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?
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.…
Surely you’re familiar with the work of Dick Flash, the tireless writer for Pork magazine who asks the most brilliant minds in music today the deepest, most serious, most probing questions. Take, for instance, his interview of artist/producer/ambient-music-inventor Brian Eno. “I was going to ask you whether you thought technology had affected music very deeply,” Flash begins, “but then I thought, ‘Well, that’s a bloody stupid question to ask Brian Eno. I know you’ll agree that you just can’t imagine rock music without all the technology which goes into making it and getting it heard. How do you think that process has affected what you’re doing?”
“Well —”
“I mean, when you’re making music, what eventually comes out has almost nothing to do with performance at all. I mean, I wonder if you sometimes feel more like a painter than a composer.”
“The thing about this new record —”
“Because after all, your music is basically scenic. It’s not only that you make it more like a painter than a composer, but also, it doesn’t have a narrative. There’s no sort of teleological structure to it. It’s not goal-directed. Instead it’s a bit like a sort of emotional microclimate, a place more than an event. Does that make any sense to you?”
“Yeah, well, I —”
“I mean, I’m not trying to put words into your mouth, but the real question is, should this stuff be called music at all, or is it a new art form? Do you think that this and other media suffer from the carryover of their original names, when in fact they’ve changed into something completely different.”
“Well, I like painting, yeah. I really like it. Um…”
The interview, conducted at the time of the release of Eno’s album Small Craft on a Milk Sea (which Flash calls Milk Crate on a Small Sea) constitutes a true meeting of the minds. The conversation covers all the subjects that matter: ecology, film scores, the 1956 Copyright Act, the human need for surrender, “the internet and all that,” the Edge’s hat, and why Eno does so much collaboration in the studio. As to that last, the interviewer has a theory: “You love playing with what somebody else is playing as much as you enjoy playing with yourself.”
But wait — you say you’ve never heard of Dick Flash? Watch the interview again: doesn’t he sound and look, behind that hip hair and spectacles, at least a little bit familiar? And doesn’t Eno himself, confusing Malcolm McLaren with Marshall McLuhan and going on about Annie Lennox’s neck, seem uncharacteristically inarticulate, almost as if he’s poking fun at himself? (And who’s that in the picture on his computer desktop, anyway?) Like all the finest interviews throughout the history of journalism, this one leaves us with more questions than answers.
Miles Davis would have celebrated his 90th birthday today. And though he’s been gone for 25 years (hard to believe), he remains arguably the most influential figure in jazz. How influential? Glad you asked. A new website called “The Universe of Miles Davis” has tried to quantify and visualize Davis’ influence by combing through Wikipedia, and finding every English-language Wikipedia page (2,452 in total ) that links to the main Miles Davis entry on Wikipedia. Turning those links into graphics, the site visualizes Miles’ relationships and associations, revealing the far-reaching influence of Miles Davis in a novel way. You can enter “The Universe of Miles Davis”here.
This interactive site was produced by Polygraph, “an experimental publication devoted to complex topics and discourse.”
Online archives, galleries, and libraries offer Vegas-sized buffets for the senses (well two of them, anyway). All the art and photography your eyes can take in, all the music and spoken word recordings your ears can handle. But perhaps you’re still missing something? “Geordies banging spoons” maybe? Or “Tawang lamas blowing conch shell trumpets… Tongan tribesmen playing nose flutes…,” the sound of “the Assamese woodworm feasting on a window frame in the dead of night”?
No worries, the British Library’s got you covered and then some. In 2009, it “made its vast archive of world and traditional music available to everyone, free of charge, on the internet,” amounting to roughly 28,000 recordings and, The Guardian estimates “about 2,000 hours of singing, speaking, yelling, chanting, blowing, banging, tinkling and many other verbs associated with what is a uniquely rich sound archive.”
The 80,000 recordings available to stream online represent just a selection of the British Library’s “extensive collections of unique sound recordings,” but what a selection it is. In the short video at the top of the post, The Wire Magazine takes us on a mini-tour of the physical archive’s meticulous digitization methods. As with all such wide-ranging collections, it’s difficult to know where to begin.
One might browse the range of unusual folk sounds on aural display in the World & Traditional music section, covering every continent and a daunting metacategory called “Worldwide.” For a more specific entry point, Electronic Beats recommends a collection of “around 8,000 Afropop tracks” from Guinea, recorded on “the state-supported Syliphone label” and “released between 1958 and 1984.”
The category called “Sound Maps” organizes a diversity of recordings—including regional accents, interviews with Holocaust survivors, wildlife sounds, and Ugandan folk music—by reference to their locations on Google maps.
Not all of the material in “Sounds” is sound-based. Recording and audio geeks and historians will appreciate the large collection of “Playback & Recording Equipment” photographs (such as the 1912 Edison Disc Phonograph, above ), spanning the years 1877 to 1992. Also, many of the recordings—such as the wonderful first version of “Dirty Old Town” by Alan Lomax and the Ramblers, with Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger (below)—feature album covers, front and back, as well as disc labels.
The recordings in the Archive are unfortunately not downloadable (unless you are a licensed member of a UK HE/FE institution), but you can stream them all online and share any of them on your favorite social media platform. Perhaps the British Library will extend download privileges to all users in the future. For now, browsing through the sheer volume and variety of sounds in the archive should be enough to keep you busy.
Louis Armstrong’s beloved trumpet sits in the Smithsonian–a relic of a grand tradition of American music. When it first became a museum piece, the brass-and-gold instrument, made in Paris after World War II, wasn’t in working condition. Dwandalyn Reece, the culture curator at The Smithsonian, notes: “It wasn’t playable when it got here… There was a lacquer coating on it to help prevent tarnish. We looked to see if there were any spots where the lacquer impacted the valves. There were areas where the valves were a little sticky so we wanted to make sure they would flow freely.” Once restored, they put the instrument in the right hands. Above, watch Wynton Marsalis, the nine-time Grammy winner, playing Satchmo’s Selmer trumpet last fall.
Marsalis later commented, “It sounded better than I thought it would sound.” Apparently, it’s the first time an historic instrument from the Smithsonian’s collection has been put back into real service.
The Ballets Russes, founded in 1909 by art critic and impresario Sergei Diaghilev, staged some truly revolutionary productions on the very edge of aesthetic newness. Diaghilev’s ballets coordinated set designs by artists like Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse, and Giorgio de Chirico, choreography by such masters as George Balanchine and Vaslav Nijinsky, and scores by such modern composers as Sergei Prokofiev and Erik Satie. But of course, when we think of Diaghilev’s Russian ballets, we surely think foremost of Igor Stravinsky, whose Rite of Spring was so radical it famously incited a riot at its 1913 Parisian premiere and “would go on,” writes The Verge, “to leave an indelible mark on jazz, minimalism, and other contemporary movements.”
Just three years earlier, however, Stravinsky was mostly unknown. Still working under the shadow of his teacher, Rimsky-Korsakov, he was given his first big break by Diaghilev only after several other composers refused the job. That commission turned out to be one of the works for which Stravinsky is best known—the score for The Firebird, a ballet based on a Russian folk tale about a prince who frees a magical bird held captive by a sorcerer. Fittingly, given the monstrous nature of the story’s antagonists, Stravinsky’s score turns on a very sinister-sounding musical interval, the tritone, whose dissonance caused earlier composers to dub it “the Devil’s Interval” and to avoid it entirely in religious music. Just above, you can see Stravinsky himself, at age 82, conduct “The Lullaby Suite” from the ballet.
Stravinsky’s score built on Claude Debussy’s use of the tritone twenty years earlier in the eerie Prelude to an Afternoon of a Faun, and the net effect of the interval in these two pieces lead to its dark, moody sound becoming “the center of modern music.” So says Carnegie Hall’s Jeffrey Geffen in the short video introduction to Stravinsky’s Firebird. Geffen goes on to tell us that Debussy and Stravinsky “looked to what was considered the most dissonant interval of the past 200 years and turned it into into something that becomes exotic and perfumed.” Although The Firebird’s story and many of its musical themes are distinctly Russian in origin (as you can see in the Khan Academy video below), the music “would not have been possible,” says Carnegie Hall’s David Robertson, “without the influence of Debussy and that of his friend Maurice Ravel.”
Stravinsky’s music proved polarizing even before the riots of Rite of Spring. When legendary dancer Anna Pavlova heard the Firebird score, she declared it “noise” and refused to dance to it, forcing Diaghilev to cast Tamara Karsavina in the title role. But the producer believed in his new composer, remarking to Karsavina on the ballet’s premiere that Stravinsky was “a man on the eve of celebrity.” Even the forward-looking Diaghilev couldn’t have predicted how much influence Stravinsky would have on the next 100 years of modern music. Since its first incarnation in 1910, The Firebird has been restaged and rearranged several times. The suite Stravinsky conducts at the top of the post comes from the 1945 arrangement. Two years after this filmed performance, Stravinsky conducted his very last recording for Columbia Records. He again chose to return, for the last time, to the ballet that first made him famous, The Firebird.
There’s something dark and apocalyptic about the Rolling Stones’ 1969 song, “Gimme Shelter”–from the lyrics (“Oh, a storm is threat’ning. My very life today. If I don’t get some shelter. Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away”), to the grim circumstances surrounding the recording of the track, released on the album Let It Bleed. A sense of dread runs throughout the Stones’ original song. Less so the version above, created by the multimedia project Playing for Change, which strives to create world peace through music. Recorded back in 2011, this cover brings together artists from around the world: India, Italy, Jamaica, Brazil, Mali, Sierra Leone, Senegal, and the US. And it’s just one of 21 songs that appears on the DVD/CD combo, Songs Around the World. Other videos by Playing for Change can be found in the Relateds below.
A few weeks ago, I took my kids to see Paul McCartney launch his One on One Tour in Fresno, California. The highlight? Seeing him play “Hard Day’s Night” and “Love Me Do” live for the first time since the 1960s? Not really. Watching Sir Paul wave at my kids when they held up a “Cheerio Paul” sign? Yeah, that was worth the price of the tickets alone.
But none of that compares to the scene that played out earlier this week in Buenos Aires. Above, watch little Leila sweetly ask Paul to play a little bass, get her wish granted, and rock to some “Get Back.” It’s pretty adorable.
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