Meet Emma Willard, the First Female Map Maker in the U.S., and Her Brilliantly Inventive Maps (Circa 1826)

Amer­i­cans have nev­er like the word “empire,” hav­ing seced­ed from the British Empire to osten­si­bly found a free nation. The founders blamed slav­ery on the British, nam­ing the king as the respon­si­ble par­ty. Three of the most dis­tin­guished Vir­ginia slave­hold­ers denounced the prac­tice as a “hideous blot,” “repug­nant,” and “evil.” But they made no effort to end it. Like­wise, accord­ing to the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence, the British were respon­si­ble for excit­ing “domes­tic insur­rec­tions among us,” and endeav­our­ing “to  bring on the inhab­i­tants of our fron­tiers, the mer­ci­less Indi­an Sav­ages.”

These denun­ci­a­tions aside, the new coun­try nonethe­less began a course iden­ti­cal to every oth­er Euro­pean world pow­er, wag­ing per­pet­u­al war­fare, seiz­ing ter­ri­to­ry and vast­ly expand­ing its con­trol over more and more land and resources in the decades after Inde­pen­dence.

U.S. impe­r­i­al pow­er was assert­ed not only by force of arms and coin but also through an ide­o­log­i­cal view that made its appear­ance and growth an act of both divine and sec­u­lar prov­i­dence. We see this view reflect­ed espe­cial­ly in the mak­ing of maps and ear­ly his­tor­i­cal info­graph­ics.

In 1851, three years after war with Mex­i­co had halved that coun­try and expand­ed U.S. ter­ri­to­ry into what would become sev­er­al new states, Emma Willard, the nation’s first female map­mak­er, cre­at­ed the “Chrono­g­ra­ph­er of Ancient His­to­ry” above, a visu­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion to “teach stu­dents about the shape of his­tor­i­cal time,” writes Rebec­ca Onion at Slate. The Chrono­g­ra­ph­er is a “more spe­cial­ized off­shoot of Willard’s mas­ter Tem­ple of Time, which tack­led all of history”—or all six thou­sand years of it, any­way, since “Cre­ation BC 4004.”

Willard made sev­er­al such maps, illus­trat­ing an idea pop­u­lar among 18th and 19th cen­tu­ry his­to­ri­ans, and illus­trat­ed in many sim­i­lar ways by oth­er artists: cast­ing his­to­ry as a suc­ces­sion of great empires, one tak­ing over for anoth­er. View­ers of the map stand out­side the temple’s sta­ble fram­ing, assured they are the inher­i­tors of its his­tor­i­cal largesse. Oth­er visu­al metaphors told this sto­ry, too. Willard, as Ted Wid­mer points out at The Paris ReviewWillard was an “inven­tive visu­al thinker,” if also a very con­ven­tion­al his­tor­i­cal one.

In an ear­li­er map, from 1836, Willard visu­al­ized time as a series of branch­ing impe­r­i­al streams, flow­ing down­ward from “Cre­ation.” Curi­ous­ly, she sit­u­ates Amer­i­can Inde­pen­dence on the periph­ery, end­ing with the “Empire of Napoleon” at the cen­ter. The U.S. was both some­thing new in the world and, in oth­er maps of hers, the fruition of a seed plant­ed cen­turies ear­li­er. Willard’s map­mak­ing began as an effort to sup­ple­ment her mate­ri­als as “a pio­neer­ing edu­ca­tor,” founder of the Emma Willard School in Troy, New York, and a “ver­sa­tile writer, pub­lish­er and yes, map­mak­er,” who “used every tool avail­able to teach young read­ers (and espe­cial­ly young women) how to see his­to­ry in cre­ative new ways.”

In anoth­er “chrono­g­ra­ph­er” text­book illus­tra­tion, she shows the “His­to­ry of the U. States or Repub­lic of Amer­i­ca” as a tree which had been grow­ing since 1492, though no such place as the Unit­ed States exist­ed for most of this his­to­ry. Maps, writes Sarah Laskow at Atlas Obscu­ra, “have the pow­er to shape his­to­ry” as well as to record it. Willard’s maps told grand, uni­ver­sal stories—imperial stories—about how the U.S. came to be. In 1828, when she was 41, “only slight­ly old­er than the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca itself,” Willard pub­lished a series of maps in her His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States, or Repub­lic of Amer­i­ca.

This was “the first book of its kind—the first atlas to present the evo­lu­tion of Amer­i­ca.” Willard’s maps show the move­ment of Indige­nous nations in plates like “Loca­tions and Wan­der­ings of The Abo­rig­i­nal Tribes… The Direc­tion of their Wan­der­ings,” below—these were part of “a sto­ry about the tri­umph of Anglo set­tlers in this part of the world. She helped solid­i­fy, for both her peers and her stu­dents, a nar­ra­tive of Amer­i­can des­tiny and inevitabil­i­ty, writes Uni­ver­si­ty of Den­ver his­to­ri­an Susan Schul­ten. Willard was “an exu­ber­ant nation­al­ist,” who gen­er­al­ly “accept­ed the removal of these tribes to the west as inevitable.”

Willard was a pio­neer in many respects, includ­ing, per­haps, in her adop­ta­tion of Euro­pean neo­clas­si­cal ideas about his­to­ry and time in the jus­ti­fi­ca­tion of a new Amer­i­can empire. Her snap­shots of time col­lapse “cen­turies into a sin­gle image,” Schul­ten explains, as a way of map­ping time “in a dif­fer­ent way as a pre­lude to what comes to next.” See many more of Willard’s maps from The His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States, or Repub­lic of Amer­i­ca, the first his­tor­i­cal atlas of the Unit­ed States, at Boston Rare Maps.

via The Paris Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Two Ani­mat­ed Maps Show the Expan­sion of the U.S. from the Dif­fer­ent Per­spec­tives of Set­tlers & Native Peo­ples

Inter­ac­tive Map Shows the Seizure of Over 1.5 Bil­lion Acres of Native Amer­i­can Land Between 1776 and 1887

The Atlantic Slave Trade Visu­al­ized in Two Min­utes: 10 Mil­lion Lives, 20,000 Voy­ages, Over 315 Years

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

Watch Battered & Bruised Vintage Toys Get Mesmerizingly Restored to Near Mint Condition

They say that toys were once built to last. But though met­al and wood did­n’t break quite so eas­i­ly in the hands of chil­dren in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry as plas­tic does in the hands of their great- or great-great-grand­chil­dren today, time still has­n’t been espe­cial­ly kind to the play­things of yes­ter­year. Enter the toy restor­er, who can return even the most fad­ed, rust­ed, beat­en-up spec­i­mens to a bur­nished, gleam­ing con­di­tion that would turn the head of even the most smart­phone-addled young­ster. At least the toy restor­er behind the Youtube chan­nel Res­cue & Restore seems to pos­sess skills of this kind, and in its chan­nel’s videos you can see them put to use.

Over the past two months, Res­cue & Restore has tak­en on such projects as a 1960s Ton­ka Jeep, a 1930s Wyan­dotte air­plane, a 1920s Day­ton train, and oth­er such minia­tures as a piano, a cash reg­is­ter, and even a func­tion­al oven. Most of them start out look­ing like lost caus­es, and some bare­ly resem­ble toys at all.

For­tu­nate­ly, Res­cue & Restore pos­sess­es all the spe­cial­ized tools need­ed to not just dis­as­sem­ble and (to the amaze­ment of many a com­menter) reassem­ble every­thing, but to clean, resur­face, and repaint each and every part, and in some cas­es fab­ri­cate new ones from scratch. Apart from the occa­sion­al explana­to­ry sub­ti­tle, the “host” does all this work with­out a word.

Despite their sim­plic­i­ty, the videos of Res­cue & Restore have drawn mil­lions upon mil­lions of views in a rel­a­tive­ly short time. This sug­gests that the num­ber of peo­ple dream­ing of a bet­ter future for their clos­ets full of long-dis­used toys might be large indeed, though we should nev­er under­es­ti­mate the appeal of see­ing the old made new again — an expe­ri­ence whose audio­vi­su­al sat­is­fac­tion seems to be height­ened by high-res­o­lu­tion shots and clear­ly cap­tured sounds of all the dremel­ing, sand­blast­ing, and buff­ing involved.

Toys orig­i­nal­ly opened six­ty, sev­en­ty, eighty Christ­mases ago have gone through a lot in their long lives, but after Res­cue & Restore gets done with them, they could well find their way under the tree again this year.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch an Art Con­ser­va­tor Bring Clas­sic Paint­ings Back to Life in Intrigu­ing­ly Nar­rat­ed Videos

How an Art Con­ser­va­tor Com­plete­ly Restores a Dam­aged Paint­ing: A Short, Med­i­ta­tive Doc­u­men­tary

Watch a 17th-Cen­tu­ry Por­trait Mag­i­cal­ly Get Restored to Its Bril­liant Orig­i­nal Col­ors

The Art of Restor­ing a 400-Year-Old Paint­ing: A Five-Minute Primer

Watch a Japan­ese Crafts­man Lov­ing­ly Bring a Tat­tered Old Book Back to Near Mint Con­di­tion

The Art of Restor­ing Clas­sic Films: Cri­te­ri­on Shows You How It Refreshed Two Hitch­cock Movies

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

In 1886, the US Government Commissioned 7,500 Watercolor Paintings of Every Known Fruit in the World: Download Them in High Resolution

T.S. Eliot asks in the open­ing stan­zas of his Cho­rus­es from the Rock, “where is the knowl­edge we have lost in infor­ma­tion?” The pas­sage has been called a point­ed ques­tion for our time, in which we seem to have lost the abil­i­ty to learn, to make mean­ing­ful con­nec­tions and con­tex­tu­al­ize events. They fly by us at super­hu­man speeds; cred­i­ble sources are buried between spu­ri­ous links. Truth and false­hood blur beyond dis­tinc­tion.

But there is anoth­er fea­ture of the 21st cen­tu­ry too-often unre­marked upon, one only made pos­si­ble by the rapid spread of infor­ma­tion tech­nol­o­gy. Vast dig­i­tal archives of pri­ma­ry sources open up to ordi­nary users, archives once only avail­able to his­to­ri­ans, promis­ing the pos­si­bil­i­ty, at least, of a far more egal­i­tar­i­an spread of both infor­ma­tion and knowl­edge.

Those archives include the USDA Pomo­log­i­cal Water­col­or Col­lec­tion, “over 7,500 paint­ings, draw­ings, and wax mod­els com­mis­sioned by the USDA between 1886 and 1942,” notes Chloe Ole­witz at Morsel. The word “pomol­o­gy,” “the sci­ence and prac­tice of grow­ing fruit,” first appeared in 1818, and the degree to which peo­ple depend­ed on fruit trees and fruit stores made it a dis­tinc­tive­ly pop­u­lar sci­ence, as was so much agri­cul­ture at the time.

But pomol­o­gy was grow­ing from a domes­tic sci­ence into an indus­tri­al one, adopt­ed by “farm­ers across the Unit­ed States,” writes Ole­witz, who “worked with the USDA to set up orchards to serve emerg­ing mar­kets” as “the country’s most pro­lif­ic fruit-pro­duc­ing regions began to take shape.” Cen­tral to the gov­ern­ment agency’s grow­ing pomo­log­i­cal agen­da was the record­ing of all the var­i­ous types of fruit being cul­ti­vat­ed, hybridized, inspect­ed, and sold from both inside the U.S. and all over the world.

Pri­or to and even long after pho­tog­ra­phy could do the job, that meant employ­ing the tal­ents of around 65 Amer­i­can artists to “doc­u­ment the thou­sands and thou­sands of vari­eties of heir­loom and exper­i­men­tal fruit cul­ti­vars sprout­ing up nation­wide.” The USDA made the full col­lec­tion pub­lic after Elec­tron­ic Fron­tier Foun­da­tion activist Park­er Hig­gins sub­mit­ted a Free­dom of Infor­ma­tion Act request in 2015.

Hig­gins saw the project as an exam­ple of “the way free speech issues inter­sect with ques­tions of copy­right and pub­lic domain,” as he put it. His­tor­i­cal gov­ern­ment-issued fruit water­col­ors might not seem like the obvi­ous place to start, but they’re as good a place as any. He stum­bled on the col­lec­tion while either ran­dom­ly col­lect­ing infor­ma­tion or acquir­ing knowl­edge, depend­ing on how you look at it, “chal­leng­ing him­self to dis­cov­er one new cool pub­lic domain thing every day for a month.”

It turned out that access to the USDA images was lim­it­ed, “with high res­o­lu­tion ver­sions hid­den behind a large­ly untouched pay­wall.” After invest­ing $300,000, they had made $600 in fees in five years, a los­ing propo­si­tion that would bet­ter serve the pub­lic, the schol­ar­ly com­mu­ni­ty, and those work­ing in-between if it became freely avail­able.

You can explore the entire­ty of this tan­ta­liz­ing col­lec­tion of fruit water­col­ors, rang­ing in qual­i­ty from the work­man­like to the near sub­lime, and from unsung artists like James Mar­i­on Shull, who sketched the Cuban pineap­ple above, Ellen Isham Schutt, who brings us the Aegle marme­los, com­mon­ly called “bael” in India, fur­ther up, and Deb­o­rah Griscom Pass­more, whose 1899 Malus domes­ti­cus, at the top, describes a U.S. pomo­log­i­cal arche­type.

It’s easy to see how Hig­gins could become engrossed in this col­lec­tion. Its util­i­tar­i­an pur­pose belies its sim­ple beau­ty, and with 3,800 images of apples alone, one could get lost tak­ing in the visu­al nuances—according to some very pro­lif­ic nat­u­ral­ist artists—of just one fruit alone. Hig­gins, of course, cre­at­ed a Twit­ter bot to send out ran­dom images from the archive, an inter­est­ing dis­trac­tion and also, for peo­ple inclined to seek it out, a lure to the full USDA Pomo­log­i­cal Water­col­or Col­lec­tion.

At what point does an explo­ration of these images tip from infor­ma­tion into knowl­edge? It’s hard to say, but it’s unlike­ly we would pur­sue either one if that pur­suit didn’t also include its share of plea­sure. Enter the USDA’s Pomo­log­i­cal Water­col­or Col­lec­tion here to new and down­load over 7,500 high-res­o­lu­tion dig­i­tal images like those above.

via Morsel.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Archive Dig­i­tizes 80,000 His­toric Water­col­or Paint­ings, the Medi­um Through Which We Doc­u­ment­ed the World Before Pho­tog­ra­phy

Two Mil­lion Won­drous Nature Illus­tra­tions Put Online by The Bio­di­ver­si­ty Her­itage Library

Ernst Haeckel’s Sub­lime Draw­ings of Flo­ra and Fau­na: The Beau­ti­ful Sci­en­tif­ic Draw­ings That Influ­enced Europe’s Art Nou­veau Move­ment (1889)

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

Two Animated Maps Show the Expansion of the U.S. from the Different Perspectives of Settlers & Native Peoples

After John Ford, the his­to­ry of U.S. expan­sion went by the name “How the West Was Won.” Decades ear­li­er, in his essay “Annex­a­tion,” Jack­son­ian jour­nal­ist John O’Sullivan famous­ly coined the phrase “man­i­fest des­tiny.” His­to­ri­an Richard Slotkin called it “regen­er­a­tion through vio­lence” and nov­el­ist Cor­mac McCarthy summed up the jagged, ever-mov­ing line of west­ward expan­sion from sea to sea with two words: Blood Merid­i­an.

Indige­nous ver­sions of the sto­ry do not tend to enter com­mon par­lance in quite the same way, a fact upon which Vine Delo­ria, Jr. remarks in his “Indi­an Man­i­festo,” Custer Died for Your Sins. Vio­lence is always cen­tral to the sto­ry. Usu­al­ly the sav­agery of Native peo­ple is tak­en for grant­ed. Sav­agery of set­tlers may be more or less empha­sized. Yet the long his­to­ry of land theft over the course of the cen­turies is also one of bro­ken treaty after treaty.

Few tribes were defeat­ed in war by the Unit­ed States, but most sold some land and allowed the Unit­ed States to hold the remain­der in trust for them. In turn, the tribes acknowl­edged the sov­er­eign­ty of the Unit­ed States in pref­er­ence to oth­er pos­si­ble sov­er­eigns.

Caught between war­ring Euro­pean empires, Indige­nous nations made the best deals they could with the advanc­ing U.S. and its army of Civ­il War vet­er­ans. “From this hum­ble begin­ning the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment stole some two bil­lion acres of land and con­tin­ues to take what it can with­out arous­ing the ire of the igno­rant pub­lic.”

The bru­tal­i­ty of the 19th cen­tu­ry became pro­fes­sion­al­ized, car­ried out by reg­u­lars in uni­form, hence the detached lan­guage of “Indi­an wars.” These were fol­lowed by oth­er kinds of vio­lence: insti­tu­tion­al­ized pater­nal­ism, fur­ther encroach­ment and enclo­sure, and the forced removal of thou­sands of chil­dren from their par­ents and into reed­u­ca­tion camps.

The two maps you see here, with sweep­ing­ly broad visu­al ges­tures in gif form, illus­trate the 19th cen­tu­ry seizure of land across the North Amer­i­can con­ti­nent from the per­spec­tive of a U.S. nation­al his­to­ry and that of an Indige­nous mul­ti-nation­al his­to­ry. The map at the top traces the sto­ry from the coun­try’s begin­nings in the 13 colonies to the annex­a­tion, pur­chase, and final­ly state­hood of Hawaii and Alas­ka in 1959.

The above map is more focused, span­ning the years 1810 to 1891. As Nick Rout­ley points out in a post at Visu­al Cap­i­tal­ist, “five of the largest expan­sion events in U.S. his­to­ry” took place dur­ing the 1800s, though the first one he cites falls out­side the time­line above. The 1803 Louisiana Pur­chase end­ed up acquir­ing what now makes up “near­ly 25% of the cur­rent ter­ri­to­ry of the Unit­ed States, stretch­ing from New Orleans all the way up to Mon­tana and North Dako­ta.”

Oth­er notable events include the 1819 pur­chase of Flori­da from Spain by John Quin­cy Adams, the afore­men­tioned pur­chase of Alas­ka from Rus­sia, and the 1845 annex­a­tion of Texas. The Mex­i­can-Amer­i­can War of 1848 gets less men­tion these days, though it expand­ed slav­ery and was quite hot­ly debat­ed at the time by such prin­ci­pled fig­ures as Hen­ry David Thore­au, who refused to pay his poll tax over it and wrote “Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence” while in jail.

In the so-called Mex­i­can Ces­sion, Texas became a state and “the Unit­ed States took con­trol of a huge par­cel of land that includes the present-day states of Cal­i­for­nia, Neva­da, and Utah, as well as por­tions of Ari­zona, Col­orado, New Mex­i­co, and Wyoming.” Mex­i­co, on the oth­er hand, “saw the size of their ter­ri­to­ry halved.” After each seizure of ter­ri­to­ry, mass migra­tions west­ward com­menced in wave upon wave.

Route­ly does not sur­vey these migra­tion events, but you can learn about them in accounts like Rox­anne Dunbar-Ortiz’s Indige­nous People’s His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States and Deloria’s man­i­festo. When we approach the found­ing and expan­sion of the U.S. from mul­ti­ple per­spec­tives, both visu­al and his­tor­i­cal, we under­stand why crit­i­cal his­to­ri­ans often use the phrase “set­tler colo­nial­ism” rather than “west­ward expan­sion” or its syn­onyms. And why the overused and lim­it­ed phrase “nation of immi­grants” might just as well be “nation of migrants.”

via Visu­al Cap­i­tal­ist

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Inter­ac­tive Map Shows the Seizure of Over 1.5 Bil­lion Acres of Native Amer­i­can Land Between 1776 and 1887

Native Lands: An Inter­ac­tive Map Reveals the Indige­nous Lands on Which Mod­ern Nations Were Built

The Atlantic Slave Trade Visu­al­ized in Two Min­utes: 10 Mil­lion Lives, 20,000 Voy­ages, Over 315 Years

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

Winston Churchill Gets a Doctor’s Note to Drink “Unlimited” Alcohol in Prohibition America (1932)

churchill alcohol letter

In Decem­ber 1931, hav­ing just embarked on a 40-stop lec­ture tour of the Unit­ed States, Win­ston Churchill was run­ning late to dine with financier Bernard Baruch on New York City’s Upper East Side. He hadn’t both­ered to bring Baruch’s address, oper­at­ing under the incor­rect assump­tion that his friend was so dis­tin­guished a per­son­age, any ran­dom cab-dri­ving com­mon­er would auto­mat­i­cal­ly rec­og­nize his build­ing.

Such were the days before cell phones and Google Maps.…

Even­tu­al­ly, Churchill bagged the cab, and shot out across 5th Avenue mid-block, think­ing he would fare bet­ter on foot.

Instead, he was very near­ly “squashed like a goose­ber­ry” when he was struck by a car trav­el­ing about 35 miles an hour.

Churchill, who wast­ed no time ped­dling his mem­o­ries of the acci­dent and sub­se­quent hos­pi­tal­iza­tion to The Dai­ly Mail, explained his mis­cal­cu­la­tion thus­ly:

In Eng­land we fre­quent­ly cross roads along which fast traf­fic is mov­ing in both direc­tions. I did not think the task I set myself now either dif­fi­cult or rash. But at this moment habit played me a dead­ly trick. I no soon­er got out of the cab some­where about the mid­dle of the road and told the dri­ver to wait than I instinc­tive­ly turned my eyes to the left. About 200 yards away were the yel­low head­lights of an approach­ing car. I thought I had just time to cross the road before it arrived; and I start­ed to do so in the prepossession—wholly unwar­rant­ed— that my only dan­gers were from the left.

Yeah, well, that’s why we paint the word “LOOK” in the cross­walk, pal, equip­ping the Os with left-lean­ing pupils for good mea­sure.

Anoth­er cab fer­ried the wound­ed Churchill to Lenox Hill Hos­pi­tal, where he iden­ti­fied him­self as “Win­ston Churchill, a British States­man” and was treat­ed for a deep gash to the head, a frac­tured nose, frac­tured ribs, and severe shock.

“I do not wish to be hurt any more. Give me chlo­ro­form or some­thing,” he direct­ed, while wait­ing for the anes­thetist.

After two weeks in the hos­pi­tal, where he man­aged to devel­op pleurisy in addi­tion to his injuries, Churchill and his fam­i­ly repaired to the Bahamas for some R&R.

It didn’t take long to feel the finan­cial pinch of all those can­celled lec­ture dates, how­ev­er. Six weeks after the acci­dent, he resumed an abbre­vi­at­ed but still gru­el­ing 14-stop ver­sion of the tour, despite his fears that he would prove unfit.

Otto Pick­hardt, Lenox Hill’s admit­ting physi­cian came to the res­cue by issu­ing Churchill the Get Out of Pro­hi­bi­tion Free Pass, above. To wit:

…the post-acci­dent con­va­les­cence of the Hon. Win­ston S. Churchill neces­si­tates the use of alco­holic spir­its espe­cial­ly at meal times. The quan­ti­ty is nat­u­ral­ly indef­i­nite but the min­i­mum require­ments would be 250 cubic cen­time­ters.

Per­haps this is what the emi­nent British States­man meant by chlo­ro­form “or some­thing”? No doubt he was relieved about those indef­i­nite quan­ti­ties. Cheers.

Read Churchill’s “My New York Mis­ad­ven­ture” in its entire­ty here. You can also learn more by perus­ing this sec­tion of Mar­tin Gilbert’s biog­ra­phy, Win­ston Churchill: The Wilder­ness Years.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in May, 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Win­ston Churchill’s List of Tips for Sur­viv­ing a Ger­man Inva­sion: See the Nev­er-Dis­trib­uted Doc­u­ment (1940)

Win­ston Churchill’s Paint­ings: Great States­man, Sur­pris­ing­ly Good Artist

Col­or Footage of Win­ston Churchill’s Funer­al in 1965

Oh My God! Win­ston Churchill Received the First Ever Let­ter Con­tain­ing “O.M.G.” (1917)

Ani­mat­ed: Win­ston Churchill’s Top 10 Say­ings About Fail­ure, Courage, Set­backs, Haters & Suc­cess

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. She lives in New York City, some 30 blocks to the north of the scene of Churchill’s acci­dent. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Pink Floyd Drummer Nick Mason Presents the History of Music & Technology in a Nine-Part BBC Podcast

Image by Phil Guest, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

If you’ve seen Pink Floyd in the news late­ly, it’s maybe because gui­tarist David Gilmour recent­ly put up his col­lec­tion of over 120 gui­tars for a char­i­ty auc­tion, fetch­ing “cer­ti­fi­ably insane” prices like a whop­ping $3.975 mil­lion for the famous black Strat played on Dark Side of the Moon. (The gui­tar now “wears the crown as the world’s most expen­sive six string,” notes Enmore Audio.)

But there’s more going on with ex-Pink Floyd mem­bers than Gilmour’s gui­tars or Roger Waters’ polit­i­cal activism. Drum­mer Nick Mason, long renowned post-Floyd for his huge­ly expen­sive car col­lec­tion, has tak­en on anoth­er role this month: as a pod­cast host and music his­to­ri­an in a nine-part series for the Open University/BBC pro­duc­tion, The Doc­u­men­tary Pod­cast.

Titled A His­to­ry of Music in Tech­nol­o­gy, Mason’s series cov­ers an awful lot of ground, “chart­ing the his­to­ry of music and tech­nol­o­gy and explor­ing the world of leg­endary artists, pro­duc­ers and inven­tors. The series shines a light on game-chang­ing inno­va­tions includ­ing the syn­the­siz­er, elec­tric gui­tar, sam­plers, drum machines and the record­ing stu­dio itself.”

A His­to­ry of Music in Tech­nol­o­gy fin­ish­es its run tomor­row. Cur­rent­ly, you can stream all but the final install­ment at BBC News, Apple pod­casts, and Stitch­er. The first episode— “Sound Recording”—which you can hear above, begins in pre­his­to­ry. Long before the tech­nol­o­gy for repro­duc­ing sound could be imag­ined, ear­ly humans showed keen inter­est in the acoustic prop­er­ties of caves, as Uni­ver­si­ty of North Car­oli­na pro­fes­sor Mark Katz explains.

“I think peo­ple have always had an infat­u­a­tion with try­ing to hold on to [sound], to mod­i­fy it, to cap­ture it,” says Katz—whether that meant seek­ing out the best set­tings for pre­his­toric drum cir­cles or build­ing struc­tures like cathe­drals with spe­cial­ly-designed son­ic prop­er­ties. But for thou­sands of years, the only way to pre­serve music was to write it down in nota­tion.

It took until “the back half of the 19th cen­tu­ry,” says Mason, “before cred­i­ble attempts were made to bot­tle sound for the first time.” (Those very first attempts could record sound but could not play it back.) From the ear­ly tech­no­log­i­cal achieve­ments, it’s a long series of leaps, bounds, zig zags, stum­bles, and cir­cling back around to find ways not only to record sound but also to ampli­fy and mod­i­fy it and cre­ate it whole­sale from elec­tri­cal sig­nals.

Above and below, you can hear Mason’s hour-long his­to­ry of the elec­tric gui­tar (Episode 3), the syn­the­siz­er (Episode 5), and sam­plers and drum machines (Episode 6). Mason ded­i­cates two episodes, 7 and 8, to the devel­op­ment of the record­ing stu­dio itself—unsurprising for a mem­ber of Pink Floyd, a band who, like Hen­drix, the Beach Boys, and the Bea­t­les, craft­ed the essence of their psy­che­del­ic sound from stu­dio exper­i­ments.

“When sound record­ing first emerged,” says Mason in “The Stu­dio Part 1” intro, “crit­ics claimed it could be the end of music.” For the dozens of new gen­res record­ing and pro­duc­tion tech­nol­o­gy has enabled, it was only the very begin­ning. Those of us who see com­put­ers killing the spon­tane­ity of rock and roll, for exam­ple, or the very human­i­ty of music itself, might reflect on how our reac­tions mir­ror those of some myopic ear­ly crit­ics.

Amer­i­can com­pos­er John Philip Sousa, for exam­ple, saw record­ing as “reduc­ing the expres­sion of music to a math­e­mat­i­cal sys­tem of wheels, cogs, discs, and cylin­ders,” lan­guage that sounds very like the com­plaints of cur­rent-day purists. Maybe arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence will nev­er write a great love song, but it will most cer­tain­ly help humans cre­ate music as unimag­in­able to us today as the syn­co­pat­ed thump of elec­tron­ic music would have been unimag­in­able to Sousa, king of syn­co­pat­ed brass band march­es.

Lud­dites and technophiles and every­one in-between will learn much from Mason’s series, and the kind of musi­cal edu­ca­tion he’s offering—replete with expert informed opin­ion from schol­ars and musi­cians like himself—will go a long way to prepar­ing us for a musi­cal future we might only dim­ly glimpse now in the most inno­v­a­tive tech­nolo­gies Mason is sure to cov­er in his final episode

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bri­an Eno Presents a Crash Course on How the Record­ing Stu­dio Rad­i­cal­ly Changed Music: Hear His Influ­en­tial Lec­ture “The Record­ing Stu­dio as a Com­po­si­tion­al Tool” (1979)

Nick Cave Answers the Hot­ly Debat­ed Ques­tion: Will Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Ever Be Able to Write a Great Song?

How Com­put­ers Ruined Rock Music

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

What the Textbooks Don’t Tell Us About The Atlantic Slave Trade: An Animated Video Fills In Historical Gaps

The scale of the Atlantic Slave Trade is hard to imag­ine. It can be tempt­ing to min­i­mize it in order to alle­vi­ate some anx­i­ety. One way of min­i­miz­ing slav­ery assumes a kind of inno­cence in the enter­prise, an “every­body was doing it” atti­tude. But, of course, not every­one in Europe prof­it­ed from the kid­nap­ping, sale, and life­time cap­tive labor of over 10 mil­lion African peo­ple in the Amer­i­c­as. Only few peo­ple on any con­ti­nent real­ly did, though the insti­tu­tion flood­ed the mar­kets with often addic­tive con­sumer goods that raised the gen­er­al stan­dard of liv­ing for a few more.

Not only did slav­ery leave a last­ing impact on the mil­lions of descen­dants of enslaved peo­ple, but also on “the economies and his­to­ries of large parts of the world,” notes Antho­ny Hazard’s TED-Ed video above. Slav­ery was inte­gral to the most for­ma­tive peri­ods of West­ern cap­i­tal­ist democ­ra­cies in Europe and the U.S. “The crops grown in the new colonies, sug­ar cane, tobac­co, and cot­ton,” were com­modi­ties trad­ed in the first glob­al mar­kets and built dynas­ties of cap­i­tal and wealth.

Slav­ery has occurred all over the world, with insti­tu­tion­al­ized inequal­i­ty and some form of forced labor form­ing the basis of every empire. The Atlantic slave trade “stands out,” says Haz­ard, “for both its glob­al scale and its last­ing lega­cy.” At the time, African slav­ery resem­bled oth­er forms of forced servi­tude exist­ing con­tem­po­ra­ne­ous­ly in Europe and the colonies, such as inden­tured servi­tude and serf­dom. Euro­pean slave traders exploit­ed trib­al divi­sions, and the greed of African chief­tains and kings led to an arms race on the con­ti­nent.

Some African lead­ers prof­it­ed, but a large part of the con­ti­nent suf­fered demo­graph­ic loss­es that have res­onat­ed into the present. “Not only did the con­ti­nent lose tens of mil­lions of its able-bod­ied pop­u­la­tion,” but these loss­es caused economies to col­lapse, and the war­fare begun by com­pe­ti­tion for Euro­pean cap­i­tal con­tin­ued, leav­ing African coun­tries open to col­o­niza­tion. This despo­li­a­tion and mass ren­di­tion of enslaved peo­ple was accom­pa­nied by racist pro­pa­gan­da that assuaged the con­sciences of Chris­tians, as Ibram X. Ken­di has exhaus­tive­ly shown in his Nation­al Book Award-win­ning his­to­ry, Stamped from the Begin­ning.

Slav­ery acquired its specif­i­cal­ly racial­ized char­ac­ter. Africans, Euro­peans were told, were bio­log­i­cal­ly infe­ri­or, thus slav­ery did not vio­late Chris­t­ian ethics and, in fact, improved people’s lot by Chris­tian­iz­ing and civ­i­liz­ing them. Before the age of print­ing and a pop­u­lar press, how­ev­er, few peo­ple in Europe knew what was hap­pen­ing in the colonies, or knew any­thing at all about African peo­ple, who might as well have been the mon­sters of sailors’ myth and leg­end in many people’s minds.

As lit­er­a­cy spread, and more peo­ple read and heard accounts and argu­ments, even from for­mer slaves them­selves, increas­ing num­bers came to staunch­ly oppose slav­ery, as would hap­pen a few decades lat­er in the north­ern part of the U.S. Part­ly due to the activ­i­ties of Quak­er pub­lish­ers and writ­ers, British pop­u­lar sen­ti­ment in the 18th cen­tu­ry turned toward abo­li­tion in waves. “In 1788 over one hun­dred peti­tions were pre­sent­ed to Par­lia­ment,” wrote his­to­ri­an John Pin­fold on the 100th anniver­sary of Britain’s abo­li­tion of the slave trade.

“A fur­ther wave of peti­tions fol­lowed in 1792,” Pin­fold goes on, “when no few­er than 519 were pre­sent­ed, the largest num­ber ever pre­sent­ed dur­ing a sin­gle ses­sion in Par­lia­ment. On this occa­sion every sin­gle Eng­lish coun­ty was rep­re­sent­ed amongst the peti­tions, with some also from Scot­land and Wales, and it has been esti­mat­ed that around 400,000 peo­ple, rough­ly 13 per­cent of the adult male pop­u­la­tion of the time, had put their names to them.” It took anoth­er 15 years, but the slave trade was abol­ished in 1807.

Those num­bers don’t nec­es­sar­i­ly indi­cate such wide­spread sup­port for the total abo­li­tion of race-based slav­ery in the colonies. Racist ide­ol­o­gy runs through abo­li­tion­ist lit­er­a­ture, as it did, and does, through the cul­ture in gen­er­al. But they tell an essen­tial part of this hun­dreds-of-years-long sto­ry: one in which access to infor­ma­tion swayed huge num­bers of peo­ple to make what we uni­ver­sal­ly (with excep­tions unwor­thy of men­tion) believe to be the only moral course of action. Inform­ing our­selves about this his­to­ry shows us that Atlantic slav­ery was dri­ven by the desire of a rel­a­tive­ly small num­ber of peo­ple for a mas­sive accu­mu­la­tion of cap­i­tal at the cost of mil­lions of lives. And that it took the resis­tance of much larg­er num­bers to end the inde­fen­si­ble prac­tice.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The “Slave Bible” Removed Key Bib­li­cal Pas­sages In Order to Legit­imize Slav­ery & Dis­cour­age a Slave Rebel­lion (1807)

The Atlantic Slave Trade Visu­al­ized in Two Min­utes: 10 Mil­lion Lives, 20,000 Voy­ages, Over 315 Years

Christo­pher Hitch­es Makes the Case for Pay­ing Repa­ra­tions for Slav­ery in the Unit­ed States

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

The Ruins of Chernobyl Captured in Three Haunting, Drone-Shot Videos

Voic­es of Cher­nobyl—Svet­lana Alexievich’s oral his­to­ry of the 1986 nuclear explo­sion in Ukraine—brings togeth­er the har­row­ing tes­ti­monies of over 500 eye­wit­ness­es to the acci­dent: Fire­fight­ers, nurs­es, sol­diers, for­mer Sovi­et offi­cials, engi­neers, nuclear sci­en­tists, and ordi­nary Sovi­et cit­i­zens (at the time), who saw, but could not under­stand, events that would cost tens, per­haps hun­dreds, of thou­sands of lives.

We will nev­er know the exact toll, due to both inter­nal cov­er-ups and the immea­sur­able long-term effect of over 50 mil­lion curies of radionu­clides spread out over the Sovi­et Union, Europe, and the globe for over three decades. But Alexievich’s book eschews “the usu­al approach of try­ing to quan­ti­fy a dis­as­ter in terms of loss­es and dis­place­ment,” notes Robert Matthews at the Jour­nal of Nuclear Med­i­cine. She opt­ed instead to tell the sto­ries “of indi­vid­u­als and how the dis­as­ter affect­ed their lives.”

The inher­ent­ly mov­ing, dra­mat­ic sto­ries of peo­ple like Lyud­mil­la Ignatenko—the wife of a doomed fire­fight­er whose unfor­get­table jour­ney opens the book—immediately draw us into the “psy­cho­log­ic and per­son­al tragedy” of the dis­as­ter. For their vivid­ness and sheer emo­tion­al impact, these sto­ries have a cin­e­mat­ic effect, fill­ing our imag­i­na­tion with images of gris­ly tragedy and a grim per­sis­tence we might not exact­ly call hero­ism but which cer­tain­ly counts as a close cousin.

It’s no won­der, then, that parts of Alexievich’s deserved­ly-Nobel-win­ning his­to­ry made such a bril­liant tran­si­tion to the screen in Craig Mazin’s HBO minis­eries, which draws from sto­ries like Lyudmilla’s in its por­trait of the explo­sion and its con­tain­ment. The series’ psy­cho­log­i­cal focus, and the need to cre­ate indi­vid­ual heroes and vil­lains, cre­ates “con­fronta­tion where con­fronta­tion was unthink­able” in real­i­ty, as Masha Gessen writes in her cri­tique at The New York­er. We can­not trust Cher­nobyl as his­to­ry, though it is incred­i­bly com­pelling as his­tor­i­cal fic­tion.

Rather what the show gives view­ers, writes Gessen, is a stun­ning­ly accu­rate visu­al por­tray­al of the time peri­od, one that seems at times to have recre­at­ed his­tor­i­cal footage shot-for-shot. The show’s total immer­sion in the bleak, bureau­crat­ic world of mid-eight­ies Sovi­et Rus­sia has so enthralled view­ers that peo­ple have tak­en to post­ing Insta­gram pho­tos of them­selves inside the Cher­nobyl exclu­sion zone. Though it may seem like a fool­ish thing to do giv­en the lev­els of radi­a­tion still present in much of the area, Cher­nobyl has in fact been slat­ed for rede­vel­op­ment since 2007. Tourists began vis­it­ing the area not long after­wards.

Since the zone became acces­si­ble, hours of footage from Cher­nobyl and near­by city of Pripy­at, for­mer home of Lyud­mil­la Ignatenko, have appeared in ama­teur video and and more pro­fes­sion­al pro­duc­tions like “Post­cards from Pripy­at” (top), shot by Dan­ny Cooke for CBS, “The Fall­out,” a demo reel shot by Aer­obo Designs, and the drone footage in the Wall Street Jour­nal video just above. These are stun­ning mon­tages of decay­ing Sovi­et cities left behind in time. Even emp­tied of the indi­vid­u­als whose sto­ries keep us com­pul­sive­ly read­ing eye­wit­ness accounts like Alexievich’s and watch­ing fic­tion­al­ized dra­mas like Mazin’s, the videos still have a sto­ry to tell, a visu­al account of the remains of an empire brought low by cor­rup­tion, fear, and lies.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Scenes from HBO’s Cher­nobyl v. Real Footage Shot in 1986: A Side-By-Side Com­par­i­son

A Haunt­ing Drone’s‑Eye View of Cher­nobyl

The Ani­mals of Cher­nobyl

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

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast