How Cannonball Adderley Shared the Joy of Jazz

Jazz has always had big per­son­al­i­ties. In the mid-20th cen­tu­ry, an explo­sion of major play­ers became as well known for their per­son­al quirks as for their rev­o­lu­tion­ary tech­niques and com­po­si­tions. Monk’s endear­ing odd­ness, Miles Davis’ brood­ing bad tem­per, Charles Min­gus’ exu­ber­ant shouts and rages, Ornette Coleman’s cryp­tic phi­los­o­phiz­ing, Coltrane’s gen­tle mys­ti­cism…. These were not only the jazz world’s great­est play­ers; they were also some of the century’s most inter­est­ing peo­ple.

The same can be said for Julian Edwin “Can­non­ball” Adder­ley, sax­o­phon­ist and band­leader who was her­ald­ed as a new Char­lie Park­er on arrival in the New York scene from Ft. Laud­erdale, Flori­da, where he had worked as a pop­u­lar high school band direc­tor and local musi­cian before decid­ing to pur­sue grad­u­ate stud­ies. Music had oth­er plans for him. Instead of going back to school when he arrived in Man­hat­tan in 1955, he fell in with the right crowd and became an instant crit­i­cal sen­sa­tion.

Adder­ley end­ed up play­ing onstage and record­ing with greats like Davis, Coltrane, Art Blakey, Bill Evans, and his broth­er, Nat Adder­ley, who joined him to play in his Quin­tet, com­plet­ed the Can­non­ball Adder­ley Sex­tet in the six­ties with Yusef Lateef, and helped him make some of the best music of his career. Adder­ley joined Miles Davis’s band when Coltrane left and played on Kind of Blue and Mile­stones, leav­ing “a deep impres­sion on Davis and his sex­tet,” notes one biog­ra­phy.

Unlike some of his famous peers, Adder­ley had none of the traits of the dif­fi­cult or enig­mat­ic artiste. Where most jazz musi­cians remained silent and mys­te­ri­ous onstage, Adder­ley engaged bois­ter­ous­ly with his audi­ence, in mono­logues one can imag­ine him shout­ing gre­gar­i­ous­ly over a band room full of stu­dents warm­ing up. With his irre­press­ible charm, he estab­lished an “amus­ing and edu­ca­tion­al rap­port with his audi­ence, often-times explain­ing what he and his musi­cians were about to play” (hear him do so before launch­ing into his pop­u­lar 1966 soul jazz sin­gle “Mer­cy, Mer­cy, Mer­cy,” below.)

Adderley’s per­son­al­i­ty helped put jazz new­com­ers at ease, but he didn’t teach from the text­book, exper­i­ment­ing broad­ly with sev­er­al gen­res and incor­po­rat­ing elec­tron­ic ele­ments and African polyrhythms in the 60s and 70s, when he also became “a jazz spokesman. Whether it was tele­vi­sion, res­i­den­cies at sev­er­al col­leges, or film appear­ances.” Adder­ley helped pio­neer soul jazz, post-bop, and oth­er exper­i­men­tal sub­gen­res, many of which crossed over into the pop charts. “Two words best encap­su­late the music of alto sax­o­phon­ist Julian “Can­non­ball” Adder­ley,” writes Nick Mor­ri­son at NPR: “’joy’ and ‘soul.’”

The Poly­phon­ic video at the top focus­es on the role of joy in Adderley’s music, mak­ing the case that he “exem­pli­fies joy more than any­one else in jazz.” His vora­cious appetite for life—reflected in his high school nick­name “Can­ni­bal,” which mor­phed into “Cannonball”—propelled him into the “cen­ter of the jazz uni­verse.” It also led him to devour influ­ences oth­er jazz musi­cians avoid­ed. He had no pre­ten­sions to jazz as high art, though he was him­self a high artist, and he joy­ful­ly embraced pop music at a time when it was scorned by the jazz elite.

“Adderley’s great ambi­tion was to share the joy of jazz with the world, and he knew that no mat­ter how tech­ni­cal­ly impres­sive a piece of music was, peo­ple wouldn’t lis­ten to it if it wasn’t fun, so Can­non­ball made his music fun and acces­si­ble.” Records like The Can­non­ball Adder­ley Sex­tet in New York sound like “a par­ty,” writes CJ Hurtt at Vinyl Me, Please: “a par­ty with some far-out near­ly free jazz post-bop ele­ments to it” but no short­age of straight-ahead grooves. The album kicks off with Can­non­ball “telling the audi­ence that they are actu­al­ly hip and not mere­ly pre­tend­ing to be.” It’s tongue-in-cheek, of course; Adder­ley nev­er pre­tend­ed to be any­one but his own out­go­ing self. But his unre­lent­ing cheer­ful­ness, even when he played the blues, also made him one of the hippest cats around.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Jazz Helped Fuel the 1960s Civ­il Rights Move­ment

Miles Davis Icon­ic 1959 Album Kind of Blue Turns 60: Revis­it the Album That Changed Amer­i­can Music

Her­bie Hancock’s Joy­ous Sound­track for the Orig­i­nal Fat Albert TV Spe­cial (1969)

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

Nursing Home Residents Replace Famous Rock Stars on Iconic Album Covers

Deserved­ly or not, British care homes have acquired a rep­u­ta­tion as espe­cial­ly drea­ry places, from Vic­to­ri­an nov­els to dystopi­an fic­tion to the flat affect of BBC doc­u­men­taries. Mar­tin Parr gave the world an espe­cial­ly mov­ing exam­ple of the care home doc­u­men­tary in his 1972 pho­to series on Prest­wich Asy­lum, out­side Man­ches­ter. The com­pelling por­traits human­ize peo­ple who were neglect­ed and ignored, yet their lives still look bleak in that aus­tere­ly post-war British insti­tu­tion kind of way.

One can­not say any­thing of the kind of the pho­to series rep­re­sent­ed here, which casts res­i­dents of Syd­mar Lodge Care Home in Edge­ware, Eng­land as rock stars, dig­i­tal­ly recre­at­ing some of the most famous album cov­ers of all time. This is not, obvi­ous­ly, a can­did look at res­i­dents’ day-to-day exis­tence. But it sug­gests a pret­ty cheer­ful place. “The main aim was to show that care homes need not be a sad envi­ron­ment, even dur­ing this pan­dem­ic,” says the pho­tos’ cre­ator Robert Speker, the home’s activ­i­ties man­ag­er.

“Speker tweet­ed side-by-side pho­tos of the orig­i­nal cov­ers and the Syd­mar Lodge res­i­dents’ new takes, and the tweets quick­ly took off,” NPR’s Lau­rel Wams­ley writes. He’s made it clear that the pri­ma­ry audi­ence for the recre­at­ed cov­ers is the res­i­dents them­selves: Iso­lat­ed in lock­down for the past four months; cut off from vis­its and out­ings; suf­fer­ing from an indef­i­nite sus­pen­sion of famil­iar rou­tines.

Speker does not deny the grim real­i­ty behind the inspir­ing images. “Elder­ly peo­ple will remain in lock­down for a long time,” he writes on a GoFundMe page he cre­at­ed to help sup­port the home. “It could be months before the sit­u­a­tion changes for them.”

But he is opti­mistic about his abil­i­ties to “make their time as hap­py and full of enjoy­ment and inter­est as pos­si­ble.” Would that all nurs­ing homes had such a ded­i­cat­ed, award-win­ning coor­di­na­tor. Res­i­dents them­selves, he wrote on Twit­ter, were “enthused and per­haps a bit bemused by the idea, but hap­py to par­tic­i­pate.” When they saw the results—stunning Roma Cohen as Aladdin Sane, defi­ant Sheila Solomons as Elvis and The Clash’s Paul Simenon, casu­al Mar­tin Stein­berg as a “Born in Eng­land” Springsteen—they were delight­ed. Four of the home­’s car­ers got their own cov­er, too, posed as Queen.

Res­i­dents, Speker said, were real­ly “hav­ing a good gig­gle about it.” And we can too, as we bear in mind the many elder­ly peo­ple around us who have been locked in for months, with maybe many more months of iso­la­tion ahead. Not every­one is as tal­ent­ed as Robert Speker, who did the mod­els’ make­up and tat­toos him­self (with hair by a care home man­ag­er), as well as tak­ing all the pho­tographs and edit­ing the images to con­vinc­ing­ly mim­ic the pos­es, com­po­si­tion, light­ing, font, and col­or schemes of the orig­i­nals. But let’s hope his work is a spark that lights up nurs­ing homes and care facil­i­ties with all sorts of cre­ative ideas to keep spir­its up. See sev­er­al more cov­ers below and the rest on Twit­ter.

via the BBC/NPR

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Peo­ple Pose in Uncan­ny Align­ment with Icon­ic Album Cov­ers: Dis­cov­er The Sleeve­face Project

The His­to­ry of the Fish­eye Pho­to Album Cov­er

Dyson Cre­ates 44 Free Engi­neer­ing & Sci­ence Chal­lenges for Kids Quar­an­tined Dur­ing COVID-19

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

The Muppets Sing the First & Second Acts of Hamilton

Or, at least it’s one fine impres­sion of the Mup­pets.

Here’s the cast and find Act II down below:

Alexan­der Hamil­ton — Ker­mit the Frog
Aaron Burr — The Great Gonzo
Eliza Schuyler — Miss Pig­gy
Mar­quis de LaFozette — Fozzie Bear
George Wash­ing­ton — Sam the Eagle
Angel­i­ca Schuyler — Camil­la the Chick­en
John Lau­rens — Beaker
Her­cules Mul­li­gan — Rowlf the Dog
King George III — Ani­mal
Peg­gy Schuyler — Jan­ice
Samuel Seabury — The Swedish Chef
Charles Lee — Elmo
Con­gres­sion­al Del­e­gates — Floyd and Zoot
Crazy Patri­ot — Crazy Har­ry
Statler and Wal­dorf — Them­selves

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hamil­ton Mania Inspires the Library of Con­gress to Put 12,000 Alexan­der Hamil­ton Doc­u­ments Online

Watch Lin-Manuel Miran­da Per­form the Ear­li­est Ver­sion of Hamil­ton at the White House, Six Years Before the Play Hit the Broad­way Stage (2009)

Lin-Manuel Miran­da & Emi­ly Blunt Take You Through 22 Clas­sic Musi­cals in 12 Min­utes

A Whiskey-Fueled Lin-Manuel Miran­da Reimag­ines Hamil­ton as a Girl on Drunk His­to­ry

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Buddhist Monk Covers Judas Priest’s “Breaking the Law,” Then Breaks Into Meditation

Back in April, we intro­duced you to Kos­san, a Japan­ese Bud­dhist monk who has a pen­chant for per­form­ing cov­ers of rock anthems–everything from The Ramones’ “Teenage Lobot­o­my,” to “Queen’s “We Will Rock You” and The Bea­t­les’ “Yel­low Sub­ma­rine.” Now he returns with Judas Priest’s “Break­ing the Law.” It’s a curi­ous cov­er, not least because he ends the song and breaks seam­less­ly into med­i­ta­tion. Met­al? Med­i­ta­tion? Sure, why not.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Japan­ese Bud­dhist Monk Cov­ers Ramones’ “Teenage Lobot­o­my,” “Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” Bea­t­les’ “Yel­low Sub­ma­rine” & More

Japan­ese Priest Tries to Revive Bud­dhism by Bring­ing Tech­no Music into the Tem­ple: Attend a Psy­che­del­ic 23-Minute Ser­vice

Med­i­ta­tion for Begin­ners: Bud­dhist Monks & Teach­ers Explain the Basics

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Ennio Morricone (RIP) and Sergio Leone Pose Together in Their Primary School Year Book, 1937

Lit­tle did they know where life would take them–and how their futures would be inter­twined.

A great find by @ddoniolvalcroze.…

The Film Music of Ennio Morricone (RIP) Beautifully Performed by the Danish National Symphony Orchestra Play: “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” & Much More

What we think of as “film music” today is a cre­ation of only a few inven­tive and orig­i­nal com­posers, one few­er of whom walks the Earth as of yes­ter­day. Though Ennio Mor­ri­cone will be remem­bered first for his asso­ci­a­tion with spaghet­ti west­ern mas­ter Ser­gio Leone, his career in film scores spanned half a cen­tu­ry and encom­passed work for some of the most acclaimed direc­tors of that peri­od: his coun­try­men like Michelan­ge­lo Anto­nioni, Bernar­do Bertoluc­ci, Pier Pao­lo Pasoli­ni, but also such com­mand­ing Hol­ly­wood film­mak­ers as John Hus­ton, Ter­rence Mal­ick, and Quentin Taran­ti­no. Mor­ri­cone did­n’t just write music to add to their films; he became a col­lab­o­ra­tor, with­out whose work their films would be dif­fi­cult to imag­ine.

The result, in pic­tures from L’Avven­tu­ra to Salò to Days of Heav­en to The Untouch­ables to The Hate­ful Eight, is a union of the arts that tran­scends indi­vid­ual cul­tures. It does­n’t mat­ter what coun­try you come from, what gen­er­a­tion you belong to, whether you enjoy West­erns or indeed cin­e­ma itself: you know the theme music Mor­ri­cone wrote for Leone’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly the moment you hear it. 

Whether or not you’ve seen the movie, you’ll appre­ci­ate the espe­cial­ly rich per­for­mance by the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra at the top of the post, part of a 2018 con­cert called The Mor­ri­cone Duel, a cel­e­bra­tion of “a wide range of west­ern movies and mafia movies reflect­ing dif­fer­ent per­spec­tives on an Ital­ian-Amer­i­can movie and film music style.”

The Mor­ri­cone Duel’s Youtube playlist includes the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra’s ren­di­tions of pieces from oth­er Mor­ri­cone-Leone col­lab­o­ra­tions like A Fist­ful of Dol­lars, For a Few Dol­lars MoreOnce Upon a Time in the West, and Once Upon a Time in Amer­i­ca. Though the evening also includ­ed pieces from The Untouch­ables and Hen­ri Verneuil’s The Sicil­ian Clan, many in the audi­ence must have thrilled most when the musi­cians launched into the over­ture from The Hate­ful Eight. They could hardy be more ardent Mor­ri­cone fans than Taran­ti­no him­self, who used pieces from Mor­ri­cone’s exist­ing Spaghet­ti-west­ern sound­tracks in Kill Bill and Inglou­ri­ous Bas­ter­ds before mak­ing a west­ern of his own, which would­n’t have been com­plete with­out orig­i­nal Mor­ri­cone music. The Hate­ful Eight turned out to be Mor­ri­cone’s penul­ti­mate film score, but his influ­ence will res­onate through gen­er­a­tions of cin­e­ma to come — and out­last, no doubt, the west­ern and gang­ster gen­res them­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 5 Hours of Ennio Morricone’s Scores for Clas­sic West­ern Films: From Ser­gio Leone’s Spaghet­ti West­erns to Tarantino’s The Hate­ful Eight

How Ser­gio Leone Made Music an Actor in His Spaghet­ti West­erns, Cre­at­ing a Per­fect Har­mo­ny of Sound & Image

Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic Song, “The Ecsta­sy of Gold,” Spell­bind­ing­ly Arranged for Theremin & Voice

Ukulele Orches­tra Per­forms Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic West­ern Theme Song, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.” And It’s Pret­ty Bril­liant

The Music in Quentin Tarantino’s Films: Hear a 5‑Hour, 100-Song Playlist

Why Mar­vel and Oth­er Hol­ly­wood Films Have Such Bland Music: Every Frame a Paint­ing Explains the Per­ils of the “Temp Score”

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.

Ella Fitzgerald’s Lost Interview about Racism & Segregation: Recorded in 1963, It’s Never Been Heard Until Now

When Ella Fitzger­ald took the stage for the first time at the Apol­lo The­ater in Harlem, “we heard a sound so per­fect” that the entire the­ater went silent, says dancer and chore­o­g­ra­ph­er Nor­ma Miller. “You could hear a rat piss on cot­ton.” Fitzger­ald was 17 years old, and she had already faced severe racial dis­crim­i­na­tion. “Every­thing was race,” says Miller, describ­ing the de facto seg­re­ga­tion in Harlem in the 20s and 30s. “You couldn’t go out of your zone… slav­ery is over, but you don’t have jobs. So the con­fine­ment meant you had to do for your­self.”

In 1917, a 2 year old Fitzger­ald had trav­eled with her moth­er and step­fa­ther from New­port News, Vir­ginia, where she was born, to Yonkers, New York. They were part of the Great Migra­tion that brought blues and jazz to North­ern cities. Fitzger­ald grew up sneak­ing into Harlem’s ball­rooms to hear Duke Elling­ton and Louis Arm­strong. Then at age 13, her moth­er died. Fitzger­ald was dev­as­tat­ed. She began skip­ping school and the police arrest­ed her for tru­an­cy and sent her to a reform school.

Black girls at the school, writes Nina Bern­stein in The New York Times, “were seg­re­gat­ed in the two most crowd­ed and dilap­i­dat­ed of the reformatory’s 17 ‘cot­tages,’ and were rou­tine­ly beat­en by male staff. There was a fine music pro­gram at the school, but Ella Fitzger­ald was not in the choir: it was all white.” Fitzger­ald escaped and made her way back to Harlem, where she slept on the streets. She stepped onstage at the Apollo’s ama­teur night as part of a dare and had orig­i­nal­ly planned to do a dance rou­tine.

The year after her Apol­lo debut, Fitzger­ald per­formed at Yale Uni­ver­si­ty with Chick Webb’s orches­tra. She released her first sin­gle, one of the biggest records of the decade, in 1938. In 1939, she took over as band­leader and carved out a career in the fol­low­ing years that includ­ed tours in Japan, Europe, and Aus­tralia, where she became a huge sen­sa­tion in 1954. In the states, how­ev­er, she was still treat­ed like a crim­i­nal. She missed her first two shows in Syd­ney because she and her pianist, assis­tant, and man­ag­er Nor­man Granz were thrown off the plane in Hon­olu­lu with­out expla­na­tion or recourse. (Fitzger­ald lat­er sued and won, as she explains in a 1970 CBC inter­view clip above.)

In 1955, Fitzgerald’s career received a major boost when Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe pres­sured the own­er of Sun­set Strip’s famed Mocam­bo to book the singer. “After that, I nev­er had to play a small jazz club again,” Fitzger­ald lat­er recalled. That same year, reports USA Today, “she was arrest­ed in her dress­ing room at an inte­grat­ed show in Hous­ton. When she arrived at the police sta­tion, an offi­cer asked for her auto­graph, Fitzger­ald recalls.” She rose above the ugli­ness with poise and grace and most­ly pre­ferred not to talk about it, though it sure­ly took its toll. “She lived, she sur­vived,” says cul­tur­al crit­ic Mar­go Jef­fer­son. “She became famous and she kept on keep­ing on—at what inner price, we don’t know.”

We do, how­ev­er, have a slight­ly bet­ter sense of how she felt thanks to clips from a 1963 inter­view with New York radio host Fred Rob­bins that have emerged after going unheard for decades (begin­ning at :30 in the video at the top). Dis­cussing her frus­tra­tion with seg­re­ga­tion in the South, she says:

Maybe I’m step­ping out (of line), but I have to say it, because it’s in my heart. It makes you feel so bad to think we can’t go down through cer­tain parts of the South and give a con­cert like we do over­seas, and have every­body just come to hear the music and enjoy the music because of the prej­u­dice thing that’s going on.

I used to always clam up because you (hear peo­ple) say, ‘Oh, gee, show peo­ple should stay out of pol­i­tics.’ But we have trav­eled so much and been embar­rassed so much. (Fans) can’t under­stand why you don’t play in Alaba­ma, or (ask), ‘Why can’t you have a con­cert? Music is music.’

The sit­u­a­tion was tru­ly “embar­rass­ing,” as she put it, for the coun­try and for her and her fel­low musi­cians. Fitzger­ald had seen enough in her life at that point to under­stand how deeply entrenched racism could become. Hope­ful about the future, she also rec­og­nized that there were some minds that would nev­er change. “The die-hards, they’re just going to die hard,” she says. “They’re not going to give in. You’ve got to try and con­vince the younger ones, they’re the ones who’ve got to make the future and those are the ones we’ve got to wor­ry about. Not those die-hards.”


Rob­bins had promised Fitzger­ald that the inter­view would air “all over the world.” Instead, for rea­sons unknown, it was shelved and for­got­ten until author Reg­gie Nadel­son dis­cov­ered the record­ing in 2018 at the Paley Cen­ter for Media. Despite her ret­i­cence to speak out, Fitzger­ald was grate­ful for the oppor­tu­ni­ty, even if it might end up cost­ing her. “I real­ly ran my mouth,” she says, wor­ry­ing, “Is it going down South? You think they’re going to break my records up when they hear it? This is unusu­al for me.” Nonethe­less, she says, “I’m so hap­py that you had me, because instead of singing, for a change I got a chance to get a few things off my chest. I just a human being.”

The clip at the top comes from a new doc­u­men­tary titled Ella Fitzger­ald: Just One of Those Things. Watch the trail­er for the film above.

via Ted Gioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe Helped Break Ella Fitzger­ald Into the Big Time (1955)

Ella Fitzger­ald Sings ‘Sum­mer­time’ by George Gersh­win, Berlin 1968

Miles Davis is Attacked, Beat­en & Arrest­ed by the NYPD Out­side Bird­land, Eight Days After the Release of Kind of Blue (1959)

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

 

Did the CIA Write the Scorpions’ “Wind of Change,” One of the Bestselling Songs of All Time?

By the time the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, it seemed the fate of the Sovi­et Union was all but sealed. It would be two more years before the USSR offi­cial­ly dis­solved, and flew the Sovi­et flag over the Krem­lin for the last time, but the age of Cold War bel­liger­ence offi­cial­ly end­ed with the 1980s, so it seemed. Soft pow­er and sua­sion would fin­ish the job. And what bet­ter way to announce this tran­si­tion than with the soft-rock stylings of a pow­er bal­lad like the Scor­pi­ons’ “Wind of Change”? The sen­ti­men­tal song from Ger­man met­al and hard rock favorites was sud­den­ly inescapable in 1990, and it was not at all sub­tle about its mes­sage.

The song became a mas­sive hit and remains one of the best-sell­ing sin­gles of all time. It served as “a sound­track of sorts to a polit­i­cal and cul­tur­al rev­o­lu­tion,” writes Richard Bien­stock at Rolling Stone. Odd­ly, “espe­cial­ly in light of the Scor­pi­ons’ back­ground… ‘Wind of Change’ was about nei­ther the Berlin Wall nor their Ger­man home­land.” Instead, the song was osten­si­bly inspired by a his­toric two-day fes­ti­val the band played in Moscow in 1989, a so-called “hard-rock Wood­stock” fea­tur­ing met­al roy­al­ty like Ozzy Osbourne, Möt­ley Crüe, Cin­derel­la, and Skid Row along­side hard rock Sovi­et bands like Gorky Park.

Three months after the con­cert, the Berlin Wall fell, and Scor­pi­ons’ lead singer Klaus Meine wrote the words:

The world is clos­ing in
Did you ever think
That we could be so close, like broth­ers
The future’s in the air
I can feel it every­where
Blow­ing with the wind of change

The icon­ic whis­tled intro and lighters-in-the-air video cement­ed “Wind of Change” as a defin­i­tive state­ment on how the “chil­dren of tomor­row” will “share their dreams” in a glob­al­ized world. Tan­ta­liz­ing­ly vague, the lyrics read like Sur­re­al­ist ad copy, slid­ing back and forth between dog­ger­el and weird Sym­bol­ist incan­ta­tion:

The wind of change
Blows straight into the face of time
Like a stormwind that will ring the free­dom bell
For peace of mind
Let your bal­alai­ka sing
What my gui­tar wants to say

These lines, it may not shock you to learn, may have been writ­ten by the CIA. At least, “that’s the mys­tery dri­ving the new eight-part pod­cast series Wind of Change,” writes Nicholas Quah at Vul­ture. (Lis­ten on Apple, Spo­ti­fy, Google, and on the pod­cast web­site.) “Led by New York­er staff writer Patrick Rad­den Keefe and pro­duced by Pineap­ple Street’s Hen­ry Molof­sky… the jour­ney takes us to a shape-shift­ing Won­der­land, a world where an Amer­i­can agency like the CIA may very well have par­tic­i­pat­ed in the pro­duc­tion of pop cul­ture as part of con­cert­ed efforts to build sen­ti­ment against its ene­mies abroad. It might even be some­thing that’s hap­pen­ing right now.”

Those who’ve read about how the Agency has influ­enced every­thing from Abstract Expres­sion­ism, to lit­er­ary mag­a­zines, cre­ative writ­ing, and Hol­ly­wood films might not find these alle­ga­tions par­tic­u­lar­ly sur­pris­ing, but as with all the best exam­ples of the ser­i­al pod­cast form, it’s the jour­ney, not the des­ti­na­tion that makes this sto­ry worth pur­su­ing. Keefe approach­es the sub­ject with a naiveté that might be delib­er­ate, play­ing up the idea of mass enter­tain­ment as “care­ful­ly devised and cal­i­brat­ed mes­sag­ing.”

The pod­cast is great fun (“it’s been described as This is Spinal Tap meets All the President’s Men,” writes Dead­line); its sto­ry, Keefe says in a state­ment, “stretch­es across musi­cal gen­res, and across bor­ders and peri­ods of his­to­ry.” Do we ever find out for sure whether the agency best known for over­throw­ing gov­ern­ments it doesn’t like wrote the Scor­pi­ons’ 1990 pow­er bal­lad “Wind of Change”? “Hear the music, and the accents and the voic­es,” says Keefe, “and judge for your­self who might be lying and who is telling the truth.”

If you ask Klaus Meine, it’s all a fan­ta­sy. (But, then, he would say that, would­n’t he?) “It’s weird,” the Scor­pi­ons singer com­ment­ed after learn­ing about Keefe’s pod­cast. “In my wildest dreams I can’t think about how that song would con­nect with the CIA.”  The idea, how­ev­er, would make “a good idea for a movie,” he says, “That would be cool.” A movie, maybe, fund­ed by the CIA.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the CIA Fund­ed & Sup­port­ed Lit­er­ary Mag­a­zines World­wide While Wag­ing Cul­tur­al War Against Com­mu­nism

The CIA Assess­es the Pow­er of French Post-Mod­ern Philoso­phers: Read a New­ly Declas­si­fied CIA Report from 1985

Read the CIA’s Sim­ple Sab­o­tage Field Man­u­al: A Time­less Guide to Sub­vert­ing Any Orga­ni­za­tion with “Pur­pose­ful Stu­pid­i­ty” (1944)

How the CIA Helped Shape the Cre­ative Writ­ing Scene in Amer­i­ca

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

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