The First 100 Years of the Bicycle: A 1915 Documentary Shows How the Bike Went from Its Clunky Birth in 1818, to Its Enduring Design in 1890

Back in 1915, French film­mak­ers decid­ed to revis­it the evo­lu­tion of the bicy­cle dur­ing the 19th cen­tu­ry, mov­ing from the inven­tion of the bicy­cle in 1818, to the bikes that emerged dur­ing the 1890s. As the result­ing film above shows, the bike went from being clunky, cum­ber­some and seem­ing­ly per­ilous to ride, to tak­ing on the tried and true shape that we still rec­og­nize today.

This film was pre­served by the Nether­lands’ EYE Film Insti­tute. Hence the sub­ti­tles are in Dutch. But thanks to Aeon Mag­a­zine, you can read Eng­lish trans­la­tions below:

1. The drai­sine was invent­ed only a cen­tu­ry ago, in 1818 by Baron Drais de Sauer­brun.
2. [This sub­ti­tle nev­er appears in the film.
3. The vehi­cle that lies between the drai­sine and the 1850 bicy­cle has an improved steer­ing wheel and a fit­ted brake.
4. In 1863, Pierre Lalle­ment invent­ed ped­als that worked on the front wheel.
5. Around 1868, a third wheel was added. Although these tri­cy­cles were heav­ier than the two-wheel­ers, they were safer.
6. Between 1867 and 1870, var­i­ous improve­ments were made, includ­ing the increased use of rub­ber tyres.
7. In 1875, fol­low­ing an inven­tion by the engi­neer Tri­ef­fault, the frame was made of hol­low pipes.
8. Fol­low­ing the fash­ion of the day, the front wheel was made as large as pos­si­ble.
9. In 1878, Renard cre­at­ed a bicy­cle with a wheel cir­cum­fer­ence of more than 7 feet. Just sit­ting down on one of these was an ath­let­ic feat!
11. At the begin­ning of 1879, Rousseau replaced the large front wheel with a small­er one, and the chain was intro­duced on the front wheel for dri­ving pow­er.
12. The bicy­cle of today.

For anoth­er look at the Birth of the Bike, you can watch a 1937 news­reel that gives its own nar­ra­tive account. It comes the from British Pathé film archives.

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via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Young Frank Zap­pa Plays the Bicy­cle on The Steven Allen Show (1963)

Watch Boy and Bicy­cle: Rid­ley Scott’s Very First Film (1965)

Watch The Bicy­cle Trip: An Ani­ma­tion of The World’s First LSD Trip Which Took Place on April 19, 1943

How the Mysteries of the Vatican Secret Archives Are Being Revealed by Artificial Intelligence


Some­where with­in the Vat­i­can exists the Vat­i­can Secret Archives, whose 53 miles of shelv­ing con­tains more than 600 col­lec­tions of account books, offi­cial acts, papal cor­re­spon­dence, and oth­er his­tor­i­cal doc­u­ments. Though its hold­ings date back to the eighth cen­tu­ry, it has in the past few weeks come to world­wide atten­tion. This has brought about all man­ner of jokes about the plot of Dan Brown’s next nov­el, but also impor­tant news about the tech­nol­o­gy of man­u­script dig­i­ti­za­tion. It seems a project to get the con­tents of the Vat­i­can Secret Archives dig­i­tized and online has made great progress crack­ing a prob­lem that once seemed impos­si­bly dif­fi­cult: turn­ing hand­writ­ing into com­put­er-search­able text.

In Codice Ratio is “devel­op­ing a full-fledged sys­tem to auto­mat­i­cal­ly tran­scribe the con­tents of the man­u­scripts” that uses not the stan­dard method of opti­cal char­ac­ter recog­ni­tion (OCR), which looks for the spaces between words, but a new way that can han­dle con­nect­ed cur­sive and cal­li­graph­ic let­ters. Their method, in the lin­go of the field, “is to gov­ern impre­cise char­ac­ter seg­men­ta­tion by con­sid­er­ing that cor­rect seg­ments are those that give rise to a sequence of char­ac­ters that more like­ly com­pose a Latin word. We have designed a prin­ci­pled solu­tion that relies on con­vo­lu­tion­al neur­al net­works and sta­tis­ti­cal lan­guage mod­els.”

This is a job, in oth­er words, for arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence, but in part­ner­ship with human intel­li­gence, a sel­dom-tapped source of which the sci­en­tists behind In Codice Ratio have har­nessed: that of high-school stu­dents. Their spe­cial OCR soft­ware, writes the Atlantic’s Sam Kean, works by “divid­ing each word into a series of ver­ti­cal and hor­i­zon­tal bands and look­ing for local minimums—the thin­ner por­tions, where there’s less ink (or real­ly, few­er pix­els). The soft­ware then carves the let­ters at these joints.” But the soft­ware “needs to know which groups of chunks rep­re­sent real let­ters and which are bogus,” and so “the team recruit­ed stu­dents at 24 schools in Italy to build the projects’ mem­o­ry banks,” man­u­al­ly sep­a­rat­ing the let­ters the sys­tem had prop­er­ly rec­og­nized from those over which it had stum­bled.

And so the stu­dents became the sys­tem’s “teach­ers,” improv­ing its abil­i­ty to extract the con­tent of hand­writ­ing, and not just hand­writ­ing but vast quan­ti­ties of archa­ic hand­writ­ing, with every click they made. The encour­ag­ing results thus far mean that it prob­a­bly won’t be long before large por­tions of the Vat­i­can Secret Archives (which, con­trary to its awk­ward­ly trans­lat­ed name, is such a non-secret it even has its own offi­cial web site) will final­ly become easy to browse, search, copy, paste, and ana­lyze. So they may, in the full­ness of time, prove a fruit­ful resource indeed to writ­ers of Catholi­cism-cen­tric thrillers like Brown — who, after all, has already gone pub­lic with his enthu­si­asm for man­u­script dig­i­ti­za­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Explore 5,300 Rare Man­u­scripts Dig­i­tized by the Vat­i­can: From The Ili­ad & Aeneid, to Japan­ese & Aztec Illus­tra­tions

Behold 3,000 Dig­i­tized Man­u­scripts from the Bib­lio­the­ca Palati­na: The Moth­er of All Medieval Libraries Is Get­ting Recon­struct­ed Online

3,500 Occult Man­u­scripts Will Be Dig­i­tized & Made Freely Avail­able Online, Thanks to Da Vin­ci Code Author Dan Brown

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

You Could Soon Be Able to Text with 2,000 Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs

Grow­ing up, I had a box set of Egypt­ian hiero­glyph­ic stamps from the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art. For a few weeks I used it to write cod­ed let­ters to a friend, pos­sessed of the same box set, who lived else­where in the neigh­bor­hood. Today’s smart­phone-tot­ing kids, of course, pre­fer text mes­sag­ing, a medi­um which to date has offered lit­tle in the way of hiero­glyph­ics, espe­cial­ly com­pared to the vast and ever-grow­ing qua­si-logo­graph­ic library of emo­ji, all of them approved by the offi­cial emo­ji sub­com­mit­tee of the Uni­code Con­sor­tium. But Uni­code itself, the indus­try-stan­dard sys­tem for dig­i­tal­ly encod­ing, rep­re­sent­ing, and han­dling text in the var­i­ous writ­ing sys­tems of the world, may soon expand to include more than 2,000 hiero­glyph­ics.

“Between 750 and 1,000 Hiero­glyphs were used by Egypt­ian authors dur­ing the peri­ods of the Old, Mid­dle, and then New King­dom (2687 BCE–1081 BCE),” writes Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Sarah E. Bond. “That num­ber lat­er great­ly increased dur­ing the Gre­co-Roman peri­od, like­ly to around 7,000.”

Dur­ing that time under Alexan­der the Great, the Ptolemies, and the Roman Empire, “the lan­guage grew, changed, and diver­si­fied over the course of thou­sands of years, a fact which can now be reflect­ed through its dig­i­tal encod­ing. Although Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs have been defined with­in Uni­code since ver­sion 5.2, released in 2009, the glyphs were high­ly lim­it­ed in num­ber and did not stretch into the Gre­co-Roman peri­od.”

That sit­u­a­tion could great­ly improve if the Uni­code Con­sor­tium approves its revised draft of stan­dards for encod­ing Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs cur­rent­ly on the table, a scroll through which reveals how much more of the visu­al (not to men­tion seman­tic) rich­ness of this ancient writ­ing sys­tem that could soon come avail­able to any­one with a dig­i­tal device. Its rich vari­ety of tools, ani­mals, icons (in both the old and mod­ern sens­es), humans, and ele­ments of human anato­my could do much for the Egyp­tol­o­gists of the world need­ing to effi­cient­ly send the con­tent of the texts they study to one anoth­er. And though I recall get­ting plen­ty com­mu­ni­cat­ed with those 24 rub­ber stamps, who dares pre­dict to what use those tex­ting kids will put these thou­sands of dig­i­tal hiero­glyph­ics when they get them at their fin­ger­tips?

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids Were Built: A New The­o­ry in 3D Ani­ma­tion

Try the Old­est Known Recipe For Tooth­paste: From Ancient Egypt, Cir­ca the 4th Cen­tu­ry BC

The Turin Erot­ic Papyrus: The Old­est Known Depic­tion of Human Sex­u­al­i­ty (Cir­ca 1150 B.C.E.)

The Met Dig­i­tal­ly Restores the Col­ors of an Ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple, Using Pro­jec­tion Map­ping Tech­nol­o­gy

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

Zora Neal Hurston Wrote a Book About Cudjo Lewis, the Last Survivor of the Atlantic Slave Trade, and It’s Finally Getting Published 87 Years Later

There are too many things peo­ple don’t know about Zora Neale Hurston, renowned pri­mar­i­ly for her nov­el Their Eyes Were Watch­ing God. That’s not to slight the nov­el or its sig­nif­i­cant influ­ence on lat­er writ­ers like Toni Mor­ri­son and Maya Angelou, but to say that Hurston’s schol­ar­ly work deserves equal atten­tion. A stu­dent of famed anthro­pol­o­gist Franz Boas while at Barnard Col­lege, Hurston became “the first African Amer­i­can to chron­i­cle folk­lore and voodoo,” notes the Asso­ci­a­tion for Fem­i­nist Anthro­pol­o­gy. Before turn­ing to fic­tion, she trav­eled the Caribbean and the Amer­i­can South, col­lect­ing sto­ries, his­to­ries, and songs and pub­lish­ing them in the col­lec­tions Mules and Men and Tell My Horse.

Hurston’s work in ethnog­ra­phy informed her fic­tion and opened up the field to oth­er African Amer­i­can schol­ars. It also pro­duced one of the most impor­tant works of Amer­i­can non­fic­tion in the 20th cen­tu­ry, a book that, until now, sat in man­u­script form at Howard University’s library, where only aca­d­e­mics could access it. Bar­ra­coon: The Sto­ry of the Last “Black Car­go” tells the sto­ry of Cud­jo Lewis (1840–1935), the last known sur­vivor of the Atlantic slave trade, in his own words. Hurston met Lewis—born Olu­ale Kos­so­la in what is today the coun­try of Benin—in 1927. She con­duct­ed three months of inter­views and pub­lished a study, “Cudjo’s Own Sto­ry of the Last African Slaver,” that same year.

But when she tried to pub­lish the inter­views as a book in 1931, she was told she had to change Lewis’ lan­guage. “For at least two pub­lish­ing hous­es,” writes Mea­gan Fly­nn, “Lewis’s heav­i­ly accent­ed dialect was seen as too dif­fi­cult to read.” Hurston refused. Now, the book has final­ly been pub­lished by Harper­Collins, with Lewis’s speech intact as Hurston record­ed it. Harper­Collins edi­tor Deb­o­rah Plant tells NPR, “We’re talk­ing about a lan­guage that he had to fash­ion for him­self in order to nego­ti­ate this new ter­rain he found him­self in.”

As pub­lished excerpts of the book show, his speech is not hard to under­stand. He describes the kind of bewil­der­ment all enslaved Africans must have felt after arriv­ing on alien shores and forced to toil day in and day out under threat of whip­ping or worse: “We doan know why we be bring ’way from our coun­try to work lak dis,” he says, “Every­body lookee at us strange. We want to talk wid de udder col­ored folk­ses but dey doan know whut we say.”

Lewis tells the sto­ry of his cap­ture by the King of Dahomey, whose war­riors raid­ed his vil­lage of Takkoi and sold the cap­tives to Amer­i­can Cap­tain William Fos­ter, oper­at­ing an ille­gal oper­a­tion (the slave trade had been out­lawed for almost 60 years). Forced aboard the ship Clotil­da with over 100 oth­er African men and women, Lewis was trans­port­ed to Mobile, Alaba­ma and sold to a busi­ness­man named Tim­o­thy Mea­her. “Cud­jo and his fel­low cap­tives were forced to work on Meaher’s mill and ship­yard,” Gabe Pao­let­ti writes at All That’s Inter­est­ing. “As a slave, he start­ed to go by the name ‘Cud­jo,’ a day-named giv­en to boys born on a Mon­day, as Mea­her could not pro­nounce the name ‘Kos­so­la.’”

Deb­o­rah Plant sees the rejec­tion of Hurston’s book in the 30s as akin to Lewis’s loss of his name, coun­try, and cul­ture. “Embed­ded in his lan­guage is every­thing of his his­to­ry,” she says. “To deny him his lan­guage is to deny his his­to­ry, to deny his expe­ri­ence, which is ulti­mate­ly to deny him peri­od, to deny what hap­pened to him.”

87 years after the book’s writ­ing, Lewis’s sto­ry offers a time­ly reminder of the his­to­ry of slav­ery. The book arrives just after the dis­cov­ery of what his­to­ri­ans and archae­ol­o­gists believe to be the wreck of the Clotil­da, a ves­sel owned and oper­at­ed, says AL.com reporter Ben Raines in the video above, by two already wealthy men who smug­gled slaves to prove that they could get away with it, then burned the evi­dence, the ship, to escape detec­tion.

When police arrived at Meaher’s prop­er­ty to charge him with ille­gal­ly smug­gling enslaved peo­ple, he “had hid­den away the cap­tives,” writes Pao­let­ti, “and had erased all trace of them hav­ing been there.” Thanks to Hurston, we have an invalu­able first­hand account of what it was like for one West African man who not only endured war and cap­ture at the hands of a rival tribe, but also sale at a slave mar­ket, the mid­dle pas­sage across the Atlantic, and forced labor in the deep South—and who lived through the Civ­il War, Eman­ci­pa­tion, Recon­struc­tion and well into the ear­ly 20th Cen­tu­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Zora Neale Hurston Sing Tra­di­tion­al Amer­i­can Folk Song “Mule on the Mount” (1939)

Actors from The Wire Star in a Short Film Adap­ta­tion of Zora Neale Hurston’s “The Gild­ed Six-Bits” (2001)

Mas­sive New Data­base Will Final­ly Allow Us to Iden­ti­fy Enslaved Peo­ples and Their Descen­dants in the Amer­i­c­as

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

An Interactive Map Shows Just How Many Roads Actually Lead to Rome

…he went away, and pass­ing through what was called the house of Tiberius, went down into the forum, to where a gild­ed col­umn stood, at which all the roads that inter­sect Italy ter­mi­nate.”

- Plutarch, Life of Gal­ba (XXIV.4)

No one can give you exact direc­tions to Mil­liar­i­um Aureum (aka the Gold­en Mile­stone). Just a few carved mar­ble frag­ments of the gild­ed column’s base remain in the Roman Forum, where its orig­i­nal loca­tion is some­what dif­fi­cult to pin­point.

But as the image above, from inter­ac­tive map Roads to Rome, shows (view it here), the mot­to Emper­or Cae­sar Augus­tus’ mighty mile mark­er inspired still holds true.

All roads lead to Rome.

To illus­trate, design­ers Benedikt Groß and Philipp Schmitt worked with dig­i­tal geo­g­ra­ph­er Raphael Reimann to select 486,713 start­ing points on a 26,503,452 km² grid of Europe.

From there, they cre­at­ed an algo­rithm to cal­cu­late the best route from each point to Rome.

(It beats typ­ing a street address into Google Maps 486,713 times.)

From afar, the result­ing map looks like a del­i­cate piece of sea let­tuce or an ear­ly explo­ration in neu­roanato­my.

Zoom in as tight as you can and things become more tra­di­tion­al­ly car­to­graph­ic in appear­ance, names and spa­tial rela­tions of cities assert­ing them­selves. A bold line indi­cates a busy route.

In a nod to map lovers out­side of Europe, the mobil­i­ty-obsessed team came up with anoth­er map, this one geared to state­side users.

Do you know which of the Unit­ed States’ nine Romes you are clos­est to?

Now you do, from 312,719 dis­tinct start­ing points.

To help them in their labor, the cre­ative team made good use of the Graph­Hop­per route opti­miza­tion tool and the Open Street Map wiki. In their own esti­ma­tion, the project’s out­come is “some­where between infor­ma­tion visu­al­iza­tion and data art, unveil­ing mobil­i­ty on a very large scale.”

Buy a poster of the All Roads Lead to Rome map here. Or view the inter­ac­tive map here.

via Arch Dai­ly

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Lon­don Time Machine: Inter­ac­tive Map Lets You Com­pare Mod­ern Lon­don, to the Lon­don Short­ly After the Great Fire of 1666

Watch the His­to­ry of the World Unfold on an Ani­mat­ed Map: From 200,000 BCE to Today

An Inter­ac­tive Map of Every Record Shop in the World

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Wednes­day, May 16 for anoth­er month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Europe After the Rain: Watch the Vintage Documentary on the Two Great Art Movements, Dada & Surrealism (1978)

“Dada thrives on con­tra­dic­tions. It is cre­ative and destruc­tive. Dada denounces the world and wish­es to save it.” So says one nar­ra­tor of jour­nal­ist-film­mak­er Mick Gold’s Europe After the Rain, a 1978 Arts Coun­cil of Great Britain doc­u­men­tary on not just the inter­na­tion­al avant-garde move­ment called Dada but the asso­ci­at­ed cur­rents of sur­re­al­ism churn­ing around that con­ti­nent dur­ing the first half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry. “Dada want­ed to replace the non­sense of man with the illog­i­cal­ly sense­less. Dada is sense­less, like nature. Dada is for nature, and against art. Philoso­phers have less val­ue for Dada than an old tooth­brush, and Dada aban­dons them to the great lead­ers of the world.”

Of the many bold and often con­tra­dic­to­ry claims made about Dada, none describe it as eas­i­ly under­stood. But Dada has less to do with intel­lec­tu­al, aes­thet­ic, or polit­i­cal coher­ence than with a cer­tain ener­gy. That ener­gy could fire up the likes of André Bre­ton, Sal­vador Dalí, René Magritte, Gior­gio de Chiri­co, and many oth­er artists besides, chan­nel­ing frus­tra­tions with the state of post-World War I Europe into a sen­si­bil­i­ty that demand­ed rip­ping every­thing up and build­ing it all again, begin­ning with the very foun­da­tions of sense.

Gold and his col­lab­o­ra­tors on Europe After the Rain under­stand this, audio­vi­su­al­ly inter­pret­ing the lega­cy of Dada, which despite its short lifes­pan left behind a host of still-strik­ing works in text, image, and sculp­ture, in a vari­ety of ways.

“The movie is full of trea­sures,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Oliv­er Hall, includ­ing “BBC inter­views with Max Ernst and Mar­cel Duchamp from the Six­ties, a read­ing of Artaud’s ‘Address to the Dalai Lama,’ an account of Freud’s meet­ing with Dalí.” He adds that its “re-enact­ment of Breton’s dia­logue with an offi­cial of the Par­ti com­mu­niste français is illu­mi­nat­ing, and com­ple­ments the oth­er valu­able mate­r­i­al on the ‘Pope of Sur­re­al­ism’: his work with shell-shocked sol­diers in World War I, tri­als and expul­sions of oth­er Sur­re­al­ists, col­lab­o­ra­tion with Leon Trot­sky in Mex­i­co, less-than-hero­ic con­tri­bu­tions to the French Resis­tance, and study of the occult.” But then, the kind of mind that could launch a move­ment like Dada — which fifty years after its end remained fas­ci­nat­ing enough to inspire a doc­u­men­tary that itself holds its fas­ci­na­tion forty years on — is capa­ble, one sus­pects, of any­thing.

Watch the uncut ver­sion of Europe After the Rain above.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Read and Hear Tris­tan Tzara’s “Dada Man­i­festo,” the Avant-Garde Doc­u­ment Pub­lished 100 Years Ago (March 23, 1918)

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

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

Dress Like an Intel­lec­tu­al Icon with Japan­ese Coats Inspired by the Wardrobes of Camus, Sartre, Duchamp, Le Cor­busier & Oth­ers

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

Visit an Online Collection of 64,259 Musical Instruments from Across the World

The study of musi­cal instru­ments opens up vast his­to­ries of sound rever­ber­at­ing through the cen­turies. Should we embark on a jour­ney through halls of Europe’s musi­cal instru­ment muse­ums, for exam­ple, we should soon dis­cov­er how lim­it­ed our appre­ci­a­tion for music his­to­ry has been, how nar­rowed by the rel­a­tive hand­ful of instru­ments allowed into orches­tras, ensem­bles, and bands of all kinds. The typ­i­cal diet of clas­si­cal, roman­tic, mod­ern, jazz, pop, rock, R&B, or what­ev­er, the music most of us in the West grow up hear­ing and study­ing, has result­ed from a care­ful sort­ing process that over time chose cer­tain instru­ments over oth­ers.

Some of those his­toric instruments—the vio­lin, cel­lo, many wind and brass—remain in wide cir­cu­la­tion and pro­duce music that can still sound rel­e­vant and con­tem­po­rary. Oth­ers, like the Mel­lotron (above) or bar­rel organs (like the 1883 Cylin­der­pos­i­tiv at the top), remain wed­ded to their his­tor­i­cal peri­ods, mak­ing sounds that might as well have dates stamped on them.

You could—and many an his­to­ri­an has, no doubt—travel the world and pay a per­son­al vis­it to the muse­ums hous­ing thou­sands of musi­cal instru­ments humans have used—or at least invented—to car­ry melodies and har­monies and keep time. Such a tour might con­sti­tute a life’s work.

But if you’re on a bud­get or your grant doesn’t come through, you can still tour Europe’s musi­cal instru­ment muse­ums, and two muse­ums in Africa, from the com­fort of your home, office, or library thanks to MIMO, Musi­cal Instru­ment Muse­ums Online, a “con­sor­tium of some of Europe’s most impor­tant musi­cal instru­ment muse­ums” offer­ing “the world’s largest freely acces­si­ble data­base for infor­ma­tion on musi­cal instru­ments held in pub­lic col­lec­tions.”

The enor­mous online col­lec­tion hous­es, vir­tu­al­ly, tens of thou­sands of instru­ments from over two dozen regions around the globe. (There are 64,259 instru­ments in total.) Find an Ital­ian Basse de Vio­le (above) from 1547 or an ornate Egypt­ian darabuk­ka (below). And, of course, plen­ty of iconic—and rare—elec­tric gui­tars and bass­es.

You can search instru­ments by mak­er, coun­try, city, or con­ti­nent, time peri­od, muse­um, and type. (Wind, Per­cus­sion, Stringed, Zithers, Rat­tles, Bells, Lamel­la­phones, etc….) Researchers may encounter a few lan­guage hurdles—MIMO’s about page men­tions “search­ing in six dif­fer­ent lan­guages,” and the site actu­al­ly lists 11 lan­guage cat­e­gories in tabs at the top. But users may still need to plug pages into Google trans­late unless they read French or Ger­man or some of the oth­er lan­guages in which descrip­tions have been writ­ten. Refresh­ing­ly con­sis­tent, the pho­tographs of each instru­ment con­form to a stan­dard set by the con­sor­tium that pro­vides “detailed guide­lines on how to set up a repos­i­to­ry to enable the har­vest­ing of dig­i­tal con­tent.”

But enough about the site func­tions, what about the sounds? Well, in a phys­i­cal muse­um, you wouldn’t expect to take a three-hun­dred-year-old flute out of its case and hear it played. Just so, most of the instru­ments here can be seen and not heard, but the site does have over 400 sound files, includ­ing the enchant­i­ng record­ing of Sym­pho­nion Eroica 38a (above), as played on a mechan­i­cal clock from 1900.

As you dis­cov­er instru­ments you nev­er knew existed—such as the theramin-like Croix Sonore (Sonorus Cross), cre­at­ed by Russ­ian com­pos­er Nico­las Obukhov between 1926 and 1934—you can under­take your own research to find sam­ple record­ings online, such as “The Third and Last Tes­ta­ment,” below, Obukhov’s com­po­si­tion for 5 voic­es, organ, 2 pianos, orches­tra, and croix sonore. Obukhov’s exper­i­ments with instru­ments of his own inven­tion prompt­ed his exper­i­ments in 12-tone com­po­si­tion, in which, he declared, “I for­bid myself any rep­e­ti­tion.” Just one exam­ple among many thou­sands demon­strat­ing how instru­ment design forms the basis of a wild­ly pro­lif­er­at­ing vari­ety of musi­cal expres­sions that can start to seem end­less after a while.

via @dark_shark

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch a Musi­cian Impro­vise on a 500-Year-Old Music Instru­ment, The Car­il­lon

Musi­cian Plays the Last Stradi­var­ius Gui­tar in the World, the “Sabionari” Made in 1679

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

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

Visit a Gallery of 300 Striking Posters from the May 1968 Uprising in Paris

Among the many oth­er 50ths com­mem­o­rat­ed this year, one will large­ly go unno­ticed by the U.S. press, giv­en that it hap­pened in France, a coun­try we like to ignore as much as pos­si­ble, and con­cerned the pol­i­tics of anar­chists and com­mu­nists, peo­ple we like to pre­tend don’t exist except as car­i­ca­tures in scare-mon­ger­ing car­toons. But the French remem­ber May 1968, and not only on its fifti­eth. The wild­cat strikes, stu­dent march­es, and bar­ri­cades in the Latin Quar­ter haunt French pol­i­tics. “We’re slight­ly pris­on­ers of a myth,” laments his­to­ri­an Danielle Tar­takowsky.

The inter­na­tion­al his­tor­i­cal events sur­round­ing the strikes and march­es are well-known or should be. The found­ing ethos of the move­ment, Sit­u­a­tion­ism, per­haps less so. Read­ing Guy Debord’s Soci­ety of the Spec­ta­cle and the 1968 movement’s oth­er essen­tial texts can feel like look­ing into a fun­house mir­ror.

The 1966 pam­phlet man­i­festo that began the stu­dent agi­ta­tion—“On the Pover­ty of Stu­dent Life”—might sound mighty famil­iar: it has no kind words for con­sumerist stu­dent rad­i­cals who “con­vert their uncon­scious con­tempt into a blind enthu­si­asm.” Yet they have been attacked, it clar­i­fies, “from the wrong point of view.”

Since we seem to be, in some dena­tured way, reliv­ing events of fifty years ago, the think­ing of that not-so-dis­tant moment illu­mi­nates our cir­cum­stances. “If there’s one thing in com­mon between 1968 and today,” remarks Antoine Gué­gan, whose father Gérard staged Paris cam­pus sit-ins, “it’s young people’s despair. But it’s a dif­fer­ent kind of despair…. Today’s youth is fac­ing a moment of stag­na­tion, with lit­tle to lean on.” Despite the riotous, bloody nature of the times, a glob­al move­ment then found rea­son for hope.

We see it reflect­ed in the defi­ant art and cin­e­ma of the time, from rev­o­lu­tion­ary work by a 75-year-old Joan Miró to vérité film by 20-year-old wun­derkind Philippe Gar­rel. And we see it, espe­cial­ly, in the huge num­ber of posters print­ed to adver­tise the move­ment, rad­i­cal graph­ic designs that illus­trate the exhil­a­ra­tion and defi­ance of the loose col­lec­tive of Marx­ists-Lenin­ists, Trot­skyites, Maoists, Anar­chists, Sit­u­a­tion­ists, and so on who pro­pelled the move­ment for­ward.

Last year, we fea­tured a gallery of these arrest­ing images from the Ate­lier Pop­u­laire, a group of artists and stu­dents, notes Dan­ger­ous Minds, which “occu­pied the École des Beaux-Arts and ded­i­cat­ed its efforts to pro­duc­ing thou­sands of silk-screened posters using bold, icon­ic imagery and slo­gans as well as explic­it­ly collective/anonymous author­ship.” Today, we bring you a huge gallery of more than 300 such images, housed online at Vic­to­ria Uni­ver­si­ty in the Uni­ver­si­ty of Toron­to.

Some of the images are down­load­able. You can request down­loads of oth­ers from the uni­ver­si­ty library for pri­vate use or pub­li­ca­tion. These posters rep­re­sent a move­ment con­fronting an oppres­sive soci­ety with its own log­ic, a soci­ety of which Debord wrote just the pre­vi­ous year, “the spec­ta­cle is not a col­lec­tion of images; it is a social rela­tion between peo­ple that is medi­at­ed by images.” There is no under­stand­ing of the events of May 1968 with­out an under­stand­ing of its visu­al cul­ture as, Debord wrote, “a means of uni­fi­ca­tion.” Enter the gallery of posters and prints here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Gallery of Visu­al­ly Arrest­ing Posters from the May 1968 Paris Upris­ing

Theodor Adorno’s Rad­i­cal Cri­tique of Joan Baez and the Music of the Viet­nam War Protest Move­ment

Bed Peace Revis­its John Lennon & Yoko Ono’s Famous Anti-Viet­nam Protests

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

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