“Forbidden Images,” a Compilation of Scandalous Scenes from the Early Days of Cinema (NSFW in 1926)

Last night I caught a screen­ing of Park Chan-wook’s new movie The Hand­maid­en, whose dar­ing­ly frank love scenes — by the stan­dards of main­stream cin­e­ma, at least — have already drawn no small amount of inter­na­tion­al noto­ri­ety. That goes espe­cial­ly for a once cen­sor­ship-heavy coun­try like South Korea, where The Hand­maid­en came from and where I saw it. But it also comes just as one more push of the enve­lope in the process that has been broad­en­ing the range of “accept­able” imagery for high-pro­file pro­duc­tions ever since the birth of the medi­um. You can get a sense of just how much it has accom­plished by watch­ing “For­bid­den Images,” the four-minute com­pi­la­tion just above.

“I made this film for the 2007 edi­tion of the 72 Hour Film Fest in Fred­er­ick, MD,” writes its uploader, “These scenes come from a reel of 35mm nitrate that was dis­cov­ered in the pro­jec­tion booth of an old movie the­ater in Penn­syl­va­nia. The pro­jec­tion­ist spliced togeth­er this reel of banned, cen­sored scenes to meet local moral stan­dards or for late night, ‘per­son­al’ screen­ings.” And what does this dis­til­la­tion of pure cin­e­mat­ic scan­dal show us? Bathing beau­ties, jubi­lat­ing flap­pers, faint­ing damsels, whirling lady dervish­es, skirts fly­ing in the wind, and a whole lot of feet, most of them still shod — a far cry from what most of us, absent very spe­cif­ic desires indeed, would con­sid­er forms of tit­il­la­tion today.

Yet at the time, “For­bid­den Images” tells us, film­mak­ers and the­ater own­ers had to cut out these shots lest they face arrest. But what films did they have to cut them out of? The video’s com­menters on Youtube have iden­ti­fied scenes from Fritz Lang’s Metrop­o­lis and Gre­ta Gar­bo in The Temptress, and a 1926 pic­ture called The Black White Sheep. We may laugh at what peo­ple in the silent era con­sid­ered unshow­able, but this com­pi­la­tion presents us with the unavoid­able ques­tion: “Will our cur­rent forms of cen­sor­ship and moral stan­dards appear just as ridicu­lous to future audi­ences?” After all, we can always push the enve­lope a lit­tle fur­ther — and thus far, we always have.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch After the Ball, the 1897 “Adult” Film by Pio­neer­ing Direc­tor Georges Méliès (Almost NSFW)

Metrop­o­lis: Watch a Restored Ver­sion of Fritz Lang’s Mas­ter­piece (1927)

Watch Scar­let Street, Fritz Lang’s Cen­sored Noir Film, Star­ring the Great Edward G. Robin­son (1945)

Watch Jean Genet’s Only Film, the Cen­sored A Song of Love (1950)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Malcolm Gladwell Has Launched a New Podcast, Revisionist History: Hear the First Episode

Mal­colm Glad­well has a pod­cast. Some of you will require no fur­ther infor­ma­tion, and in fact have already clicked over to iTunes (or anoth­er pod­cast down­load­ing appli­ca­tion of your choice), des­per­ate to down­load the first episode. Allow me to inform those cool­er heads who remain that Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry won’t begin its ten-week run, with one episode out per week, until June 16th. (Update: The first episode is now live and you can stream it below.) But you can sub­scribe right now (iTunesStitch­erRSS), and while you wait over the next few days, you can lis­ten to the pre­view that Glad­well has already post­ed.

You can also get a lit­tle a taste of Glad­well’s new project by watch­ing the trail­er at the top of the post. “Every week, I’m going to take you back into the past,” Glad­well promis­es in the video’s nar­ra­tion, “to exam­ine some­thing that I think has been over­looked and mis­un­der­stood.”

He gets into more detail on the Bri­an Lehrer Show seg­ment below, in which he describes the first episode of Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry as about the ques­tion of what it means to be “the first out­sider to enter a closed world,” start­ing from the career of British painter Eliz­a­beth Thomp­son, whose 1874 can­vas The Roll Call became, for a time, the most famous image in the coun­try. It broke its female artist into the male-dom­i­nat­ed world of paint­ing, and seemed, for an even short­er time, to her­ald a new era rich with high-pro­file female painters. “Every­one waits and waits for the rev­o­lu­tion to hap­pen,” Glad­well says, already into his char­ac­ter­is­tic sto­ry­telling mode, “and it nev­er hap­pens.”

Lehrer reacts to Glad­well’s choice of the sto­ry of “the first woman to break through in a male-dom­i­nat­ed field” with the obvi­ous ques­tion: “Is that a coin­ci­dence?” It is absolute­ly not a coin­ci­dence, Glad­well replies, going on to con­nect the phe­nom­e­non in ques­tion to not just mod­ern fig­ures like Hillary Clin­ton but Barack Oba­ma, Julia Gillard, and Mar­garet Thatch­er as well, and in the pod­cast itself sure­ly many oth­ers besides. He also hints at an episode lat­er in the sea­son that begins with an obscure Elvis Costel­lo song — and a “ter­ri­ble” one at that, he adds — and uses it “as a way of find­ing out how cre­ativ­i­ty works, and how an awful lot of what we con­sid­er works of genius had an incred­i­bly cir­cuitous path to great­ness,” end­ing up at a gallery look­ing at Cézannes.

You can sign up for episode updates at the offi­cial Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry site. The show comes as a prod­uct of Panoply, the pod­cast net­work of The Slate Group, and its first sea­son promis­es slick pro­duc­tion in addi­tion to the kind of com­pelling sto­ries and mem­o­rable social-sci­ence insights with which Glad­well has made him­self famous. And we should­n’t ignore his tal­ent for mar­ket­ing, either, ful­ly in evi­dence from noth­ing more than the tagline he speaks in the trail­er: “Because some­times the past deserves a sec­ond chance.” All this togeth­er sounds like more than a good rea­son to give his pod­cast a first one.

Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry is list­ed in our new col­lec­tion, The 150 Best Pod­casts to Enrich Your Mind.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Pod­cast His­to­ry of Our World Will Take You From Cre­ation Myths to (Even­tu­al­ly) the Present Day

The His­to­ry of the World in 46 Lec­tures From Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty

Jump Into the “Pod­cast­ing Renais­sance” with These Intel­li­gent Shows (and Tell Us Your Favorites)

Mal­colm Glad­well: What We Can Learn from Spaghet­ti Sauce

Mal­colm Glad­well: Tax­es Were High and Life Was Just Fine

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

1978 News Report on the Rocky Horror Craze Captures a Teenage Michael Stipe in Drag

The impact of The Rocky Hor­ror Pic­ture Show in the ‘70s came from a per­fect cock­tail of sev­er­al time-spe­cif­ic ingre­di­ents: A lib­er­at­ed, post-’60s gen­er­a­tion of young peo­ple embold­ened by glam and the sex­u­al rev­o­lu­tion find­ing their voice; the pro­lif­er­a­tion of cin­e­mas that found that mid­night screen­ings were good for busi­ness; and the need to see a film again and again in a pre-VHS Amer­i­ca.

In the above clip from a St. Louis, MO night­ly news segment–commenters place it at around 1978–TV reporter Michael Brown inter­views the crowd out­side a screen­ing at the Var­si­ty The­ater, wait­ing to see the film “that some peo­ple obvi­ous­ly think has been here too long” (accord­ing to the news­cast­er) and, instead of find­ing deviants, dis­cov­ers some of the first cos-play­ers in his­to­ry.

One of which–and why the clip was post­ed in the first place–is a teenage Michael Stipe, years before mov­ing to Geor­gia and start­ing R.E.M., in full Frank N. Furter drag, who says this is “nor­mal” dress.

The idea to sell a film (that was orig­i­nal­ly a flop) as a “mid­night movie” start­ed with a loy­al fol­low­ing at the Waver­ly The­ater in New York City, and can­ny stu­dio mar­keters. Accord­ing to a 1999 arti­cle by Patri­cia Cor­ri­g­an,

“Rocky Hor­ror” came to St. Louis in March of 1976, show­ing at the now-defunct Var­si­ty The­atre in Uni­ver­si­ty City. The movie ran every night, as the main fea­ture, for three weeks. Pete Pic­cione, who owned the Var­si­ty, brought the film back as a mid­night movie on occa­sion­al week­ends for the rest of the year and on through 1977. By May of 1978, “Rocky Hor­ror” was play­ing every week­end as the mid­night show.

In fact, Pic­cione is in the seg­ment, being asked how he’d feel if his son or daugh­ter attend­ed this film, and well, we won’t ruin the reply. You’ll just have to watch.

Not only is this a great his­tor­i­cal vignette, but a reminder that the sight of peo­ple in cos­tume gath­er­ing to cel­e­brate a pop cul­ture event was once remark­able; now it’s called Comi­con.

It’s also worth won­der­ing: apart from the open­ing night, will we ever again see peo­ple gath­er­ing in pub­lic to watch a film 30, 40, 50 times? And did those news­cast­ers ever get bet­ter fash­ion sense?

via A.V. Club/Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Inter­view: Tim Cur­ry Dis­cuss­es The Rocky Hor­ror Pic­ture Show, Dur­ing the Week of Its Release (1975)

http://www.openculture.com/2015/02/tim-curry-discusses-the-rocky-horror-picture-show.html

Michael Stipe Rec­om­mends 10 Books for Any­one Marooned on a Desert Island

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

The Books on Young Alan Turing’s Reading List: From Lewis Carroll to Modern Chromatics

turing book list

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

We now regard Alan Tur­ing, the trou­bled and ulti­mate­ly per­se­cut­ed crypt­an­a­lyst (and, intel­lec­tu­al­ly, much more besides)—who cracked the code of the Ger­man Enig­ma machine in World War II—as one of the great minds of his­to­ry. His life and work have drawn a good deal of seri­ous exam­i­na­tion since his ear­ly death in 1954, and recent­ly his lega­cy has even giv­en rise to pop­u­lar por­tray­als such as that by Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch in the film The Imi­ta­tion Game. So what, more and more of us have start­ed to won­der, forms a mind like Tur­ing’s in the first place?

A few years ago, math­e­mat­ics writer Alex Bel­los received, from “an old friend who teach­es at Sher­borne, the school Tur­ing attend­ed between 1928 and 1930,” some “new infor­ma­tion about the com­put­er pio­neer and codebreaker’s school years” in the form of “the list of books Tur­ing took out from the school library while he was a pupil.” Bel­los lists them as fol­lows:

“As you can see, and as you might expect,” writes Bel­los, “heavy on the sci­ences. The AJ Evans, a mem­oir about the author’s escape from impris­on­ment in the First World War, is the only non-sci­en­tif­ic book.” He also notes that “the physics books he took out all look very seri­ous, but the maths ones are light­heart­ed: the Lewis Car­roll and the Rouse Ball, which for decades was the clas­sic text in recre­ation­al maths prob­lems.” Sher­borne archivist Rachel Has­sall, who pro­vid­ed Bel­los with the list, also told him that “the book cho­sen by Tur­ing for his school prize was a copy of the Rouse Ball. Even teenage genius­es like to have fun.”

If you, too, would like to do a bit of the read­ing of a genius — or, depend­ing on how quan­ti­ta­tive­ly your own mind works, just have some fun — you can down­load for free most of these books the young Tur­ing checked out of the school library. Pro­gram­mer and writer John Gra­ham-Cum­ming orig­i­nal­ly found and orga­nized all the links to the texts on his blog; you can fol­low them there or from the list in this post. And if you know any young­sters in whom you see the poten­tial to achieve his­to­ry’s next Tur­ing-lev­el accom­plish­ment, send a few e‑books their way. Why read Har­ry Pot­ter, after all, when you can read A Selec­tion of Pho­tographs of Stars, Star-Clus­ters & Neb­u­lae, togeth­er with infor­ma­tion con­cern­ing the instru­ments & the meth­ods employed in the pur­suit of celes­tial pho­tog­ra­phy?

via Alex Bel­los

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Enig­ma Machine: How Alan Tur­ing Helped Break the Unbreak­able Nazi Code

Alan Tur­ing, Bril­liant Math­e­mati­cian and Code Break­er, Will Be Final­ly Par­doned by British Gov­ern­ment

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Reads a Let­ter Alan Tur­ing Wrote in “Dis­tress” Before His Con­vic­tion For “Gross Inde­cen­cy”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Stream 23 Free Documentaries from PBS’ Award-Winning American Experience Series

How to under­stand a coun­try as enor­mous, as cul­tur­al­ly and eco­nom­i­cal­ly pro­duc­tive, and as con­tra­dic­to­ry and frus­trat­ing as the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca? As an Amer­i­can myself, I’m here to tell you that there’s no short­cut. I live abroad, and dis­tance has pro­vid­ed me a help­ful new per­spec­tive, but my curios­i­ty about how my home­land turned out like it did remains strong. That same curios­i­ty pos­sess­es many an Amer­i­can and non-Amer­i­can alike, and they all can sati­ate at least some of it by watch­ing episodes of the PBS doc­u­men­tary series Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence avail­able free online. Note: We have a list of stream­able episodes down below.

Since pre­mier­ing at The Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence on Octo­ber 4, 1988 with an episode on the great San Fran­cis­co earth­quake of 1906, the arti­cle may have fall­en away, but the in-depth explo­ration of U.S. his­to­ry has con­tin­ued apace. While hard­ly for­mu­la­ic, the episodes do tend start with a par­tic­u­lar event, place, or indi­vid­ual that time has ren­dered icon­ic. And so, at the top of the post, we have the Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence por­trait of Thomas Edi­son, the “hold­er of more patents than any oth­er inven­tor in his­to­ry” who grew rich and famous “as the genius behind such rev­o­lu­tion­ary inven­tions as sound record­ing, motion pic­tures, and elec­tric light.”

Edi­son has indeed come to rep­re­sent the Amer­i­can arche­type of the self-made mil­lion­aire whose sheer inge­nu­ity would improve lives across the coun­try, and ulti­mate­ly the world. But the coin has, as always, anoth­er side: how much of Edis­on’s suc­cess owes to his own hard work, and how much owes to his com­bi­na­tion and mar­ket­ing of the work of oth­ers? (Sim­i­lar ques­tions have con­tin­ued to swirl around more recent larg­er-than-life fig­ures in Amer­i­can busi­ness, not least Steve Jobs.) Anoth­er fas­ci­nat­ing­ly com­pli­cat­ed lega­cy, as well as quite pos­si­bly Amer­i­ca’s most scru­ti­nized life and death, comes in for the Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence treat­ment in the series’ four-hour episode on John F. Kennedy.

In addi­tion to these sto­ries of Amer­i­can per­son­al­i­ties, the online archive also has sto­ries of Amer­i­can places like Mount Rush­more, Amer­i­can achieve­ments like space trav­el, Amer­i­can eras like the year 1964, and even pieces of Amer­i­can infra­struc­ture like Penn Sta­tion. And of course, giv­en the insa­tiable Amer­i­can appetite for pres­i­den­tial biogra­phies, such com­man­ders-in-chief as Jim­my Carter, Ronald Rea­gan, and Bill Clin­ton also have their own episodes. But view­ers out­side Amer­i­ca should note that, because of geo­graph­i­cal rights restric­tions, not all these videos may stream for them. Since I live out­side Amer­i­ca myself, I’ve got the same prob­lem, but then again, I’ll also have some binge-watch­ing (and cul­tur­al rein­tro­duc­tion) mate­r­i­al on my next trip back.

The titles list­ed above will be added to our col­lec­tion of Free Online Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch PBS’ Amer­i­can Mas­ters Doc­u­men­taries (Includ­ing Scorsese’s Homage to Kazan) Free Online

Ten Build­ings that Changed Amer­i­ca: Watch the Debut Episode from the New PBS Series

265 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Color Footage of America’s First Shopping Mall Opening in 1956: The Birth of a Beloved and Reviled Institution

What do we do with all the dead malls? Any­one with an eye on the years-long spate of unam­bigu­ous head­lines — “The Death of the Amer­i­can Mall,” “The Eco­nom­ics (and Nos­tal­gia) of Dead Malls,” “Amer­i­ca’s Shop­ping Malls Are Dying A Slow, Ugly Death” — knows that the ques­tion has begun to vex Amer­i­can cities, and more so Amer­i­can sub­urbs. But just twen­ty years ago (which I remem­ber as the time of my own if not mall-cen­tric then often mall-ori­ent­ed ado­les­cence), nobody could have fore­seen the end of the large, enclosed shop­ping mall as an Amer­i­can insti­tu­tion — nobody except Dou­glas Cou­p­land.



“On August 11 1992 I was in Bloom­ing­ton, Min­neso­ta, close to Min­neapo­lis,” remem­bers the Gen­er­a­tion X author in a recent Finan­cial Times col­umn. “I was on a book tour and it was the grand open­ing day of Mall of Amer­i­ca, the biggest mall in the US.” He took the stage to give a live radio inter­view and the host said, “I guess you must think this whole mall is kind of hokey and trashy.” No such thing, replied Cou­p­land: “I feel like I’m in anoth­er era that we thought had van­ished, but it real­ly hasn’t, not yet. I think we might one day look back on pho­tos of today and think to our­selves, ‘You know, those peo­ple were liv­ing in gold­en times and they didn’t even know it.’”

Gold­en times or not, they now look unques­tion­ably like the high water­mark of the era when “malls used to be cool.” Cou­p­land describes the shop­ping mall as “the inter­net shop­ping of 1968,” but they go back a bit far­ther: 1956, to be pre­cise, the year the South­dale Cen­ter, the very first enclosed, depart­ment store-anchored mall of the form that would spread across Amer­i­ca and else­where over the next forty years, opened in Edi­na, Min­neso­ta. You can see vin­tage col­or footage of the South­dale Cen­ter in all its mid­cen­tu­ry glo­ry — its auto show­room, its play­ground, its full-ser­vice Red Owl gro­cery, its umbrel­la-tabled cafés under a vast atri­um, and out­side, of course, its even vaster park­ing lot — at the top of the post.

“You have no idea what an inno­va­tion this was in the 1950s,” says writer and mid­cen­tu­ry Min­neso­ta enthu­si­ast James Lileks. “There wasn’t any place where you could sit ‘out­side’ in your shirt-sleeves in Jan­u­ary.” I used that quote when I wrote a piece for the Guardian on the South­dale Cen­ter, an insti­tu­tion eas­i­ly impor­tant enough for their His­to­ry of Cities in 50 Build­ings (as well as PBS’ tele­vi­sion series Ten Build­ings that Changed Amer­i­ca), whether you love them or hate them. The Aus­tri­an archi­tect Vic­tor Gru­en, who came to Amer­i­ca in flight from the Nazis, hat­ed them, but he also cre­at­ed them; or rather, he envi­sioned the oases of rich Vien­nese urban­i­ty for his new coun­try that would, cor­rupt­ed by Amer­i­can real­i­ty, quick­ly become short­hand for “con­sumerist” sub­ur­ban life at its bland­est.

Mal­colm Glad­well tells that sto­ry in full in his New York­er pro­file of Gru­en and the cre­ation he dis­owned: “He revis­it­ed one of his old shop­ping cen­ters, and saw all the sprawl­ing devel­op­ment around it, and pro­nounced him­self in ‘severe emo­tion­al shock.’ Malls, he said, had been dis­fig­ured by ‘the ugli­ness and dis­com­fort of the land-wast­ing seas of park­ing’ around them.” Giv­en Gru­en’s final pro­nounce­ment on the mat­ter — “I refuse to pay alimo­ny for those bas­tard devel­op­ments” — one imag­ines he would applaud the shop­ping mal­l’s present day devo­lu­tion.

“Where is the gra­cious Muzak’ed trance of yore?” asks Cou­p­land as he sur­veys Amer­i­ca’s blight­ed mallscape today. “Where is the civil­i­ty? The calm cov­ered with ply­wood sheet­ing and graf­fi­ti, and filled with dead trop­i­cal plants and shop­ping carts miss­ing wheels, they’ve basi­cal­ly entered the realm of back­drops for sci­ence fic­tion nov­els and movies and I’m OK with that. Change hap­pens.” Change, in the form of thor­ough remod­el­ing and mod­ern­iza­tion, has also hap­pened to the South­dale Cen­ter, but the mall that start­ed it all remains in busi­ness today, all rumors of its own immi­nent demise seem­ing­ly exag­ger­at­ed.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Atten­tion K‑Mart Shop­pers: Hear 90 Hours of Back­ground Music & Ads from the Retail Giant’s 1980s and 90s Hey­day

Ten Build­ings that Changed Amer­i­ca: Watch the Debut Episode from the New PBS Series

Watch Stew­art Brand’s 6‑Part Series How Build­ings Learn, With Music by Bri­an Eno

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Instrument Benjamin Franklin Invented, the Glass Armonica, Plays Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”


Must we ever see anoth­er port­ly, bespec­ta­cled re-enac­tor drag­ging a kite with key attached to rep­re­sent the inge­nu­ity of rak­ish found­ing father and avatar of cash wealth, Ben­jamin Franklin? Why, when he invent­ed so many won­drous things—including those bifo­cal specs—should we only memo­ri­al­ize him for this sil­ly (but very sci­en­tif­ic) stunt? Though it may be a true sto­ry, unlike Wash­ing­ton and his cher­ry tree, the famil­iar­i­ty of the image breeds a cer­tain indif­fer­ence to the man behind it. I’m not sug­gest­ing that we remem­ber him for, say, his inven­tion of the catheter, though that’s quite a use­ful thing. Or for his inven­tion, accord­ing to How Stuff Works, of “Amer­i­can Celebrity”—surely no friend to human­i­ty these two hun­dred-plus years hence.

But maybe swim fins, eh? That’s a pret­ty neat inven­tion. Imag­ine your fifth-grad­er in bald cap and ruf­fled shirt, plod­ding across the school stage in a pair of flip­pers. Or maybe the odome­ter? Or those reachy, grab­by things at the gro­cery store that pull items down from high shelves? Bor­ing. How about the Glass Armon­i­ca? The what? The glass armon­i­ca, I say, or—as Franklin orig­i­nal­ly called it—the “glassy­chord.” What is it? Well, Franklin, inspired by a con­cert by Roy­al Acad­e­my col­league Edmund Delaval on a set of water tuned wine­glass­es, decid­ed to improve upon the instru­ment. An ama­teur musi­cian him­self, writes William Zeitler as Glassarmonica.com, Franklin left the con­cert “deter­mined to invent and build ‘a more con­ve­nient’ arrange­ment.”



Thus, after two years of exper­i­men­ta­tion, “Franklin debuted his glass armon­i­ca,” which How Stuff Works describes as “a col­lec­tion of dif­fer­ent-sized glass bowls arranged on a rotat­ing shaft. By spin­ning the shaft with a foot ped­al and run­ning wet­ted fin­gers over the rotat­ing bowls, Franklin found he could coax out chords and melodies that Delaval could only dream of.” You needn’t use your imag­i­na­tion. Just watch the video above to see a Franklin re-enac­tor play a beau­teous ren­di­tion of Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sug­ar Plum Fairy” on a glass armon­i­ca. Love­ly, no? Sure­ly we wouldn’t expect chil­dren to pull this off in the school play, but they could mime along to a record­ing. (Don’t start yelling about revi­sion­ist his­to­ry just yet. We can still tell the kite and key sto­ry, too. Just watch these adorable chil­dren tell it in this video.)

Franklin pre­miered the inven­tion in 1762, though he didn’t play it him­self but enlist­ed Lon­don musi­cian Mar­i­anne Davis. It was an instant hit, “par­tic­u­lar­ly in Ger­many,” Zeitler writes, where “Mozart was intro­duced to it by Dr. Franz Mes­mer, who used it to ‘mes­mer­ize’ his patients, and lat­er Mozart wrote two works for it (a solo armon­i­ca piece, and a larg­er quin­tet for armon­i­ca, flute, oboe, vio­la and cel­lo).” Above, hear Mozart’s Ron­do for Glass Armon­i­ca and Quar­tet, per­formed by Thomas Bloch. Impressed? It gets bet­ter: “Beethoven also wrote a lit­tle piece for armon­i­ca and nar­ra­tor (!), and many of their col­leagues of the day com­posed for it as well—some 200 pieces for armon­i­ca… sur­vive from that era.”

What hap­pened? Tastes changed, put sim­ply, and the glass armon­i­ca fell out of fash­ion. That, and the lack of ampli­fi­ca­tion meant it was drowned out in increas­ing­ly larg­er ensem­bles. I pro­pose we bring it back, maybe in a hip Ben Franklin Broad­way musi­cal. Who’s with me?

Learn much more about this fas­ci­nat­ing instru­ment, and see sev­er­al more video demon­stra­tions, at Glassarmonica.com.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ben Franklin’s List of 200 Syn­onyms for “Drunk”: “Moon-Ey’d,” “Ham­mer­ish,” “Stew’d” & More (1737)

Declas­si­fied CIA Doc­u­ment Reveals That Ben Franklin (and His Big Ego) Put U.S. Nation­al Secu­ri­ty at Risk

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

Hear Amanda Palmer’s Cover of “Purple Rain,” a Gorgeous Stringfelt Send-Off to Prince

Amanda Palmer Prince Cover

Dear­ly beloved, we are gath­ered here today to get through this thing called life…

It must have crossed Prince’s mind that the day would sure­ly come when fans would mine his eter­nal­ly mem­o­rable open­er to 1984’s “Let’s Go Crazy” to eulo­gize him.

But could he have antic­i­pat­ed the heights to which fel­low singer-song­writer Aman­da Palmer would take this most under­stand­able of impuls­es?

Brace your­self for the above, the most mourn­ful­ly emo­tion­al cov­er of “Pur­ple Rain” you’re ever like­ly to hear. Yes, it shares an intro with “Let’s Go Crazy,” but this is no ordi­nary med­ley.

As with Strung Out In Heav­en, her five-track trib­ute to the recent­ly deceased David Bowie, Palmer teamed with a string quar­tet and pop poly­math pro­duc­er Jherek Bischoff. The quick turn­around result is both lush and heart­felt.

With no dis­re­spect, hope­ful­ly Palmer’s exquis­ite string ele­gies will not become a thing.

In oth­er words, we all have rock stars whose pass­ing we dread as an indi­ca­tor of our own mor­tal­i­ty.…

The pro­ceeds from the name-your-price pur­chase of Palmer’s “Pur­ple Rain” will be donat­ed to Ele­vate Hope Foun­da­tion, the non-prof­it project co-found­ed by fre­quent Prince col­lab­o­ra­tor, Sheila E, to pro­vide music ther­a­py for abused and aban­doned chil­dren.

As recent­ly as mid-March, Palmer was char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly mouthy online about her philo­soph­i­cal dif­fer­ences with the Pur­ple One, whom she described as the yang to her yin:

We want con­nec­tion but dis­agree about the wires, the chan­nels, the ingre­di­ents.

After he passed, she showed more restraint in an inter­view with Pitch­fork, in which she shared some per­son­al rec­ol­lec­tions about Prince’s role in her (elec­tric word) life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Strung Out in Heav­en, a Gor­geous Trib­ute to David Bowie by Aman­da Palmer & Jherek Bischoff’s, Made with Help from Neil Gaiman

This Is What It Sounds Like When 1999 Peo­ple Sing Prince’s “When Doves Cry”

Delight in Prince’s Extra­or­di­nar­i­ly Poignant Cov­er of Radiohead’s “Creep” & His Com­plete 2008 Coachel­la Set

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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