How “Space Oddity” Launched David Bowie to Stardom: Watch the Original Music Video From 1969

It may seem odd to con­tem­plate, but rock titan David Bowie’s rise to fame was a long, frus­trat­ing, stop-and-start affair until he burst onto the inter­na­tion­al scene as Zig­gy Star­dust (though he had some suc­cess with his two pri­or albums, the excel­lent The Man Who Sold the World and Hunky Dory). This is part­ly due to poor man­age­ment, and part­ly due to Bowie’s own dif­fi­cul­ty in find­ing a style that fit his ambi­tions. His first hit, “Space Odd­i­ty,” from his sec­ond, 1969, album of the same name, promised great things. (That record, orig­i­nal­ly called, like his first, just David Bowie, was renamed after the song did the Sev­en­ties equiv­a­lent of viral.) Most peo­ple who grew up with Bowie would tell you the song is a water­shed moment in their dis­cov­ery of pop music’s poten­tial. I recall dis­cov­er­ing Bowie at a young age through “Space Odd­i­ty,” and being giv­en the album on cas­sette as a birth­day present. Like many peo­ple, I was a lit­tle flum­moxed by the record. None of it resem­bles the sin­gle, which isn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly a bad qual­i­ty in gen­er­al, but in this case, it’s hard to know what to make of that strange col­lec­tion of some­times com­ic, Bea­t­les-esque pop frag­ments (“Don’t Sit Down”), some­times cool pro­gres­sive rock (“Janine”), and some­times almost medieval, Judy Collins-like hip­py folk (“Mem­o­ry of a Free Fes­ti­val,” “Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud”). I grew to love it, but the album’s eclec­ti­cism did­n’t win many over.

Still, near­ly every­one knows and loves the album ver­sion of “Space Odd­i­ty.” But like a great deal of Bowie’s ear­ly work, the song exists in an ear­li­er, more ten­ta­tive ver­sion. Ini­tial­ly record­ed short­ly after his first album, 1967’s David Bowie—which Bowie biog­ra­ph­er David Buck­ley called “the vinyl equiv­a­lent of the mad­woman in the attic”—the song end­ed up on an abortive pro­mo­tion­al film com­mis­sioned by Bowie’s pro­duc­er, Ken­neth Pitt. Called Love You Till Tues­day, after the sin­gle from the first album, the film fin­ished shoot­ing in 1969, but didn’t see the light of day until 1984, long after Bowie hit it big.

The film ver­sion of “Space Odd­i­ty” (first video) dif­fers sig­nif­i­cant­ly in sound and vision from the one right above. For one thing, Bowie, who wore a wig for the extent of film­ing because he’d shorn off his hair to audi­tion for a role, looks decid­ed­ly less, well, like a rock star. As “Ground Con­trol,” his Janis Joplin glass­es clash odd­ly with an arty t‑shirt and what looks like a child’s base­ball cap perched atop his wig, both embla­zoned with “GC.” He stands cross-armed and awk­ward, lip synch­ing between space sequences. Of the lat­ter, “Major Tom” parts, one YouTube com­menter quips, “We have no bud­get, no props, only bak­ing foil and corn­flake pack­ets.… Oh well make the video any­way.” Sums things up pret­ty well.

Even more so than those who bought Space Odd­i­ty after hear­ing its name­sake sin­gle, any­one who heard this ear­ly ver­sion, then went and bought Bowie’s first album would have been thor­ough­ly per­plexed. ‘67’s David Bowie is a very strange, though some­times very intrigu­ing, record, large­ly influ­enced by the musi­cal com­e­dy of pop­u­lar Eng­lish enter­tain­er Antho­ny New­ley. Watch the film’s title track (and open­ing sequence), “Love You Till Tues­day” below, with Bowie, in wig and frilly Austin Pow­ers suit, doing some weird Tom Jones thing that just real­ly does­n’t work.

Had Bowie fol­lowed this tra­jec­to­ry, instead of find­ing his voice in the space­rock of his first big sin­gle, it’s pret­ty like­ly no one would have heard from him again. Lucky for us, the young pop star was noth­ing if not per­sis­tent.  And lucky for us, he still is. The 66-year-old Bowie just released his first sin­gle in a decade, the con­tem­pla­tive “Where Are We Now?” with an album, The Next Day, com­ing in March.

Relat­ed Con­tent

The Sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust: How David Bowie Cre­at­ed the Char­ac­ter that Made Him Famous

David Bowie Cel­e­brates 66th Birth­day with First New Song in a Decade, Plus Vin­tage Videos

David Bowie’s First Amer­i­can Fan Let­ter And His Evolv­ing Views of the U.S. (1967–1997)

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

“Moon Hoax Not”: Short Film Explains Why It Was Impossible to Fake the Moon Landing

S.G. Collins does­n’t trust the Unit­ed States gov­ern­ment. They “lie all the time, about all kinds of things,” he insists, “and if they haven’t lied to you today, maybe they haven’t had cof­fee yet.” Like some of those who express a sim­i­lar dis­trust, he claims he has no way to ver­i­fy that NASA land­ed on the moon in 1969. But unlike most of that sub­set, he does­n’t think the gov­ern­ment could have pulled off a con­vinc­ing hoax about it. In oth­er words, Amer­i­ca “did have the tech­ni­cal abil­i­ty, not to men­tion the req­ui­site mad­ness, to send three guys to the moon and back. They did not have the tech­nol­o­gy to fake it on video.” Calm­ly, method­i­cal­ly, with a dead­pan wit, Collins uses the thir­teen min­utes of Moon Hoax Not to explain exact­ly why, as improb­a­ble as the real moon land­ing sounds, a fake moon land­ing would have been down­right impos­si­ble.

“The lat­er you were born,” Collins says, “the more all-pow­er­ful movie mag­ic seems.” Hol­ly­wood could now fake dozens of moon land­ings every day, but they did­n’t always have that abil­i­ty. Mar­shal­ing knowl­edge accrued over thir­ty years as a pho­tog­ra­ph­er, he address­es each of the points that moon-land­ing con­spir­a­cy the­o­rists com­mon­ly cite as visu­al evi­dence of the sup­posed fraud. He also brings to bear facts from the his­to­ry of video tech­nol­o­gy, such as 1969’s com­plete lack of the high-speed video cam­eras, need­ed to shoot the sort of slow motion nec­es­sary to cre­ate the illu­sion of low grav­i­ty. And what if they’d shot the entire Apol­lo 11 tele­cast on film instead? Collins also knows, and names, exact­ly the prob­lems even the most ambi­tious, tech­no­log­i­cal­ly advanced char­la­tans would have encoun­tered, even—as in moon-land­ing hoax mock­u­men­tary Dark Side of the Moon—with Stan­ley Kubrick on their side.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dark Side of the Moon: A Mock­u­men­tary on Stan­ley Kubrick and the Moon Land­ing Hoax

Michio Kaku Schools Takes on Moon Land­ing-Con­spir­a­cy Believ­er on His Sci­ence Fan­tas­tic Pod­cast

The Moon Dis­as­ter That Wasn’t: Nixon’s Speech In Case Apol­lo 11 Failed to Return

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

Gimme Shelter: Watch the Classic Documentary of the Rolling Stones’ Disastrous Concert at Altamont

It’s often remem­bered as the day the Six­ties died. On Decem­ber 6, 1969, the Rolling Stones and a group of West Coast bands put on a free con­cert at the Alta­mont Race­way near San Fran­cis­co. The con­cert was billed as “Wood­stock West,” but instead of being anoth­er gath­er­ing of peace, love and music, it was more like a bad trip.

The event was hasti­ly put togeth­er by the Stones to cel­e­brate the end of their Amer­i­can tour, their first with gui­tarist Mick Tay­lor. The stage at the venue was unusu­al­ly low and was sit­u­at­ed at the bot­tom of a hill. To keep the audi­ence of 300,000 peo­ple from engulf­ing the stage, some­one had the bright idea of enlist­ing the Hells Angels motor­cy­cle gang to form a secu­ri­ty cor­don around the stage in exchange for (essen­tial­ly) all the beer they could drink.

As the con­cert descend­ed into chaos, the Hells Angels beat peo­ple with pool cues and motor­cy­cle chains. A gui­tarist and singer for the Jef­fer­son Air­plane, Mar­ty Balin, was knocked uncon­scious. When a man in the audi­ence bran­dished a pis­tol dur­ing an alter­ca­tion while the Stones were onstage, he was stabbed and beat­en to death by mem­bers of the gang.

The whole sor­ry episode is cap­tured in Gimme Shel­ter, the clas­sic doc­u­men­tary by the broth­ers Albert and David Maysles and Char­lotte Zwerin. The film was released in 1970 and can be seen above in its entire­ty. Gimme Shel­ter con­tains ele­ments of a typ­i­cal rock and roll doc­u­men­tary, with footage of the Stones on the road and play­ing a con­cert at Madi­son Square Gar­den in New York. But the main focus is Alta­mont. The Maysles broth­ers hired a large team of cam­era­men for the event, includ­ing film­mak­er Robert Elf­strom, Mag­num pho­tog­ra­ph­er Elliott Erwitt and a young George Lucas.

Gimme Shel­ter is a fas­ci­nat­ing record of the Six­ties coun­ter­cul­ture as it was falling apart. The last third of the pic­ture is painful to watch but dif­fi­cult to turn away from. The hubris and naiveté of the time are cap­tured in a scene before the event, when Mick Jag­ger tells a group of reporters what Alta­mont is all about: “It’s cre­at­ing a sort of micro­cos­mic soci­ety, which sets an exam­ple to the rest of Amer­i­ca as to how one can behave in large gath­er­ings.”

Relat­ed Con­tent

The Rolling Stones Jam With Their Idol, Mud­dy Waters

The Rolling Stones at 50: Mick, Kei­th, Char­lie & Ron­nie Revis­it Their Favorite Songs

What Entered the Public Domain in 2013? Zip, Nada, Zilch!

2013whatcouldhavebeencollage2Last year, key works by James Joyce and Vir­ginia Woolf final­ly entered the pub­lic domain, at least in Europe. (Find them in our col­lec­tions of Free eBooks and Free Audio Books.) This year, we got pret­ty much bup­kis, espe­cial­ly if we’re talk­ing about the Unit­ed States. Over at the web­site run by The Cen­ter for the Study of the Pub­lic Domain at Duke Uni­ver­si­ty, they write:

What is enter­ing the pub­lic domain in the Unit­ed States? Noth­ing. Once again, we will have noth­ing to cel­e­brate this Jan­u­ary 1st. Not a sin­gle pub­lished work is enter­ing the pub­lic domain this year. Or next year. In fact, in the Unit­ed States, no pub­li­ca­tion will enter the pub­lic domain until 2019. Even more shock­ing­ly, the Supreme Court ruled in 2012 that Con­gress can take back works from the pub­lic domain. Could Shake­speare, Pla­to, or Mozart be pulled back into copy­right? The Supreme Court gave no rea­son to think that they could not be.

The Cen­ter then goes on to enu­mer­ate the works that would have entered the com­mons had we lived under the copy­right laws that pre­vailed until 1978. Under those laws, “thou­sands of works from 1956 would be enter­ing the pub­lic domain. They range from the films The Best Things in Life Are FreeAround the World in 80 DaysFor­bid­den Plan­et, and The Man Who Knew Too Much, to the Phillip K. Dick’s The Minor­i­ty Report and Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Jour­ney into Night, to sem­i­nal arti­cles on arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence.” Have a look at some of the oth­ers, sev­er­al of which appear in the mosa­ic above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lawrence Lessig’s Last Speech on Free Cul­ture. Watch it Online.

Lawrence Lessig Speaks Once Again About Copy­right and Cre­ativ­i­ty

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Watch Häxan, the Classic Cinematic Study of Witchcraft Narrated by William S. Burroughs (1922)

Some pic­tures from the silent era, like F.W. Mur­nau’s Nos­fer­atu, could­n’t look more clear­ly like ances­tors of the mod­ern hor­ror film. Trac­ing the dis­tant ori­gins of oth­er forms — of doc­u­men­tary, say — proves a trick­i­er task. Hence the val­ue of a movie like Ben­jamin Chris­tensen’s Häx­an, also known as Witch­craft Through the Ages, which not only mounts a non­fic­tion­al inves­ti­ga­tion into human­i­ty’s per­cep­tion of “witch­es” through­out the ages, but does so with the aid of dra­mat­ic sequences as eerie as any of Count Orlok run­ning amok. Giv­en that Chris­tensen’s metic­u­lous­ly researched his­tor­i­cal cre­ation demand­ed a larg­er bud­get than any oth­er Scan­di­na­vian film to that point, you could also view it as an antecedent of today’s visu­al­ly elab­o­rate, spec­ta­cle-inten­sive block­busters. Like many well-known silent films, Häx­an has under­gone mul­ti­ple releas­es, each run­ning dif­fer­ent lengths, with dif­fer­ent scores. You see above the 1968 ver­sion, which reduces Chris­tensen’s orig­i­nal 104-minute cut to a brisk 77 min­utes and accom­pa­nies it with a jaun­ty, rich­ly incon­gru­ous five-piece jazz score by Daniel Humair.

Atop the music we hear the his­to­ry of the per­se­cu­tion of  “witch­es,” from the prim­i­tive era to medieval times to then-mod­ern times, when the idea of the “hys­ter­i­cal woman” gained pur­chase in the zeit­geist. Nar­rat­ing this sto­ry in the 1968 ver­sion is none oth­er than writer and Beat icon William S. Bur­roughs, who, despite his flam­boy­ant­ly artis­tic per­son­al­i­ty, deliv­ers an ulti­mate­ly sober analy­sis. The film takes the posi­tion that witch­craft, far from a real­i­ty in and of itself, aris­es and re-aris­es as an inven­tion of the super­sti­tious, the irra­tional, and those dis­in­clined to under­stand the nature of men­tal ill­ness. If that sub­ject sounds more suit­able for an aca­d­e­m­ic paper, remem­ber that this research comes deliv­ered by the bold visu­al strokes of pro­to-hor­ror silent film, close read­ing of the fif­teenth-cen­tu­ry inquisi­tor’s trea­tise Malleus Malefi­carum, and the man who wrote Naked Lunch.

via Bib­liok­lept

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Quin­tes­sen­tial Vam­pire Film Nos­fer­atu Free Online as Hal­loween Approach­es

The Pix­ies’ Black Fran­cis Cre­ates Sound­track for Famous Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Film, The Golem

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

Day of Light: A Crowdsourced Film by Multimedia Genius Brian Eno

Over the past sev­er­al years, we’ve seen exper­i­men­tal artists adapt grace­ful­ly (or cash in, if you’re cyn­i­cal) to the user-gen­er­at­ed world we live in now. While the pre­dictably unpre­dictable Flam­ing Lips have been at the inter­ac­tive media game for a while in their own weird way, we’ve also seen Bjork branch out into mul­ti­me­dia with the Bio­phil­ia iPhone/iPad app to accom­pa­ny the album of the same name, and last week we cov­ered Philip Glass’s for­ay into the app mar­ket with his Glass Machine remix­ing app.

Not ever to be out­done, producer/composer/multimedia genius Bri­an Eno released his own app last year, Scape, which allows users to gen­er­ate their own ambi­ent com­po­si­tions on their i‑devices. Scape’s release came just before that of Eno’s lat­est ambi­ent album, Lux, a col­lec­tion of sound­scapes that were ini­tial­ly installed in art gal­leries and air­port ter­mi­nals. On the album’s release date this past Novem­ber, Eno had more in store for fans. He streamed the entire album online at four dif­fer­ent times dur­ing the same day: sun­rise, day­light, sun­set, and night.

Lis­ten­ers were invit­ed to upload pho­tos of each time of day, under the gen­er­al theme of “play of light” (a title Eno con­sid­ered for the album). Eno and his team then curat­ed their favorite images, from all over the globe, and edit­ed them togeth­er into the short film above, enti­tled “Day of Light.” The idea, he says, was to “make a col­lab­o­ra­tive, gen­er­a­tive work… to see what hap­pened if you just made a space for it to hap­pen in.” Judge the results for your­self. Does this prod­uct from the minds and eyes of the Eno col­lec­tive add up to more than the sum of its parts?

Relat­ed Con­tent

Bri­an Eno on Cre­at­ing Music and Art As Imag­i­nary Land­scapes (1989)

Bri­an Eno Once Com­posed Music for Win­dows 95; Now He Lets You Cre­ate Music with an iPad App

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

Hannah Arendt’s Original Articles on “the Banality of Evil” in the New Yorker Archive

We’ve all heard the phrase “the banal­i­ty of evil.” Some of us even know which polit­i­cal the­o­rist to attribute it to, and among those, a few have even read it in con­text. Han­nah Arendt most mem­o­rably employed it in both the sub­ti­tle and clos­ing words of Eich­mann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banal­i­ty of Evil, her book on the tri­al of Nazi lieu­tenant-colonel Adolf Eich­mann. To Arendt’s mind, Eich­mann will­ing­ly did his part to orga­nize the Holo­caust — and an instru­men­tal part it was — out of nei­ther anti-semi­tism nor pure mal­ice, but out of a non-ide­o­log­i­cal, entire­ly more pro­sa­ic com­bi­na­tion of careerism and obe­di­ence. Read­ers have argued ever since its pub­li­ca­tion about this char­ac­ter­i­za­tion, and those with a spe­cial inter­est in how Arendt arrived there can find in the New York­er’s online archives the orig­i­nal series of “Eich­mann in Jerusalem” arti­cles out of which the book grew: part one, part two, part three, part four, and part five. (Click on the images at the bot­tom of each page to see Arendt’s writ­ing up close. Then click on them again and maneu­ver your mouse around to peruse the pages.) Giv­en that Han­nah Arendt, a new biopic star­ring Bar­bara Sukowa, just gained dis­tri­b­u­tion, you may want to read these arti­cles to stay ahead of the next wave of inter­est in the thinker and her writ­ings.

In today’s mag­a­zines, one reads rather few­er five-part inter­sec­tions of tri­al reportage and moral inquiry by fig­ures like Arendt. But the New York­er has­n’t entire­ly lost its will­ing­ness to con­front these mat­ters. Short­ly after last year’s mas­sacre in Auro­ra, Col­orado, the mag­a­zine ran on its site a piece by Rol­lo Romig in touch with con­cerns, broad­ly speak­ing, sim­i­lar to Arendt’s. Romig, too, looks at the nature of evil, but in a reflec­tion suit­ed to our time — brief, star­tling­ly time­ly, and specif­i­cal­ly for the web — rather than Eich­mann in Jerusalem’s. “The dan­ger of a word like ‘evil’ is that it is absolute,” he writes. “ ‘Evil’ has become the word we apply to per­pe­tra­tors who we’re both unable and unwill­ing to do any­thing to repair, and for whom all of our mech­a­nisms of jus­tice seem unequal: it describes the lim­its of what malev­o­lence we’re able to bear. In the end, it’s a word that says more about the help­less­ness of the accuser than it does the trans­gres­sor.”

H/T to Chris­t­ian F. for flag­ging the New York­er arti­cles for us.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Tri­al of Adolf Eich­mann at 50

55 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Down­load Free Cours­es from Famous Philoso­phers: From Bertrand Rus­sell to Michel Fou­cault

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

Bertrand Russell’s Improbable Appearance in a Bollywood Film (1967)

Here’s one for Rip­ley’s Believe It Or Not: Bertrand Rus­sell, the emi­nent math­e­mati­cian and philoso­pher, once made a cameo appear­ance in a Bol­ly­wood movie.

The year was 1967. Rus­sell was by then a very frail 95-year-old man. Besides fin­ish­ing work on his three-vol­ume auto­bi­og­ra­phy, Rus­sell was devot­ing much of his remain­ing time to the strug­gle for peace and nuclear dis­ar­ma­ment. To that end, he some­times made him­self avail­able to peo­ple he thought could help the cause. (See our March 2012 post, “How Bertrand Rus­sell Turned the Bea­t­les Against the Viet­nam War.”)

So when he was asked to appear in a movie called Aman, about a young Indi­an man who has just received his med­ical degree in Lon­don and wants to go to Japan to help vic­tims of the atom­ic bomb­ings at Hiroshi­ma and Nagasa­ki, Rus­sell said yes.

It’s a weird scene. The eager young grad­u­ate, played by Rajen­dra Kumar, is grant­ed an audi­ence with the famous philoso­pher, who gives him his bless­ing and offers a few words of wis­dom. Sad­ly, much of what Rus­sell has to say is drowned out by the Hin­di-lan­guage nar­ra­tion. But the clip above offers an intrigu­ing glimpse of Rus­sell at his home in Lon­don only three years before his death. Its appear­ance on the Inter­net has caused con­sid­er­able amuse­ment. One observ­er not­ed that, as an actor, Rus­sell has only three degrees of sep­a­ra­tion from Kevin Bacon. Truth real­ly is stranger than fic­tion.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Face to Face with Bertrand Rus­sell: Love is Wise, Hatred is Fool­ish

Three Pas­sions of Bertrand Rus­sell (and a Col­lec­tion of Free Texts)

Bertrand Rus­sell & Oth­er Big Thinkers in BBC Lec­ture Series (Free)

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