Watch Prince Play Jazz Piano & Coach His Band Through George Gershwin’s “Summertime” in a Candid, Behind-the-Scenes Moment (1990)


A rock enig­ma wrapped around an R&B quandary, wear­ing plat­form shoes and pur­ple velour. The cheek­bones of an angel, dance moves and lyrics from an infer­nal­ly sexy place, and more musi­cal tal­ent than it seems pos­si­ble for a sin­gle per­son to pos­sess in one life­time…. These are some of the ways we remem­ber Prince Rogers Nel­son.

We do not typ­i­cal­ly remem­ber him as a jazz pianist. But his facil­i­ty with jazz earned him the admi­ra­tion of Miles Davis, who made sev­er­al efforts to col­lab­o­rate with the extreme­ly busy pop star. (They per­formed togeth­er only once, it seems, on New Year’s Eve, 1987 at Pais­ley Park.) Prince’s style, stage show, song­writ­ing, and arrang­ing drew from jazz of all kinds—from zoot suit-era big band to the fre­net­ic move­ment of hard bop to the clas­si­cal­ly-inflect­ed show tunes of George Gersh­win. Just above see him “casu­al­ly own” Gersh­win’s “Sum­mer­time” dur­ing a 1990 sound­check in Osa­ka, Japan.

For the first minute, it’s a Prince show­case, but once he coach­es the band through the changes, he lets them take it, set­tling back while the gui­tarist rides out a solo. The can­did moment does much more than demon­strate his chops on the piano and appre­ci­a­tion for Gersh­win. It offers yet anoth­er con­trast to the pop­u­lar image of Prince as a charis­mat­ic, self-suf­fi­cient solo artist who just hap­pened to work with a reg­u­lar crew of stel­lar musi­cians and not-so-stel­lar actress­es.

It’s true Prince played most or all of the instru­ments on many of his albums, wrote near­ly all his own songs, direct­ed or pro­duced near­ly every aspect of his music, career, and per­sona.… As solo artists go, no one comes close to defin­ing full cre­ative con­trol. The Pur­ple One ruled over a musi­cal empire; most of the time, it seems, he got what he want­ed, even if he some­times had to fight like hell for it. We might expect such an artist to be a pet­ty tyrant, hog­ging the spot­light and throw­ing his weight around at every oppor­tu­ni­ty. What we hear and see behind the scenes paints a much rich­er pic­ture.

The footage here was shot by Steve Pur­cell, who direct­ed sev­er­al videos for Prince and, as he remarked, “spent six years of my life work­ing for, cre­at­ing with and lay­ing the foun­da­tion for the rest of my career with Prince.” In his intro­duc­tion to the video, he writes, “This may not be the Prince you think of but it is the Prince I knew.” A band­leader who was also an ensem­ble play­er, and who con­stant­ly paid trib­ute to the music that inspired him in live per­for­mance.

We might have known Prince as a gen­er­ous hit­mak­er, who gave song after song to artists like Sheena Eas­t­on, Cha­ka Khan, Sinead O’Connor, and the Ban­gles, and launched the careers of a good many of his col­lab­o­ra­tors, musi­cal and oth­er­wise. Since his death, we’ve also learned much more about both his tremen­dous finan­cial and emo­tion­al good­will, and the time he took with oth­er musi­cians to help them devel­op and learn.

The impos­si­bly cool aloof­ness with which he glid­ed through pop star­dom did not extend to his rela­tion­ships with the peo­ple clos­est to him. Prince was so beloved that his two ex-wives worked togeth­er to orga­nize a star-stud­ded memo­r­i­al ser­vice for him. Sto­ries of his kind­ness, good humor, com­pas­sion, and loy­al­ty pour out at the same rate as the music he had locked up in his Pais­ley Park vault. We’ll like­ly see more can­did videos like this one emerge as well, from those who, like Pur­cell, found their time doc­u­ment­ing the artist a total­ly life-chang­ing expe­ri­ence.

via Clas­si­cal FM

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Prince’s First Inter­view, Print­ed in His High School News­pa­per (1976)

Prince Plays Unplugged and Wraps the Crowd Around His Lit­tle Fin­ger (2004)

Hear Prince’s Per­son­al Playlist of Par­ty Music: 22 Tracks That Will Bring Any Par­ty to Life

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

Hear Glenn Gould Channel Marshall McLuhan and Create an Experimental Radio Documentary Analyzing the Pop Music of Petula Clark (1967)

Glenn Gould, that intel­lec­tu­al­ly intense, aes­thet­i­cal­ly aus­tere inter­preter of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach, had lit­tle time for pop music. He had espe­cial­ly lit­tle time for the Bea­t­les: “Theirs is a hap­py, cocky, bel­liger­ent­ly resource­less brand of har­mon­ic prim­i­tivism,” he wrote in High Fideli­ty in 1967, when the Fab Four had reached the top of the zeit­geist. “The indul­gent ama­teur­ish­ness of the musi­cal mate­r­i­al, though close­ly rivaled by the indif­fer­ence of the per­form­ing style, is actu­al­ly sur­passed only by the inep­ti­tude of the stu­dio pro­duc­tion method,” he declares, liken­ing “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” to “a moun­tain wed­ding between Clau­dio Mon­tever­di and a jug band.”

But the Bea­t­le-bash­ing was inci­den­tal to the pur­pose of the arti­cle, a paean to Eng­lish singer Petu­la Clark. At first lis­ten, her four sin­gles on which Gould focus­es his analy­sis — 1964’s “Down­town,” 1956’s “My Love,” and 1966’s “A Sign of the Times” and “Who Am I?” — sound like noth­ing more than ado­les­cent-ori­ent­ed pop hard­ly touched by any of that decade’s musi­cal (or indeed social) rev­o­lu­tions. But “this quar­tet of hits,” in Gould’s view, “was designed to con­vey the idea that, bound as she might be by lim­i­ta­tions of tim­bre and range, she would not accept any cor­re­spond­ing restric­tions of theme and sen­ti­ment,” with the result that she came to com­mand an audi­ence “large, con­stant, and pos­sessed of an enthu­si­asm which tran­scends the gen­er­a­tions.”

Gould says all this in The Search for Petu­la Clark, a 23-minute radio doc­u­men­tary that aired on the CBC on Decem­ber 11, 1967, less than three weeks before his much bet­ter-known exper­i­men­tal doc­u­men­tary The Idea of North. He sit­u­ates his analy­sis of the singer he calls “Pet Clark,” which gets into not just her songs’ themes and lyrics but their tech­ni­cal qual­i­ties as music, in the con­text of a solo road trip around Lake Supe­ri­or when “Who Am I?” first hit the air­waves. So com­pelled did he find him­self that he timed his dri­ve to get with­in range of one of the radio sta­tions scat­tered across the vast­ness of his home­land at the top of each hour in order to hear the song over and over again, after 700 miles he got to “know it if not bet­ter than the soloist, at least as well, per­haps, as most of the side­men.”

Though born with­in two months of each oth­er in 1932 and there­after liv­ing lives ded­i­cat­ed to music, Gould and Clark would seem to have lit­tle else in com­mon. While Gould died at 50, Clark, at the age of 85, con­tin­ues to both record and per­form. Gould, as J.D. Con­nor writes in an essay on The Search for Petu­la Clark, “stopped per­form­ing for live audi­ences in 1964. Freed from the rig­ors of the con­cert cir­cuit, he dove into radio and tele­vi­sion at just the moment when he and Cana­di­an state media could par­lay his immense musi­cal pop­u­lar­i­ty into some­thing more.”  This and the more intri­cate radio pro­duc­tions that would fol­low both sprang from and allowed Gould to con­struct “a media the­o­ry of his own. In print, on tele­vi­sion, and, most impor­tant, on radio, Gould became the great com­ple­ment to Mar­shall McLuhan.” And like McLuhan, when Gould obsess­es over some­thing that nev­er seemed to mer­it seri­ous atten­tion, we’d do well to heed the insights he draws from it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to Glenn Gould’s Shock­ing­ly Exper­i­men­tal Radio Doc­u­men­tary, The Idea of North (1967)

Glenn Gould: Off and On the Record: Two Short Films About the Life & Music of the Eccen­tric Musi­cian

Glenn Gould Explains the Genius of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach (1962)

Glenn Gould Gives Us a Tour of Toron­to, His Beloved Home­town (1979)

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.

Hear the Hagia Sophia’s Awe-Inspiring Acoustics Get Recreated with Computer Simulations, and Let Yourself Get Transported Back to the Middle Ages

The tech­nol­o­gy used to pro­duce, record, and process music has become ever more sophis­ti­cat­ed and awe-inspir­ing, espe­cial­ly in the capa­bil­i­ty of soft­ware to emu­late real instru­ments and acoustic envi­ron­ments. Dig­i­tal emu­la­tion, or “mod­el­ing,” as it’s called, doesn’t sim­ply mim­ic the sounds of gui­tar ampli­fiers, pianos, or syn­the­siz­ers. At its best, it repro­duces the feel of an aur­al expe­ri­ence, its tex­tures and son­ic dimen­sions, while also adding a seem­ing­ly infi­nite degree of flex­i­bil­i­ty.

When it comes to a tech­nol­o­gy called “con­vo­lu­tion reverb,” we can vir­tu­al­ly feel the air pres­sure of sound in a phys­i­cal space, such that “lis­ten­ing in may be viewed as much as a spa­tial expe­ri­ence as it is a tem­po­ral one.” So notes Stanford’s Icons of Sound, a col­lab­o­ra­tion between the University’s Cen­ter for Com­put­er Research in Music and Acoustics (CCRMA) and the Depart­ment of Art & Art His­to­ry. The researchers in this joint project have com­bined resources to cre­ate a per­for­mance of Byzan­tine chant from the 6th cen­tu­ry CE, sim­u­lat­ed to sound like it takes place inside a prime acoustic envi­ron­ment designed for this very music, the Hagia Sophia in Istan­bul.

Built by the emper­or Jus­tin­ian between 532 and 537, when the city was Con­stan­tino­ple, the mas­sive church (lat­er mosque and now state-run muse­um) “has an extra­or­di­nar­i­ly large nave spread­ing over 70 meters in length; it is sur­round­ed by colon­nad­ed aisles and gal­leries. Mar­ble cov­ers the floor and walls.” Its cen­ter is “crowned by a dome glit­ter­ing in gold mosaics and ris­ing 56 meters above the ground.” The effect of the build­ing’s heavy, reflec­tive sur­faces and its archi­tec­tur­al enor­mi­ty “chal­lenges our con­tem­po­rary expec­ta­tion of the intel­li­gi­bil­i­ty of lan­guage.”

We are accus­tomed to hear the spo­ken or sung word clear­ly in dry, non-rever­ber­ant spaces in order to decode the encod­ed mes­sage. By con­trast, the wet acoustics of Hagia Sophia blur the intel­li­gi­bil­i­ty of the mes­sage, mak­ing words sound like ema­na­tion, emerg­ing from the depth of the sea. 

The Icons of Sound team has recon­struct­ed the under­wa­ter acoustics of the Hagia Sophia using con­vo­lu­tion reverb tech­niques and what are called “impulse responses”—recordings of the rever­ber­a­tions in par­tic­u­lar spaces, which are then loaded into soft­ware to dig­i­tal­ly sim­u­late the same psy­choa­coustics, a process known as “aural­iza­tion.” CCRMA describes an impulse response as an “imprint of the space,” which is then applied to sounds record­ed in oth­er envi­ron­ments. Typ­i­cal­ly, the process is used in stu­dio music pro­duc­tion, but Icons of Sound brought it to live per­for­mance at Stanford’s Bing Con­cert Hall last year, and made the group Cap­pel­la Romana sound like their voic­es had trans­port­ed from the Holy Roman Empire.

“To recre­ate the unique sound,” writes Kat Eschn­er at Smith­son­ian, “per­form­ers sang while lis­ten­ing to the sim­u­lat­ed acoustics of Hagia Sophia through ear­phones. Their singing was then put through the same acoustic sim­u­la­tor and played dur­ing the live per­for­mance through speak­ers in the con­cert hall.” As you can hear in these clips, the result is immer­sive and pro­found. One can only imag­ine what it must have been like live. To com­plete the effect, the pro­duc­tion used “atmos­pher­ic rein­force­ment,” notes Stan­ford Live, “via pro­ject­ed images and light­ing.” The audi­ence was “immersed in an envi­ron­ment where the unique inter­play of music, light, art, and sacred text has the poten­tial to induce a qua­si-mys­ti­cal state of rev­e­la­tion and won­der.”

The only sounds the researchers were able to record in the actu­al space of the ancient church were four pop­ping bal­loons. By lay­er­ing the rever­ber­a­tions cap­tured in these record­ings, and com­pen­sat­ing for the dif­fer­ent decay times inside the Bing, they were able to approx­i­mate the acoustic prop­er­ties of the build­ing. You can hear sev­er­al more audio sam­ples record­ed in dif­fer­ent places at this site. In the video above, asso­ciate pro­fes­sor of medieval art Bis­sera Pentche­va explains how and why the Hagia Sophia shapes sound and light the way it does. While purists might pre­fer to see a per­for­mance in the actu­al space, one must admit, the abil­i­ty to vir­tu­al­ly deliv­er a ver­sion of it to poten­tial­ly any con­cert hall in the world is pret­ty cool.

via The Smith­son­ian

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Byrne: How Archi­tec­ture Helped Music Evolve

The Same Song Sung in 15 Places: A Won­der­ful Case Study of How Land­scape & Archi­tec­ture Shape the Sounds of Music

What Did Ancient Greek Music Sound Like?: Lis­ten to a Recon­struc­tion That’s ‘100% Accu­rate’

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

The Story of How Beethoven Helped Make It So That CDs Could Play 74 Minutes of Music

We music fans of the increas­ing­ly all-dig­i­tal 2010s take com­pact discs for grant­ed, so much so that many of us haven’t slid one into a play­er in years. But if we cast our minds back, and not even all that far, we can remem­ber a time when CDs were pre­cious, and the medi­um itself both impres­sive and con­tro­ver­sial. Back when it first came on the mar­ket in 1982 (pack­aged in long­box­es, you’ll recall) it seemed impos­si­bly high-tech, inspir­ing dream­i­ly futur­is­tic pro­mo­tion­al videos like the one below and emerg­ing from a process of devel­op­ment that required the com­bined R&D and indus­tri­al might of both Japan and Europe’s biggest con­sumer-elec­tron­ics giants, Sony and Philips.

That years-long coor­di­nat­ed effort, as Greg Mil­ner writes in Per­fect­ing Sound For­ev­er, saw a team of engi­neers from both com­pa­nies “shut­tling between Eind­hoven and Tokyo,” the pro­to­type CD play­er “giv­en its own first-class seat on KLM.”

Mil­ner also men­tions that “Philips want­ed a 14-bit sys­tem and a disc that could hold an hour of music, while Sony argued for 16 bits and 74 min­utes, sup­pos­ed­ly because that was the length of Beethoven’s Ninth Sym­pho­ny,” though he calls the Beethoven bit “like­ly a dig­i­tal audio urban leg­end.” But, like any urban leg­end, it con­tains grains of truth, though how many grains nobody quite knows for sure.

Philips’ pre­ferred sys­tem would play 115-mil­lime­ter discs, while Sony’s would play 120-mil­lime­ter discs. As Wired’s Randy Alfred tells it:

When Sony and Philips were nego­ti­at­ing a sin­gle indus­try stan­dard for the audio com­pact disc in 1979 and 1980, the sto­ry is that one of four peo­ple (or some com­bi­na­tion of them) insist­ed that a sin­gle CD be able to hold all of the Ninth Sym­pho­ny. The four were the wife of Sony chair­man Akio Mori­ta, speak­ing up for her favorite piece of music; Sony VP Norio Ohga (the company’s point man on the CD), recall­ing his stud­ies at the Berlin Con­ser­va­to­ry; Mrs. Ohga (her favorite piece, too); and con­duc­tor Her­bert von Kara­jan, who record­ed for Philips sub­sidiary Poly­gram and whose Berlin Phil­har­mon­ic record­ing of the Ninth clocked in at 66 min­utes.

Fur­ther research to find the longest record­ed per­for­mance came up with a mono record­ing con­duct­ed by Wil­helm Furtwän­gler at the Bayreuth Fes­ti­val in 1951. That play­ing went a lan­guorous 74 min­utes.

A good sto­ry, sure, but as Philips Engi­neer Kees A. Schouhamer Immink writes in a tech­ni­cal arti­cle mark­ing the CD’s 25th anniver­sary, “every­day prac­tice is less roman­tic than the pen of a pub­lic rela­tions guru.” What­ev­er the influ­ence of Beethoven, in 1979 “Philips’ sub­sidiary Poly­gram — one of the world’s largest dis­trib­u­tors of music — had set up a CD disc plant in Hanover, Ger­many that could pro­duce large quan­ti­ties of CDs with, of course, a diam­e­ter of 115mm. Sony did not have such a facil­i­ty yet. So if Sony had agreed on the 115mm disc, Philips would have had a sig­nif­i­cant com­pet­i­tive edge in the music mar­ket. Ohga was aware of that, did not like it, and some­thing had to be done.”

How much does the run­ning time of a CD, which would enjoy a long reign as the dom­i­nant media for record­ed music, owe to what Immink calls “Mrs. Ohga’s great pas­sion for [Beethoven],” and how much to “the mon­ey and com­pe­ti­tion in the mar­ket of the two part­ners”? Not even Snopes, which rules the claim of a con­nec­tion between Beethoven’s Ninth and the devel­op­ment of the CD as “unde­ter­mined,” can set­tle the mat­ter. But what­ev­er deter­mined the length of the albums in the CD era, that 74-minute run­time remains a strong influ­ence on our expec­ta­tions of album length even now that musi­cians can record and sell them at any length they like — and now that we the con­sumers can lis­ten any way we like, frag­ment­ing, re-arrang­ing, and cus­tomiz­ing all of our music expe­ri­ences, even Beethoven’s Ninth.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Did Beethoven Com­pose His 9th Sym­pho­ny After He Went Com­plete­ly Deaf?

How Steely Dan Wrote “Dea­con Blues,” the Song Audio­philes Use to Test High-End Stere­os

A Cel­e­bra­tion of Retro Media: Vinyl, Cas­settes, VHS, and Polaroid Too

The Dis­tor­tion of Sound: A Short Film on How We’ve Cre­at­ed “a McDonald’s Gen­er­a­tion of Music Con­sumers”

Neil Young on the Trav­es­ty of MP3s

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.

A Big 44-Hour Chronological Playlist of Rolling Stones Albums: Stream 613 Tracks

Image by Jim Pietry­ga, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“Would you let your daugh­ter mar­ry a Rolling Stone?”

From the start, the Rolling Stones were pro­mot­ed as the more debauched, dan­ger­ous alter­na­tive to the Bea­t­les, prompt­ing the above rather-famous tabloid head­line from their first years of fame. The Spo­ti­fy playlist below col­lects a whop­ping 613 tracks from this sem­i­nal rock band, all placed for the most part in chrono­log­i­cal order. (At 44 hours, there’s still whole albums–not major one mind you–missing, due to Spo­ti­fy). The Stones may have been more com­plex than their bad boy image, but they’ve nev­er shrugged it off over their five decades in music, and it’s prob­a­bly too late to stop now.

But it was rough going at the start, wasn’t it? Their first sin­gle was a cov­er of a Chuck Berry song on the A‑side, and a Willie Dixon song on the flip. Their debut album con­tained only three orig­i­nals, with only “Tell Me” stand­ing out from the pack as some­thing oth­er than a car­bon copy. Their sec­ond sin­gle was a song the Bea­t­les gave to them–and even then the Fab Four record­ed a ver­sion of it, unlike the hits they gave to Cil­la Black and oth­ers. Andrew Loog Old­ham was their man­ag­er first and a pro­duc­er sec­ond, not used to the stu­dio at all, and instead of the state-of-the-art Abbey Road stu­dios to play in, the band had Regent Sound stu­dios, with egg car­tons taped to the ceil­ing to baf­fle noise. If this was com­pe­ti­tion against the Bea­t­les, it cer­tain­ly didn’t look good at first.

But despite–or due to–those chal­lenges, the band gained suc­cess and earned respect, start­ing with “(I Can’t Get no) Sat­is­fac­tion” and appear­ances on Ed Sul­li­van and the T.A.M.I. Show, where they actu­al­ly fol­lowed James Brown and weren’t for­got­ten by his­to­ry.

The Stones spent those first years fol­low­ing fash­ion, always one step behind the Bea­t­les, going so far as to offer their own “Satan­ic” ver­sion of the psy­che­del­ic Sgt. Pepper’s. But then, instead of play­ing dev­il­ish dress-up, in May of 1968 they dropped “Jumpin Jack Flash,” which for the first time embod­ies a very real, dan­ger­ous ener­gy. It wasn’t planned. But 1968 was when the Stones took the rock man­tle from their friend­ly rivals. If any band was ready to be the bridge from the hope­ful ‘60s to the grimy ‘70s, it was the Stones.

Their ear­li­er mim­ic­ry of blues and rock’n’roll was one thing, but their amal­gam of rock, blues, and Amer­i­cana on albums like Sticky Fin­gers and Exile on Main Street was some­thing else entire­ly, a spe­cial kind of alche­my that also seemed to tax the entire band–which even­tu­al­ly lost one found­ing mem­ber and shuf­fled through gui­tarists to find Ron Wood.

The late ‘70s and ear­ly ‘80s were an odd time for the band, as their biggest hits then were most unlike their pre­vi­ous hits, dal­ly­ing with dis­co, chan­nel­ing Lou Reed, and set­ting them­selves up for a very con­fused decade. But still! All along the way the Stones kept releas­ing sin­gles that oth­er bands would give their eye teeth for.

The playlist ends with the release of 2016’s Blue and Lone­some, which found them right back where they start­ed: a col­lec­tion of well loved blues cov­ers from Howl­in’ Wolf, Lit­tle Wal­ter, and Willie Dixon. In the end, they brought it all back home.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Rolling Stones Intro­duce Blues­man Howl­in’ Wolf on US TV, One of the “Great­est Cul­tur­al Moments of the 20th Cen­tu­ry” (1965)

Mick Jag­ger Tells the Sto­ry Behind ‘Gimme Shel­ter’ and Mer­ry Clayton’s Haunt­ing Back­ground Vocals

The Rolling Stones Release a Soul­ful, Nev­er-Heard Acoustic Ver­sion of “Wild Hors­es”

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

Free, Open Source Modular Synth Software Lets You Create 70s & 80s Electronic Music—Without Having to Pay Thousands for a Real-World Synthesizer

In the past decade or so, the ana­log mod­u­lar synth—of the kind pio­neered by Robert Moog and Don Buch­la—has made a come­back, cre­at­ing a boom­ing niche mar­ket full of musi­cians chas­ing the sounds of the 70s and 80s. These inscrutable racks of patch­bays, oscil­la­tors, fil­ters, etc. look to the non-ini­ti­at­ed more like tele­phone oper­a­tor sta­tions of old than musi­cal instru­ments. But the sounds they pro­duce are sub­lime and oth­er­world­ly, with a sat­u­rat­ed warmth unpar­al­leled in the dig­i­tal world.

But while ana­log tech­nol­o­gy may have per­fect­ed cer­tain tones, one can’t beat the con­ve­nience of dig­i­tal record­ing, with its near­ly unlim­it­ed mul­ti-track­ing capa­bil­i­ty, abil­i­ty to save set­tings, and the ease of edit­ing and arrang­ing in the com­put­er. Dig­i­tal audio work­sta­tions have become increas­ing­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed, able to emu­late with “plug-ins” the capa­bil­i­ties of sought-after ana­log stu­dio gear of the past. It has tak­en a bit longer for vir­tu­al instru­ments to meet this same stan­dard, but they may be near­ly there.

Only the most fine­ly-tuned ears, for exam­ple, can hear the dif­fer­ence between the high­est-qual­i­ty dig­i­tal­ly mod­eled gui­tar ampli­fiers and effects and their real-world coun­ter­parts in the mix. Even the most high-end mod­el­ing pack­ages don’t cost as much as their real life coun­ter­parts, and many also come free in lim­it­ed ver­sions. So too the wealth of ana­log synth soft­ware, mod­eled to sound con­vinc­ing­ly like the old and new­ly reis­sued ana­log box­es that can run into the many thou­sands of dol­lars to col­lect and con­nect.

One such col­lec­tion of synths, the VCV Rack, offers open-source vir­tu­al mod­u­lar synths almost entire­ly free, with only a few at very mod­est prices. The stand­alone vir­tu­al rack works with­out any addi­tion­al soft­ware. Once you’ve cre­at­ed an account and installed it, you can start adding dozens of plug-ins, includ­ing var­i­ous syn­the­siz­ers, gates, reverbs, com­pres­sors, sequencers, key­boards, etc. “It’s pret­ty trans­for­ma­tive stuff,” writes CDM. “You can run vir­tu­al mod­ules to syn­the­size and process sounds, both those emu­lat­ing real hard­ware and many that exist only in soft­ware.”

The learn­ing curve is plen­ty steep for those who haven’t han­dled this per­plex­ing tech­nol­o­gy out­side the box. A series of YouTube tuto­ri­als, a few of which you can see here, can get you going in short order. Those already expe­ri­enced with the real-world stuff will delight in the expand­ed capa­bil­i­ties of the dig­i­tal ver­sions, as well as the fideli­ty with which these plug-ins emu­late real equipment—without the need for a room­ful of cables, unwield­ly racks, and sol­dier­ing irons and spare parts for those inevitable bad con­nec­tions and bro­ken switch­es and inputs.

You can down­load the vir­tu­al rack here, then fol­low the instruc­tions to load as many plug-ins as you like. CDM has instruc­tions for the devel­op­er ver­sion (find the source code here), and a YouTube series called Mod­u­lar Curios­i­ty demon­strates how to install the rack and use the var­i­ous plu­g­ins (see their first video fur­ther up and find the rest here). Mod­u­lar Sys­tem Begin­ner Tuto­r­i­al is anoth­er YouTube guide, with five dif­fer­ent videos. See num­ber one above and the rest here. The longer video at the top of the post offers a “first look and noob tuto­r­i­al.”

VCV Rack is only the lat­est of many vir­tu­al mod­u­lar synths, includ­ing Native Instru­ments’ Reak­tor Blocks and Softube’s Mod­u­lar. “But these come with a hefty price tag,” notes FACT mag­a­zine. “VCV Rack can be down­loaded for free on Lin­ux, Mac and Win­dows plat­form.” And if you’re won­der­ing how it stacks up against the real-life box­es it emu­lates, check out the video below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Moog Syn­the­siz­er Changed the Sound of Music

The Mas­ter­mind of Devo, Mark Moth­ers­baugh, Shows Off His Syn­the­siz­er Col­lec­tion

Hear What Music Sounds Like When It’s Cre­at­ed by Syn­the­siz­ers Made with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

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

The Health Benefits of Drumming: Less Stress, Lower Blood Pressure, Pain Relief, and Altered States of Consciousness

Drumming—from tablas to tym­pa­ni to djembes—is uni­ver­sal, so much so, says author Say­er Ji, that it seems “hard-wired into our bio­log­i­cal, social and spir­i­tu­al DNA.” Drum­ming may well be “an inborn capac­i­ty and arche­typ­al social activ­i­ty.” But many mod­ern peo­ple have become alien­at­ed from the drum. We out­source drum­ming to pro­fes­sion­als, and machines. Neu­ro­sci­en­tists the­o­rize that drum­mers may have dif­fer­ent brains than “non-drummers”—findings that sug­gest the activ­i­ty is con­fined to spe­cial­ly-designed peo­ple. Not so, say many sci­en­tists who believe that “drum­ming has some pro­found and holis­tic uses,” as Luke Sumpter writes at Reset.me, “to enhance phys­i­cal, men­tal and emo­tion­al health.”

In addi­tion to anthro­po­log­i­cal evi­dence not­ing the cen­tral­i­ty of drum­ming to human cul­ture, abun­dant research has demon­strat­ed its poten­tial for per­son­al heal­ing. While drum ther­a­py may be noth­ing new for cul­tures who have retained the prac­tice, those who haven’t can learn group drum­ming eas­i­ly enough with teach­ers like Peter Mari­no in the short clip above. The ben­e­fits, as stud­ies have shown, include reduced stress and increased immu­ni­ty. Group drum­ming may reduce anx­i­ety and blood pres­sure, it may work as pain relief and boost pos­i­tive emo­tions, and may even lead to “improved exec­u­tive func­tion” and a growth in white mat­ter in the brains of patients with Huntington’s dis­ease and oth­er neu­ro­log­i­cal con­di­tions.

The evi­dence-based approach to group drumming’s socio-phys­i­cal ben­e­fits should sway skep­tics, even those like­ly to see drum cir­cle ther­a­py as some kind of hip­py-dip­py woo. Sci­ence-mind­ed peo­ple with­out such hangups may also take an inter­est in stud­ies of drum­ming as a “shaman­ic” activ­i­ty that “induces spe­cif­ic sub­jec­tive expe­ri­ences.” As Michael Drake reports, one recent study “demon­strates that even a brief drum­ming ses­sion can dou­ble alpha brain wave activ­i­ty,” which is “asso­ci­at­ed with med­i­ta­tion, shaman­ic trance, and inte­gra­tive modes of con­scious­ness.” Drum­ming with oth­ers “pro­duces greater self-aware­ness” as well as a sense of inter­con­nect­ed­ness, and can strength­en social bonds among adults as well as chil­dren.

While much of the writ­ing about group drum­ming as ther­a­py stress­es more intan­gi­ble, mys­ti­cal ben­e­fits, no small amount of data sug­gests that the phys­i­cal effects are mea­sur­able and sig­nif­i­cant. This is not to min­i­mize the musi­cal prowess of your favorite drum­mers, or to belit­tle the musi­cal val­ue of machine-made beats. But the research strong­ly sug­gests that not only is most every­one able to pick up a drum and get into a groove, but also that most every­one who does so will be hap­pi­er, health­i­er, and more peace­ful and tuned-in.

via Reset

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Neu­ro­science of Drum­ming: Researchers Dis­cov­er the Secrets of Drum­ming & The Human Brain

Play­ing an Instru­ment Is a Great Work­out For Your Brain: New Ani­ma­tion Explains Why

Iso­lat­ed Drum Tracks From Six of Rock’s Great­est: Bon­ham, Moon, Peart, Copeland, Grohl & Starr

Bri­an Eno Lists the Ben­e­fits of Singing: A Long Life, Increased Intel­li­gence, and a Sound Civ­i­liza­tion

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

Woody Guthrie Creates a Doodle-Filled List of 33 New Year’s Resolutions (1943): Beat Fascism, Write a Song a Day, and Keep the Hoping Machine Running

On Jan­u­ary 1, 1943, the Amer­i­can folk music leg­end Woody Guthrie jot­ted in his jour­nal a list of 33 “New Years Rulin’s.” Nowa­days, we’d call them New Year’s Res­o­lu­tions. Adorned by doo­dles, the list is down to earth by any mea­sure. Fam­i­ly, song, tak­ing a polit­i­cal stand, per­son­al hygiene — they’re the val­ues or aspi­ra­tions that top his list. You can click the image above to view the list in a larg­er for­mat. Below, we have pro­vid­ed a tran­script of Guthrie’s Rulin’s.

1. Work more and bet­ter
2. Work by a sched­ule
3. Wash teeth if any
4. Shave
5. Take bath
6. Eat good — fruit — veg­eta­bles — milk
7. Drink very scant if any
8. Write a song a day
9. Wear clean clothes — look good
10. Shine shoes
11. Change socks
12. Change bed cloths often
13. Read lots good books
14. Lis­ten to radio a lot
15. Learn peo­ple bet­ter
16. Keep ran­cho clean
17. Dont get lone­some
18. Stay glad
19. Keep hop­ing machine run­ning
20. Dream good
21. Bank all extra mon­ey
22. Save dough
23. Have com­pa­ny but dont waste time
24. Send Mary and kids mon­ey
25. Play and sing good
26. Dance bet­ter
27. Help win war — beat fas­cism
28. Love mama
29. Love papa
30. Love Pete
31. Love every­body
32. Make up your mind
33. Wake up and fight

We wish you all a hap­py 2018.

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.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Note: This fine list orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site back in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Pow­er­ful Mes­sages That Woody Guthrie & Pete Seeger Inscribed on Their Gui­tar & Ban­jo: “This Machine Kills Fas­cists” and “This Machine Sur­rounds Hate and Forces it to Sur­ren­der”

Hear Two Leg­ends, Lead Bel­ly & Woody Guthrie, Per­form­ing on the Same Radio Show (1940)

Woody Guthrie’s Fan Let­ter To John Cage and Alan Hov­haness (1947)

Seeger: To Hear Your Ban­jo Play

The Alan Lomax Sound Archive Now Online: Fea­tures 17,000 Record­ings

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