Alice’s Restau­rant. It’s now a Thanks­giv­ing clas­sic, and some­thing of a tra­di­tion around here. Record­ed in 1967, the 18+ minute coun­ter­cul­ture song recounts Arlo Guthrie’s real encounter with the law, start­ing on Thanks­giv­ing Day 1965. As the long song unfolds, we hear all about how a hip­pie-bat­ing police offi­cer, by the name of William “Obie” Oban­hein, arrest­ed Arlo for lit­ter­ing. (Cul­tur­al foot­note: Obie pre­vi­ous­ly posed for sev­er­al Nor­man Rock­well paint­ings, includ­ing the well-known paint­ing, “The Run­away,” that graced a 1958 cov­er of The Sat­ur­day Evening Post.) In fair­ly short order, Arlo pleads guilty to a mis­de­meanor charge, pays a $25 fine, and cleans up the thrash. But the sto­ry isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Lat­er, when Arlo (son of Woody Guthrie) gets called up for the draft, the pet­ty crime iron­i­cal­ly becomes a basis for dis­qual­i­fy­ing him from mil­i­tary ser­vice in the Viet­nam War. Guthrie recounts this with some bit­ter­ness as the song builds into a satir­i­cal protest against the war: “I’m sit­tin’ here on the Group W bench ’cause you want to know if I’m moral enough to join the Army, burn women, kids, hous­es and vil­lages after bein’ a lit­ter­bug.” And then we’re back to the cheery cho­rus again: “You can get any­thing you want, at Alice’s Restau­rant.”

We have fea­tured Guthrie’s clas­sic dur­ing past years. But, for this Thanks­giv­ing, we give you the illus­trat­ed ver­sion. Hap­py Thanks­giv­ing to every­one who plans to cel­e­brate the hol­i­day today.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Willie Nel­son, Pete Seeger, and Arlo Guthrie at Occu­py Wall Street

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

If you took a job as a radio DJ at the BBC pri­or to 1988, you had to labor under some­thing called “nee­dle time,” a law pro­mot­ed by the Musi­cians’ Union and Phono­graph­ic Per­for­mance Lim­it­ed (and ulti­mate­ly the major record labels) that put a cap on the amount of record­ed music trans­mis­si­ble over the air­waves. Before 1967, the BBC could legal­ly drop the nee­dles of their turnta­bles onto record albums for a mere five hours per day. This may sound pos­i­tive­ly dra­con­ian in our time when music flows freely from all direc­tions, but it did cre­ate jobs for in-house radio-sta­tion musi­cians who could cov­er the hits of the day — and, more impor­tant­ly, gave rise to DJ John Peel’s leg­endary Peel Ses­sions.

“A lot of the things that I lis­tened to and that had a big influ­ence on me I first heard on John Peel,” said artist and music pro­duc­er Bri­an Eno, who describes Peel’s first play­ing of a Vel­vet Under­ground record near­ly fifty years ago as “like a light­ning bolt for me.” In an inter­view we fea­tured a few years back, Eno named the “two things that real­ly make for good records: dead­lines and small bud­gets,” one of his many elo­quent state­ments on not just the impor­tance but the neces­si­ty of lim­i­ta­tions to art. The lim­i­ta­tion of nee­dle time made Peel get cre­ative as well, over­com­ing his inabil­i­ty to spin all the records he want­ed by invit­ing the musi­cians he’d dis­cov­ered into the radio sta­tion to lay down tracks right there in its stu­dios.

The fruits of these Peel Ses­sions often came out with an ener­gy alto­geth­er dif­fer­ent than that of the orig­i­nal album, and dur­ing Peel’s 37 years on BBC Radio 1, he over­saw the record­ing of over 4000 of them. They and oth­er efforts at the inno­v­a­tive edges of pop­u­lar music made Peel a cul­tur­al force, and indeed one of British music’s most influ­en­tial fig­ures, whose broad­casts gave thou­sands of lis­ten­ers their first taste of the likes of David Bowie, Joy Divi­sion, Bob Mar­ley, and Nir­vana. Peel died in 2004, but his lega­cy has lived on in sev­er­al forms, includ­ing the John Peel Cen­ter for Cre­ative Arts and the annu­al John Peel Lec­ture, deliv­ered last year by Eno him­self.

Lon­don-based online radio sta­tion NTS, in its own way very much a con­tin­u­a­tion of Peel’s project, has put togeth­er a trib­ute to Britain’s most astute DJ in the form of a nine-hour broad­cast of some of the best Peel Ses­sions. Bro­ken into four parts, it gath­ers per­for­mances cap­tured at the BBC from artists like Gang of Four, The Fall, My Bloody Valen­tine, The Pix­ies, Aphex Twin, Cabaret Voltaire, and many oth­ers. “Blimey, he was real­ly at the cen­ter of every­thing,” says Eno. “He was putting so many things togeth­er. He was the first per­son who real­ized pop music was seri­ous, and that it was a place peo­ple could real­ly meet and talk to each oth­er. It became the cen­ter of a con­ver­sa­tion.” A dozen years after Peel’s pass­ing, the con­ver­sa­tion con­tin­ues.

via Elec­tron­ic Beats

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stream 15 Hours of the John Peel Ses­sions: 255 Tracks by Syd Bar­rett, David Bowie, Siouxsie and the Ban­shees & Oth­er Artists

Revis­it the Radio Ses­sions and Record Col­lec­tion of Ground­break­ing BBC DJ John Peel

Bri­an Eno on Why Do We Make Art & What’s It Good For?: Down­load His 2015 John Peel Lec­ture

Prof. Iggy Pop Deliv­ers the BBC’s 2014 John Peel Lec­ture on “Free Music in a Cap­i­tal­ist Soci­ety”

The His­to­ry of Spir­i­tu­al Jazz: Hear a Tran­scen­dent 12-Hour Mix Fea­tur­ing John Coltrane, Sun Ra, Her­bie Han­cock & More

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

Yes­ter­day Josh Jones made the case for appre­ci­at­ing the sub­tle genius of Ringo Starr. And as if to sec­ond that, Dirk K. sent this video (above) our way.

Asked what sep­a­rate good drum­mers from bad, drum­mer Bran­don Khoo gives a short demon­stra­tion that puts Ringo’s tal­ents in the right light. It’s not about the flash, the shock-and-awe dis­play of tech­nique. It’s about his ability–as Dave Grohl echoes below–to “sit in the song” and “find the right feel,” true to the phi­los­o­phy that some­times less is more.

Thanks Dirk for send­ing this our way. And thanks Ringo for putting on a great show in Marin on Sat­ur­day night.

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!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Cleese, Ringo Starr and Peter Sell­ers Trash Price­less Art (1969)

Watch the Evo­lu­tion of Ringo Starr, Dave Grohl, Tré Cool & 19 Oth­er Drum­mers in Short 5‑Minute Videos

Hear the Bea­t­les Play Their Final Con­cert (August 29, 1966)

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

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

On a recent vis­it to Seattle’s Muse­um of Pop­u­lar Cul­ture (for­mer­ly EMP), I found myself trans­fixed for well over an hour by the Gui­tar Gallery, a ver­i­ta­ble shrine for gui­tar play­ers, with “55 vin­tage, world chang­ing gui­tars from the 1770s to the present.” In addi­tion to illus­trat­ing a few hun­dred years of music his­to­ry, the exhib­it rep­re­sents the slow devel­op­ment of the elec­tric gui­tar, and the many ungain­ly stages in-between. What we learn in study­ing the his­to­ry is that gui­tar inno­va­tions have always been play­er-dri­ven.

Gui­tarists have mod­i­fied and built their own gui­tars, and many have tak­en mod­els and adapt­ed them so ful­ly to their style that they become icon­ic main­stays as oth­er mod­els drop away. Such is the case with the ES-150, Gibson’s first “Elec­tric Span­ish” arch­top gui­tar, and its most famous play­er, Char­lie Chris­t­ian, who has inspired some of the best-known gui­tarists in jazz, like Bar­ney Kessel and Wes Mont­gomery, and who also may have invent­ed the elec­tric gui­tar solo. Gib­son goes so far as to bestow on Chris­t­ian the hon­orif­ic of “the first gui­tar hero.”

Before Chris­t­ian, gui­tar soloists in jazz ensem­bles and orches­tras were rare, since the acoustic instru­ment couldn’t be heard loud­ly enough over horns, wood­winds, dou­ble bass, and drums. The first elec­tric gui­tar, the “Fry­ing Pan,” arrived in 1931, built for Hawai­ian jazz lap steel play­ers. Rapid devel­op­ment of the elec­tric pick­up pro­ceed­ed through­out the decade, and Chris­t­ian bought his ES-150 the year after it went into pro­duc­tion in 1936.

By 1938, when he had found steady work at a club in Bis­mar­ck, North Dako­ta, “a local music store dis­played the Gib­son ES-150 with a sign read­ing ‘As fea­tured by Char­lie Chris­t­ian.’” By this point, writes Riff Inter­ac­tive, Chris­t­ian was “a region­al hero.”

In 1939, Chris­t­ian joined the Ben­ny Good­man orches­tra, but the sto­ry of his audi­tion tells us as much about the elec­tric guitar’s impor­tance as it does about Christian’s play­ing. It seems that “Good­man was ini­tial­ly unim­pressed” by Christian’s strum­ming of an “unam­pli­fied rhythm gui­tar behind ‘Tea for Two.’” (hear him play the song, elec­tri­fied, below.) But when jazz impre­sario John Ham­mond snuck him and his elec­tric gui­tar onstage with Goodman’s Quin­tet lat­er at the Vic­tor Hugo Restau­rant, “Chris­t­ian matched Good­man riff for riff and impro­vised over 20 cho­rus­es. He was hired on the spot.” He could play some of Djan­go Rein­hardt’s most dif­fi­cult songs note-for-note, and “many of the fig­ures he worked into his solos evolved lat­er into Ben­ny Good­man tunes.”

“Some argue he wasn’t the first” elec­tric soloist, writes the site Jus­tice through Music, but “he made the elec­tric gui­tar lead solo ‘pop­u­lar,’ and in essence ‘invent­ed’ it,” lead­ing the way for “Eric Clap­ton, Jim­my Page, Bud­dy Guy, Eddie Van Halen and all the great gui­tar shred­ders.” Jazz crit­ic Kevin White­head agrees, telling Ter­ry Gross that Chris­t­ian “was the sin­gle great­est influ­ence on the sig­na­ture 20th cen­tu­ry instru­ment, the elec­tric gui­tar, even though he died at age 25 and did all his record­ing in under two years.”

Begin­ning in his home­town of Okla­homa City as a ukulele play­er, Chris­t­ian picked up many of his “sling­shot rhythms” on the gui­tar from sax­o­phon­ist Lester Young (hear him play with Young just above). “Ampli­fied slide gui­tarists in white west­ern swing bands showed Chris­t­ian how elec­tric gui­tar could project,” White­head notes. “He wasn’t the first elec­tric pick­er who played on the frets. He dug Chica­go pio­neer George Barnes. But Chris­t­ian had the most impos­ing sound.”

We have a rep­re­sen­ta­tive sam­pling of the impos­ing sound of Chris­t­ian and his ES-150 in the record­ings here. At the top of the post, hear him live with Good­man (who intro­duces him as “our new dis­cov­ery, Charles Chris­t­ian”) in 1939, play­ing “Fly­ing Home.” Fur­ther down lis­ten to “Rose Room” with Goodman’s Sex­tet, with whom he made most of his records, White­head tells us, “compet[ing] for space with oth­er good soloists.” Fur­ther down, hear Chris­t­ian play “Stompin’ at the Savoy” live at Minton’s in 1941 and “Tea for Two” with Jer­ry Jerome in 1939.

Fur­ther up, in “Solo Flight” with Goodman’s orches­tra, Chris­t­ian demon­strates his “impec­ca­ble” tim­ing and “heavy, front-loaded attack” in a two-and-a-half-minute show­case. Christian’s phe­nom­e­nal play­ing “inspired untold jazz, blues, and rock-gui­tar play­ers.” In some of his last record­ings, before his death from tuber­cu­lo­sis in 1942, he “laid the ground­work for the new music that Chris­t­ian start­ed call­ing bebop.” Hear him reshape the sound of jazz with Dizzy Gille­spie, Thelo­nious Monk, Don Byas, and Ken­ny Clarke above in “Groovin’ High.” “You can hear a lot of guitar’s future com­ing” in these record­ings, White­head argues, “Chuck Berry includ­ed.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Behold the First Elec­tric Gui­tar: The 1931 “Fry­ing Pan”

Jazz ‘Hot’: The Rare 1938 Short Film With Jazz Leg­end Djan­go Rein­hardt

The Sto­ry of the Gui­tar: The Com­plete Three-Part Doc­u­men­tary

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

I’ve always been more than hap­py to admit that I think Ringo Starr is a fan­tas­tic drum­mer and don’t find it much worth argu­ing over. Then again, more and more peo­ple seem to have come around to that point of view. Or at least that’s been my expe­ri­ence. Maybe it has some­thing to do with the length of expo­sure. Once you’ve lived with the Bea­t­les’ music for, say, twen­ty to fifty years, you’d had a lot of time to reflect on your favorite songs, or favorite moments (like the break­downs in “Hel­lo, Good­bye” and “Straw­ber­ry Fields,” for exam­ple). A lot of time to appre­ci­ate just how well so many of those songs, and Ringo’s drum­ming, have aged.

But not all of them. I haven’t always found the very ear­ly Bea­t­les albums to hold up well for me. There’s some­thing about… well… okay, maybe Ringo wasn’t always a great drum­mer. But he became one. The thing about a ret­ro­spec­tive appre­ci­a­tion is that it’s high­ly selec­tive.

How­ev­er, if we were to select ele­ments of Ringo’s tech­nique from songs span­ning the whole of his Bea­t­les career, we would be able to see how his play­ing refined from 1962 to 1995, when he made his last record­ings with George, Paul, and John—who left sev­er­al home demo tapes over which his band­mates lay­ered har­monies and rhythms. (Hear “Free as a Bird” from those ses­sions here.)

You could take the time to edit togeth­er sev­er­al sec­onds, chrono­log­i­cal­ly, of famous Bea­t­les songs through­out the six­ties and sev­en­ties. Or you could do that and play all those parts your­self, and shoot and edit a thor­ough­ly engag­ing, high-qual­i­ty video of your­self play­ing them. That’s what Kye Smith does in the videos here, part of a long series of 22 exer­cis­es he calls “5 Minute Drum Chronol­o­gy.” As you’ll see in his Bea­t­les video at the top, Smith has made some very thought­ful selec­tions from the canon, show­ing how thor­ough­ly ver­sa­tile Ringo’s play­ing became; how well he came to under­stand nuanced dynam­ics: when to attack and when not to play at all.

In his Nir­vana “5 Minute Drum Chronol­o­gy,” above, Smith not only dupli­cates the huge, boom­ing sound of Dave Grohl’s drumk­it, but he also per­fect­ly cap­tures Grohl’s tremen­dous ener­gy. With the focus square­ly on the drums, Grohl (through Smith) seems even more the hard­core punk drum­mer that he was for years before he joined Nir­vana. But by the time we get to “You Know You’re Right,” the last song the band record­ed in 1994, we see how he had dis­cov­ered a much lighter touch as well, one he devel­oped even fur­ther as a drum­mer for indie stars like Cat Pow­er.

Smith’s oth­er twen­ty 5 Minute Drum Chronolo­gies track bands who made it in the nineties, like The Off­spring, NOFX, Blink-182, and Foo Fight­ers. In many cas­es, none but ardent fans will know the drum­mers of these bands or have a sense of their full discog­ra­phy. But at least by the time we get to their break­out 1994 album Dook­ie, many of us will be famil­iar with a song or two from all of Green Day’s releas­es. And we’re like­ly to know the name and face of drum­mer Tré Cool. (The band’s first drum­mer, Al Sobrante, takes up the first 20 sec­onds of the video above.)

Is Tré Cool a drum­mer who has evolved over the years, devel­oped bet­ter feel and more finesse? At least the way Kye Smith plays him. Smith is such a tal­ent­ed drum­ming impres­sion­ist that one can look away and for­get that it’s him on the drums and not Cool. Which rais­es oth­er crit­i­cal issues with the impres­sive arti­fice of these chronolo­gies. These are, of course, inter­pre­ta­tions. And in any case, musi­cians have good nights and bad nights, great takes and not so great takes, and their style might vary more across a sin­gle album than between songs on dif­fer­ent records.

And in the case of a band like the Red Hot Chili Pep­pers, we’ve seen three dif­fer­ent drum­mers by the time the band released their fourth album, Mother’s Milk and took on high­ly skilled Will Fer­rell looka­like Chad Smith. Nonethe­less, Kye Smith gives us a lot to chew on as we watch, by proxy, these drum­mers adapt to the evo­lu­tion of their bands’ song­writ­ing. Some of those jour­neys are nat­u­ral­ly more inter­est­ing than oth­ers. See the com­plete col­lec­tion of 22 5 Minute Drum Chronolo­gies here, or down below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

The Fun­da­men­tals of Jazz & Rock Drum­ming Explained in Five Cre­ative Min­utes

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

If you come vis­it South Korea, where I live, you’ll more than like­ly pass through Incheon Inter­na­tion­al Air­port, and there quite pos­si­bly wit­ness a vari­ety of dis­plays of tra­di­tion­al Kore­an cul­ture, from acro­bat­ics to aris­to­crat­ic pro­ces­sions to a vari­ety of musi­cal per­for­mances. Since the rebuild­ing of the coun­try after the Kore­an War, atten­tion has turned to recov­er­ing the arts and cus­toms of the past and, in one way or anoth­er, mak­ing them rel­e­vant to the present. Plac­ing them in the mid­dle of an ultra­mod­ern trans­porta­tion facil­i­ty is one; inter­pret­ing the stuff of rel­a­tive­ly recent pop­u­lar cul­ture with them is anoth­er.

A few years ago we fea­tured the skills of Luna Lee, a play­er of the gayageum, a twelve-stringed Kore­an instru­ment dat­ing back to the sixth cen­tu­ry. Specif­i­cal­ly, we fea­tured her ren­di­tions of Jimi Hen­drix’s “Voodoo Chile” and Ste­vie Ray Vaugh­an’s “Lit­tle Wing,” meet­ings of mod­ern com­po­si­tion and tra­di­tion­al East Asian per­for­mance rem­i­nis­cent of what Japan­ese koto play­er June Kuramo­to and her band Hiroshi­ma pio­neered in the 1970s.

But the Kore­an musi­cal sen­si­bil­i­ty brings a dif­fer­ent set of emo­tions into play, and now you can hear them hybridized with the psy­che­del­ic, oper­at­ic, vir­tu­osic rock of Pink Floyd in Lee’s ver­sions of “Anoth­er Brick in the Wall,” “Com­fort­ably Numb,” and “The Great Gig in the Sky,” all of which must have posed a for­mi­da­ble chal­lenge to con­vert into gayageum music.

“My ances­tors played the gayageum in a small room, so the sound did not need to be loud,” writes Lee on her Patre­on page, “but my music is per­formed with mod­ern instru­ments such as the drums, bass and the gui­tar. So I had to rede­vel­op my gayageum so that the sound would match that of the mod­ern instru­ment. I had to increase the vol­ume and pres­sure, devel­op tone and increase the sus­tain sound. And hop­ing to express the sound of gayageum more diverse­ly like that of the gui­tar, I had to study gui­tar effec­tors and ampli­fiers and test them to see if they would fit to the sound of the gayageum.”

Lee’s work of push­ing the gayageum into new musi­cal realms con­tin­ues: in oth­er videos, she tries her hand at adapt­ing songs by every­one from the Rolling Stones to R. Kel­ly to Tiny Tim to the late Leonard Cohen. But some­thing about her mul­ti­ple vis­its to the ter­ri­to­ry of Pink Floyd feels right. Per­haps, should we find our­selves in anoth­er great pro­gres­sive rock era, the gayageum will be the first instru­ment to join the sub­se­quent­ly expand­ed field of instru­ments — in both a tech­no­log­i­cal and his­tor­i­cal sense — let onto the stage. Stranger things have hap­pened there, as the Floyd well know.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Chile’ Per­formed on a Gayageum, a Tra­di­tion­al Kore­an Instru­ment

Ste­vie Ray Vaughan’s Ver­sion of “Lit­tle Wing” Played on Tra­di­tion­al Kore­an Instru­ment, the Gayageum

Hear Lost Record­ing of Pink Floyd Play­ing with Jazz Vio­lin­ist Stéphane Grap­pel­li on “Wish You Were Here”

Ultra Ortho­dox Rab­bis Sing Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” on the Streets of Jerusalem

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

Leonard Cohen grew up in an influ­en­tial Jew­ish fam­i­ly in Mon­tre­al. And, dur­ing his final inter­view, he rem­i­nisced with The New York­er’s David Rem­nick about how the elder men in his fam­i­ly were the “dons” of Jew­ish Mon­tre­al, and how his grand­fa­ther “was prob­a­bly the most sig­nif­i­cant Jew in Canada”–someone who estab­lished numer­ous Jew­ish insti­tu­tions there, and helped count­less refugees escape the anti-Semit­ic pogroms in East­ern Europe.

Immi­grants from East­ern Europe them­selves, Leonard Cohen’s fam­i­ly undoubt­ed­ly spoke some Yid­dish, the lan­guage once spo­ken by 11 mil­lion Jews, most­ly in cen­tral and east­ern Europe. (Today it’s spo­ken by 600,000 peo­ple at best.) And that’s what makes this Yid­dish ren­di­tion of “Hal­lelu­jah” so fit­ting. Trans­lat­ed and per­formed by Klezmer musi­cian Daniel Kahn, it was post­ed to YouTube on the night of Cohen’s pass­ing.

For any­one inter­est­ed, it’s worth read­ing this oth­er The New York­er piece, “Leonard Cohen’s Mon­tre­al.”

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!

via The For­ward

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rufus Wain­wright and 1,500 Singers Sing Leonard Cohen’s “Hal­lelu­jah”

Street Artist Plays Leonard Cohen’s “Hal­lelu­jah” With Crys­tal Glass­es

Mal­colm Glad­well on Why Genius Takes Time: A Look at the Mak­ing of Elvis Costello’s “Depor­tee” & Leonard Cohen’s “Hal­lelu­jah”

Leonard Nimoy Recites Famous Solil­o­quy from Ham­let in Yid­dish: “To Be or Not To Be”

Watch Clas­sic Sein­feld Scenes Dubbed in …. Yid­dish