trio of com­po­si­tions titled Estam­pes, or “Prints.” Debussy was inspired by the Sym­bol­ist poets and Impres­sion­ist painters who strove to go beyond the sur­face of a sub­ject to evoke the feel­ing it gave off. “La soirée dans Grenade” is described by Chris­tine Steven­son at Notes From a Pianist as a “sound pic­ture” of Moor­ish Spain:

Debussy’s first-hand expe­ri­ence of Spain was neg­li­gi­ble at that time, but he imme­di­ate­ly con­jures up the coun­try by using the per­sua­sive Haben­era dance rhythm to open the piece–softly and sub­tly. It insin­u­ates itself into our con­scious­ness with its qui­et insis­tence on a repeat­ed C sharp in dif­fer­ent reg­is­ters; around it cir­cles a lan­guid, Moor­ish arabesque, with nasal aug­ment­ed 2nds, and a nag­ging semi­tone pulling against the tonal cen­tre, occa­sion­al­ly inter­rupt­ed by mut­ter­ing semi­qua­vers [16th notes] and a whole-tone based pas­sage. Debussy writes Com­mencer lente­ment dans un rythme non­cha­la­m­ment gra­cieux [Begin slow­ly in a casu­al­ly grace­ful rhythm] at the begin­ning, but lat­er Tres ryth­mé [Very rhyth­mic] in a bright­ly lit A major as the dance comes out of the shad­ows, ff [Fortissimo–loudly], with the click of cas­tanets and the stamp­ing of feet.

Debussy was 52 years old and suf­fer­ing from can­cer when he made his piano roll record­ings. He died less than five years lat­er, on March 25, 1918. Since then, his beau­ti­ful and evoca­tive music has secured a place for him as one of the most influ­en­tial and pop­u­lar com­posers of the 20th cen­tu­ry. As Roger Hecht writes at Clas­si­cal Net, “Debussy was a dream­er whose music dreamed with him.”

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Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2013.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear The Rite of Spring Con­duct­ed by Igor Stravin­sky Him­self: A Vin­tage Record­ing from 1929

Hear a 1930 Record­ing of Bolero, Con­duct­ed by Rav­el Him­self

Rare 1946 Film: The Great Russ­ian Com­pos­er Sergei Prokofiev Plays Piano, Dis­cuss­es His Music

The Evil Genius of Fascist Design: How Mussolini and Hitler Used Art & Architecture to Project Power

When the Nazis came to pow­er in 1933, they declared the begin­ning of a “Thou­sand-Year Reich” that ulti­mate­ly came up about 988 years short. Fas­cism in Italy man­aged to hold on to pow­er for a cou­ple of decades, which was pre­sum­ably still much less time than Ben­i­to Mus­soli­ni imag­ined he’d get on the throne. His­to­ry shows us that regimes of this kind suf­fered a fair­ly severe sta­bil­i­ty prob­lem, which is per­haps why they need­ed to put forth such a sol­id, for­mi­da­ble image. The IMPERIAL video above explores “the evil genius of fas­cist design,” focus­ing on how Hitler and Mus­soli­ni ren­dered their ide­olo­gies in art and the built envi­ron­ment, but many of its obser­va­tions can be gen­er­al­ized to any polit­i­cal move­ment that seeks total con­trol of a soci­ety, espe­cial­ly if that soci­ety has a suf­fi­cient­ly glo­ri­ous-seem­ing past.

Fas­cis­m’s visu­al lan­guage has many inspi­ra­tions, two of the most impor­tant cit­ed in the video being  Roman­ti­cism and Futur­ism. The for­mer offered “a long­ing for the past, an obses­sion with nature, and a focus on the sub­lime”; the lat­ter “wor­shiped speed, machines, and vio­lence.” Despite their appar­ent con­tra­dic­tion, these dual cur­rents allowed fas­cism “a pecu­liar abil­i­ty to look both back­ward and for­ward, to sum­mon the glo­ry of past empires while promis­ing a rad­i­cal new future.”

In Italy, such an empire may have been dis­tant in time, but it was nev­er­the­less close at hand. “We dream of a Roman Italy that is wise and strong, dis­ci­plined and Impe­r­i­al.” Even Hitler drew from the glo­ries of ancient Rome and Greece to shape his own aspi­ra­tional vision of an all-pow­er­ful Ger­man civ­i­liza­tion.

Hence both of those dic­ta­tors under­tak­ing large-scale Neo­clas­si­cal-style archi­tec­tur­al projects “to bring the aes­thet­ics of ancient Rome to their city streets,” includ­ing even mus­cu­lar stat­ues meant to embody the offi­cial­ly sanc­tioned human ide­al. Of course, the builders of the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca had also looked to Roman forms, but they did so at a small­er, more humane scale. Fas­cist struc­tures were designed not just to be eter­nal sym­bols but over­whelm­ing pres­ences, intend­ed “not to ele­vate the soul, but to crush the indi­vid­ual into the crowd and pro­mote con­for­mi­ty.” This, in the­o­ry, would make the cit­i­zen feel small and pow­er­less, but with an accom­pa­ny­ing qua­si-reli­gious long­ing to be part of a larg­er project: that of fas­cism, which sub­or­di­nates every­thing to the state. For the likes of Mus­soli­ni and Hitler (an artist-turned-politi­cian, as one can hard­ly fail to note), aes­thet­ics was pow­er — albeit not quite enough, in the event, to ensure their own sur­vival.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wal­ter Ben­jamin Explains How Fas­cism Uses Mass Media to Turn Pol­i­tics Into Spec­ta­cle (1935)

Yale Pro­fes­sor Jason Stan­ley Iden­ti­fies 10 Tac­tics of Fas­cism: The “Cult of the Leader,” Law & Order, Vic­tim­hood and More

Mus­soli­ni Sends to Amer­i­ca a Hap­py Mes­sage, Full of Friend­ly Feel­ings, in Eng­lish (1927)

Are You a Fas­cist?: Take Theodor Adorno’s Author­i­tar­i­an Per­son­al­i­ty Test Cre­at­ed to Com­bat Fas­cism (1947)

The Sto­ry of Fas­cism: Rick Steves’ Doc­u­men­tary Helps Us Learn from the Painful Lessons of the 20th Cen­tu­ry

Umber­to Eco’s List of the 14 Com­mon Fea­tures of Fas­cism

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Why Coffee Makes You Go #2

James Hoff­mann, the author of The World Atlas of Cof­fee and the cre­ator of a cof­fee-cen­tric YouTube chan­nel, can tell you many things about coffee—from how to roast cof­fee, to the tools and tech­niques need­ed to make espres­so, to the ulti­mate French Press tech­nique. Then he can also get into more tan­gen­tial­ly relat­ed ques­tions, like why cof­fee makes you drop the prover­bial deuce. Above, Mr. Hoff­mann takes you on a short sci­en­tif­ic jour­ney through the human body, explor­ing the effects of cof­fee on diges­tion, gut bac­te­ria, and our ner­vous sys­tem. We’ll pro­vide no spoil­ers or gory details here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

How Human­i­ty Got Hooked on Cof­fee: An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry

“The Virtues of Cof­fee” Explained in 1690 Ad: The Cure for Lethar­gy, Scurvy, Drop­sy, Gout & More

Every­thing You Ever Want­ed to Know about the Bialet­ti Moka Express: A Deep Dive Into Italy’s Most Pop­u­lar Cof­fee Mak­er

The Birth of Espres­so: The Sto­ry Behind the Cof­fee Shots That Fuel Mod­ern Life

How Movies Created Their Special Effects Before CGI: Metropolis, 2001: A Space Odyssey & More

The youngest movie­go­ers today do not, of course, remem­ber a time before visu­al effects could be cre­at­ed dig­i­tal­ly. What may give us more pause is that, at this point in cin­e­ma his­to­ry, most of their par­ents don’t remem­ber it either. Con­sid­er the fact that Steven Spiel­berg’s Juras­sic Park, with its once impos­si­bly real­is­tic (and still whol­ly pass­able) CGI dinosaurs, came out 32 years ago. That may put it, we must acknowl­edge, into the realm of the “clas­sic,” the kind of pic­ture whose enter­tain­ment val­ue holds up despite — or because of — the qual­i­ties that fix it in its time. Equal­ly spec­tac­u­lar but longer-can­on­ized clas­sics pose a greater chal­lenge to the imag­i­na­tions of young view­ers, who can hard­ly guess how they could have been made “before com­put­ers.”

After see­ing the notable exam­ples pro­vid­ed in the new Pri­mal Space video above, they’ll cer­tain­ly under­stand one thing: it was­n’t easy. Even a seem­ing­ly sim­ple effect like the pen float­ing loose through the zero-grav­i­ty cab­in in 2001: A Space Odyssey required no small degree of inge­nu­ity. We might nat­u­ral­ly assume that film­mak­ers in 1968 would have accom­plished it with a cou­ple of pieces of Scotch tape and fish­ing line, but that would have result­ed in unac­cept­able tan­gling prob­lems, to say noth­ing of the trick­i­ness of ensur­ing, quite lit­er­al­ly, that the strings did­n’t show. Instead, Kubrick­’s team end­ed up attach­ing the pen to a sheet of glass — metic­u­lous­ly cleaned, no doubt, to elim­i­nate the pos­si­bil­i­ty of streaks — large enough to occu­py the entire frame and thus go unno­ticed by the view­er. It was then slow­ly rotat­ed by a crank-turn­ing assis­tant.

A few dif­fer­ent effects from 2001 come in for expla­na­tion through­out the course of the video, includ­ing the mul­ti­ple-expo­sure pho­tog­ra­phy that made pos­si­ble shots of space­craft pass­ing plan­ets as well as the psy­che­del­ic “Star Gate” sequence toward the end. Though some of the devices used in these process­es were put togeth­er just for the pro­duc­tion, the under­ly­ing tech­niques had already been evolv­ing for more than 60 years. Indeed, many were pio­neered by Georges Méliès, pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for A Trip to the Moon from 1902, the very first sci­ence-fic­tion film. This video goes behind the scenes of a work from the year before: L’Homme à la tête en caoutchouc, or The Man with the Rub­ber Head, in which Méliès man­aged a shot in which his own cra­ni­um inflates to huge pro­por­tions with­out the use of so much as a zoom lens.

Oth­er exam­ples, drawn from a range of beloved films from Metrop­o­lis to Mary Pop­pins, illus­trate the inven­tive­ness born of sheer tech­ni­cal lim­i­ta­tion in the days when film­mak­ing was a whol­ly ana­log affair. In some cas­es, the effects these pro­duc­tions pulled off with minia­tures, prisms, and mir­rors 60, 80, 100 years ago look as good as any­thing Hol­ly­wood puts on the screen today — or rather bet­ter, since the innate phys­i­cal­i­ty behind them makes them feel more “real.” Per­haps unsur­pris­ing­ly, this video’s arti­fi­cial-intel­li­gence course spon­sor makes ref­er­ence to the end­less range of visu­al pos­si­bil­i­ties avail­able to those who mas­ter that tech­nol­o­gy. And it’s not impos­si­ble that we now stand on the cusp of a rev­o­lu­tion in visu­al effects for that rea­son, with at least as much of an upside and down­side as CGI. If so, we should pre­pare our­selves to hear the ques­tion, from chil­dren born today, of how any­one ever made movies before AI.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Georges Méliès A Trip to the Moon Became the First Sci-Fi Film & Changed Cin­e­ma For­ev­er (1902)

The Art of Cre­at­ing Spe­cial Effects in Silent Movies: Inge­nu­ity Before the Age of CGI

The 1927 Film Metrop­o­lis Cre­at­ed a Dystopi­an Vision of What the World Would Look Like in 2026–and It Hits Close to Home

How Stan­ley Kubrick Made 2001: A Space Odyssey: A Sev­en-Part Video Essay

How 2001: A Space Odyssey Became “the Hard­est Film Kubrick Ever Made”

Why Movies Don’t Feel Real Any­more: A Close Look at Chang­ing Film­mak­ing Tech­niques

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

How Many Humans Have Ever Lived, and How Many Are Alive Right Now?

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How many peo­ple have ever walked the earth? Good ques­tion, even if you’ve nev­er quite pon­dered it before. Accord­ing to the Pop­u­la­tion Ref­er­ence Bureau, a non-prof­it research orga­ni­za­tion, if you trav­el back to 8000 B.C.E., the world pop­u­la­tion stood at about 5 mil­lion. By 1 C.E., the num­ber climbs to 300 mil­lion, before grad­u­al­ly increas­ing to 500 mil­lion in 1650. Once we get beyond the plagues of the medieval peri­od, our pop­u­la­tion explodes, reach­ing the 1 bil­lion mark in 1800 and then 8 bil­lion in 2022. Tak­en togeth­er, an esti­mat­ed 117 bil­lion peo­ple have col­lec­tive­ly lived on our plan­et, and, of that total num­ber, 7% are alive right now. A strik­ing fig­ure. Using sim­i­lar data, video jour­nal­ist Cleo Abram visu­al­izes the his­tor­i­cal trend in a short, suc­cinct video above.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Buck­min­ster Fuller Cre­ates an Ani­mat­ed Visu­al­iza­tion of Human Pop­u­la­tion Growth from 1000 B.C.E. to 1965

200,000 Years of Stag­ger­ing Human Pop­u­la­tion Growth Shown in an Ani­mat­ed Map

Crowd­ed House: How the World’s Pop­u­la­tion Grew to 7 Bil­lion Peo­ple

Take a Tour of 18th-Century London, Recreated with AI

If you want to know what it was like to live in sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry Lon­don, read the diary of Samuel Pepys. While doing so, take note of his fre­quent ref­er­ences to the unclean­li­ness of the city’s streets: “very dirty and trou­ble­some to walk through,” “mighty dirty after the rain,” and dur­ing the large-scale rebuild­ing in the after­math of the Great Fire of 1666, “much built, yet very dirty and encum­bered.” If you want to know what it was like to live in nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry Lon­don, read Charles Dick­ens. How­ev­er much-lament­ed the dif­fi­cul­ties it presents to young read­ers, the open­ing of Bleak House remains high­ly evoca­tive, set­ting the scene with “as much mud in the streets, as if the waters had but new­ly retired from the face of the earth,” “dogs, undis­tin­guish­able in mire, and “hors­es, scarce­ly bet­ter; splashed to their very blink­ers.”

This “mud,” an unspeak­ably foul admix­ture of sub­stances, only began to recede per­ma­nent­ly from Lon­don’s streets in the eigh­teen-fifties, after the instal­la­tion of sew­er sys­tems. So nor­mal for so long, its pres­ence would hard­ly have been down­played by the city’s observers back then, whether they record­ed their obser­va­tions on the page or on the can­vas.

Even the painter’s ide­al­iz­ing impulse could only do so much, as evi­denced by some of the shots includ­ed in the new video tour of eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry Lon­don from Majes­tic Stu­dios above. Turn­ing con­tem­po­rary paint­ings and engrav­ings into cin­e­mat­ic ani­ma­tions with arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence-gen­er­at­ed video, it offers the next best thing to actu­al footage of the city as it would have been seen by the likes of Jonathan Swift, Samuel John­son, Thomas Gains­bor­ough, and Mary Woll­stonecraft.

Sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry Lon­don was the cul­tur­al and com­mer­cial cen­ter of Geor­gian Eng­land, but also a city well on its way to becom­ing the cen­ter of the world. Some of its famous sights seen here in their eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry urban con­text include St. Paul’s Cathe­dral by Sir Christo­pher Wren, mas­ter­mind of the city’s post-Great Fire recon­struc­tion; the old Lon­don Bridge, still lined with hous­es and shops; St. James’s Square after its trans­for­ma­tion from a state once con­sid­ered “mud­dy, neglect­ed, and frankly, embar­rass­ing for such pres­ti­gious address­es”; and the Tow­er of Lon­don on the bank of the Riv­er Thames. As for the riv­er itself, it hard­ly goes ignored by the works of art that shape this video, or indeed un-glo­ri­fied by them. But if you know any­thing about its con­di­tion before the turn of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, you’ll be relieved that AI can’t yet restore its smell.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Growth of Lon­don, from the Romans to the 21st Cen­tu­ry, Visu­al­ized in a Time-Lapse Ani­mat­ed Map

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Shakespeare’s Globe The­atre in Lon­don

The Evo­lu­tion of Lon­don: 2,000 Years of Change Ani­mat­ed in 7 Min­utes

The Old­est Known Footage of Lon­don (1890–1920) Fea­tures the City’s Great Land­marks

Hear the Evo­lu­tion of the Lon­don Accent Over 660 Years: From 1346 to 2006

The Sights & Sounds of 18th-Cen­tu­ry Paris Get Recre­at­ed with 3D Audio and Ani­ma­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Tom Jones Performs Prince’s “Purple Rain” Accompanied by Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour (1992)

Over the decades, Tom Jones has per­formed with the best of them. In 1969, we can find him singing “Long Time Gone” with Cros­by, Stills, Nash & Young, and tak­ing them delight­ful­ly by sur­prise. The same goes for his duet with Janis Joplin in that same year. Now fast for­ward to the 1990s. In this decade, Jones teamed up with the Swedish rock band The Cardi­gans and per­formed a rol­lick­ing ver­sion of the Talk­ing Heads “Burn­ing Down the House.” And, rather unex­pect­ed­ly, he would get paired with Pink Floy­d’s David Gilmour and croon Prince’s “Pur­ple Rain.”

The record­ing above comes from Jones’ show The Right Time, a six-episode tele­vi­sion series that aired in 1992. Trac­ing the evo­lu­tion of pop music, the show fea­tured appear­ances by Bob Geld­of, Cyn­di Lau­per, The Chief­tains and Ste­vie Won­der. When it comes to his ver­sion of “Pur­ple Rain,” don’t miss the Gilmour solo mid­way through. Enjoy!

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Tom Jones Per­forms “Long Time Gone” with Cros­by, Stills, Nash & Young–and Blows the Band & Audi­ence Away (1969)

Janis Joplin & Tom Jones Bring the House Down in an Unlike­ly Duet of “Raise Your Hand” (1969)

Tom Jones Cov­ers Talk­ing Heads “Burn­ing Down the House”–and Burns Down the House (1999)

Prince Plays a Mind-Blow­ing Gui­tar Solo On “While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps”

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Göbekli Tepe: The 12,000-Year-Old Ruins That Rewrite the Story of Civilization

We did­n’t have civ­i­liza­tion until we had cities, and we did­n’t have cities until we had agri­cul­ture. So, at least, goes a wide­ly accept­ed nar­ra­tive in “big his­to­ry” — a nar­ra­tive some­what trou­bled by the dis­cov­ery of ruins on Göbek­li Tepe, or “Pot­bel­ly Hill,” in south­east­ern Turkey. Appar­ent­ly inhab­it­ed from around 9500 to 8000 BC, the ancient set­tle­ment pre­dates the Pyra­mids of Giza by near­ly 8,000 years, and Stone­henge by about 6,000 years. Though it was once believed to be a site used for rit­u­al pur­pos­es only, lat­er research unearthed evi­dence that sug­gests it was host to a vari­ety of activ­i­ties we asso­ciate with urban civ­i­liza­tion, rather than what we usu­al­ly think of hunter-gath­er­er sites. Does it amount to rea­son enough to revise our very under­stand­ing of the his­to­ry of human­i­ty?

“Like Stone­henge, Göbek­li Tepe’s struc­ture includes cir­cles of T‑shaped lime­stone pil­lars, many of them fea­tur­ing etch­ings of ani­mals,” says YouTu­ber Joe Scott in the video above. These pil­lars are arranged into enclo­sures, which togeth­er con­sti­tute a site that “fea­tures archae­o­log­i­cal com­plex­i­ty that prob­a­bly would have been too advanced for hunter-gath­er­ers.”

Klaus Schmidt, the archae­ol­o­gist who led the exca­va­tions at Göbek­li Tepe between 1996 and 2014, believed that it was “a sanc­tu­ary and maybe a region­al pil­grim­age cen­ter where peo­ple gath­ered to per­form reli­gious rites.” But since his death, evi­dence of hous­es, a cis­tern, and grain-pro­cess­ing tools has turned up, indi­cat­ing “a ful­ly fledged set­tle­ment with per­ma­nent occu­pa­tion” well before the advent of farm­ing. This find­ing indi­cates that social and tech­no­log­i­cal inno­va­tions asso­ci­at­ed with ‘civ­i­liza­tion’ may have emerged long before the advent of agri­cul­ture, cities, or domes­ti­cat­ed ani­mals — under con­di­tions very dif­fer­ent from what his­to­ri­ans had pre­vi­ous­ly assumed. But as to the rea­son it was all built in the first place, this new infor­ma­tion has led to more ques­tions than answers.

One less than gen­er­al­ly accept­ed the­o­ry holds that Göbek­li Tepe was an astro­nom­i­cal obser­va­to­ry, and per­haps also a memo­r­i­al to a dev­as­tat­ing comet strike that occurred 13,000 years ago. Maybe it was “a last-ditch effort by a hunter-gath­er­er soci­ety to hang on to their van­ish­ing lifestyle as the world was tran­si­tion­ing to farm­ing.” That could have been the first large-scale tech­no­log­i­cal rev­o­lu­tion in human his­to­ry, but it cer­tain­ly would­n’t be the last, and as we here in the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry con­sid­er the ruins of Göbek­li Tepe — most of which still have yet to be exca­vat­ed — we nat­u­ral­ly find our­selves think­ing about the long-term sur­vival prospects of our own civ­i­liza­tion. But the more recent dis­cov­ery else­where in Turkey of oth­er, even old­er ruins with a dis­tinct­ly urban struc­ture may also make us feel that our way of life isn’t quite as mod­ern as we’d imag­ined.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore the Ruins of Tim­gad, the “African Pom­peii” Exca­vat­ed from the Sands of Alge­ria

Watch Ancient Ruins Get Restored to their Glo­ri­ous Orig­i­nal State with Ani­mat­ed GIFs: The Tem­ple of Jupiter, Lux­or Tem­ple & More

Pom­peii Rebuilt: A Tour of the Ancient City Before It Was Entombed by Mount Vesu­vius

How Civ­i­liza­tions Built on Top of Each Oth­er: Dis­cov­er What Lies Beneath Rome, Troy & Oth­er Cities

A Cul­tur­al Tour of Istan­bul, Where the Art and His­to­ry of Three Great Empires Come Togeth­er

Archae­ol­o­gists Dis­cov­er a 2,400-Year-Old Skele­ton Mosa­ic That Urges Peo­ple to “Be Cheer­ful and Live Your Life”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Download 1300 Still Images from the Animated Films of Hayao Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli

You may have seen every sin­gle one of Stu­dio Ghi­b­li’s ani­mat­ed films, going well beyond the Hayao Miyaza­ki-direct­ed My Neigh­bor Totoro, Spir­it­ed Away, and Kik­i’s Deliv­ery Ser­vice to the less wide­ly known but also charm­ing­ly craft­ed likes of Ocean Waves, My Neigh­bors the Yamadas, and The Cat Returns. Even so, the ques­tion remains: have you real­ly seen them all? Expe­ri­enc­ing them in the the­ater or on home video is only the first stage of the process. Ide­al­ly, each ele­ment of a Ghi­b­li movie should sub­se­quent­ly be appre­ci­at­ed in iso­la­tion and at length: by lis­ten­ing to the music, for exam­ple, hun­dreds of hours of which, avail­able to stream, we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture.

Still, no mat­ter how cap­ti­vat­ing Joe Hisaishi’s scores may sound on their own, Ghi­b­li’s work is ulti­mate­ly made to be seen. Giv­en that 24 frames of their movies go by each sec­ond, it can be dif­fi­cult to pick up all the details their ani­ma­tors include in each and every one of them.

Hence the val­ue of the free archive of stills that the stu­dio first made avail­able online a few years ago, and that has steadi­ly expand­ed ever since. Though only avail­able in Japan­ese, it does­n’t present a great chal­lenge even to fans with no knowl­edge of the lan­guage to click on the poster of their Ghi­b­li film of choice, then to browse the vari­ety of down­load­able images asso­ci­at­ed with it.

Many of these stills are drawn from high­ly mem­o­rable moments across the Ghi­b­li fil­mog­ra­phy: the chil­dren’s par­ty on the hero of Por­co Rosso’s beloved air­plane; the emer­gence of the kodama in Princess Mononoke; the defeat of the colos­sal Giant War­rior in Nau­si­caä of the Val­ley of the Wind (which pre­dates the stu­dio’s foun­da­tion, but in any case now seems to count hon­orar­i­ly among its pro­duc­tions); the sen­tient flame cook­ing a skil­let of bacon and eggs in Howl’s Mov­ing Cas­tle. Some of them have even been turned into wall­pa­per for video calls, down­load­able from a page of their own. There we have anoth­er way to add a touch of Stu­dio Ghi­b­li’s dis­tinc­tive vision to our every­day lives — and anoth­er source of inspi­ra­tion to watch through the movies them­selves one more time.

Enter the archive of still images here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

De-Stress with 30 Min­utes of Relax­ing Visu­als from Direc­tor Hayao Miyaza­ki

A Vir­tu­al Tour Inside the Hayao Miyazaki’s Stu­dio Ghi­b­li Muse­um

A Tour of Stu­dio Ghibli’s Brand New Theme Park in Japan, Which Re-Cre­ates the Worlds of Spir­it­ed Away, My Neigh­bor Totoro, and Oth­er Clas­sics

Soft­ware Used by Hayao Miyazaki’s Ani­ma­tion Stu­dio Becomes Open Source & Free to Down­load

Stream Hun­dreds of Hours of Stu­dio Ghi­b­li Movie Music That Will Help You Study, Work, or Sim­ply Relax: My Neigh­bor Totoro, Spir­it­ed Away & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Earliest Known Customer Complaint Was Made 3,800 Years Ago: Read the Rant on an Ancient Babylonian Tablet

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The site Fast Com­pa­ny pub­lished an arti­cle that describes the “Com­plaint Restraint project,” an ini­tia­tive that aims to cre­ate a “pos­i­tive life by elim­i­nat­ing neg­a­tive state­ments.” It’s an admirable goal. Though most of us have a per­verse love of wal­low­ing in our misery—a human trait ampli­fied a thou­sand­fold by the internet—complaining rarely makes things any bet­ter. As in the Buddha’s para­ble of the “sec­ond arrow,” our grip­ing can make our suf­fer­ings dou­bly painful; as in the para­ble of the “poi­soned arrow,” it can post­pone or sub­sti­tute for the con­struc­tive actions we need to take in order to heal or improve our con­di­tion.

But it would be a mis­take to think that com­plain­ing is some­how a recent phe­nom­e­non, though we may hear more of it every day, all the time, from every quar­ter of the globe. The Bud­dhist arrow sto­ries are, after all, at least a cou­ple thou­sand years old; lamen­ta­tion more or less con­sti­tutes its own genre in Bib­li­cal lit­er­a­ture.

Even old­er still than these reli­gious sources is the first doc­u­ment­ed cus­tomer ser­vice com­plaint, a spe­cif­ic vari­ety of com­plain­ing that we might be for­giv­en for asso­ci­at­ing main­ly with a mod­ern, con­sumerist age—and one of the few kinds of com­plaints that can gen­er­ate pos­i­tive results.

Absent a Yelp app, the ancient Baby­lon­ian con­sumer in this case inscribed his com­plaint on a clay tablet—which now resides at the British Muse­um—some­time around 1750 B.C. The irate pur­chas­er here, Nan­ni, writ­ing to some­one named Ea-nasir, received a ship­ment of cop­per ore of an infe­ri­or grade, after some annoy­ing delay and in a dam­aged con­di­tion. In the trans­la­tion below from Assyri­ol­o­gist A. Leo Oppen­heim, Nan­ni vents his spleen.

Tell Ea-nasir: Nan­ni sends the fol­low­ing mes­sage:

When you came, you said to me as fol­lows : “I will give Gim­il-Sin (when he comes) fine qual­i­ty cop­per ingots.” You left then but you did not do what you promised me. You put ingots which were not good before my mes­sen­ger (Sit-Sin) and said: “If you want to take them, take them; if you do not want to take them, go away!”

What do you take me for, that you treat some­body like me with such con­tempt? I have sent as mes­sen­gers gen­tle­men like our­selves to col­lect the bag with my mon­ey (deposit­ed with you) but you have treat­ed me with con­tempt by send­ing them back to me emp­ty-hand­ed sev­er­al times, and that through ene­my ter­ri­to­ry. Is there any­one among the mer­chants who trade with Tel­mun who has treat­ed me in this way? You alone treat my mes­sen­ger with con­tempt! On account of that one (tri­fling) mina of sil­ver which I owe(?) you, you feel free to speak in such a way, while I have giv­en to the palace on your behalf 1,080 pounds of cop­per, and umi-abum has like­wise giv­en 1,080 pounds of cop­per, apart from what we both have had writ­ten on a sealed tablet to be kept in the tem­ple of Samas.

How have you treat­ed me for that cop­per? You have with­held my mon­ey bag from me in ene­my ter­ri­to­ry; it is now up to you to restore (my mon­ey) to me in full.

Take cog­nizance that (from now on) I will not accept here any cop­per from you that is not of fine qual­i­ty. I shall (from now on) select and take the ingots indi­vid­u­al­ly in my own yard, and I shall exer­cise against you my right of rejec­tion because you have treat­ed me with con­tempt.

It does seem that Nan­ni maybe took this poor ser­vice a lit­tle too per­son­al­ly. In any case, let’s hope he received some sat­is­fac­tion for the trou­ble it must have tak­en to inscribe this angry mes­sage.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mark Twain Drafts the Ulti­mate Let­ter of Com­plaint (1905)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Calls Tech Sup­port, Unleash­es a Tirade Full of Fear and Loathing (NSFW)

Behold the Old­est Writ­ten Text in the World: The Kish Tablet, Cir­ca 3500 BC

Hear the Old­est Song in the World: A Sumer­ian Hymn Writ­ten 3,400 Years Ago

How to Write in Cuneiform, the Old­est Writ­ing Sys­tem in the World: A Short Intro­duc­tion

Hear the Ear­li­est Record­ed Cus­tomer Com­plaint Let­ter: From Ancient Sume­ria 1750 BC

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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