Watch a Needle Ride Through LP Record Grooves Under an Electron Microscope

Last year, we high­light­ed a 1956 video from RCA Vic­tor which demon­strat­ed how vinyl records were made back in the good old days. If you have 23 free min­utes, you can get a pret­ty good look at the pro­duc­tion process — the live audio record­ing, the mak­ing of a mas­ter disc, the pro­duc­tion of a mold, the even­tu­al mass pro­duc­tion of vinyl records, etc.

Almost 60 years lat­er, vinyl is mak­ing a come­back. So why not let Ben Kras­now, a hard­ware engi­neer at Google X, give us a much more mod­ern per­spec­tive on the LP? Above, watch Kras­now’s stop motion ani­ma­tion, made with an elec­tron micro­scope, which shows us a phono­graph nee­dle rid­ing through grooves on an LP. Much of the 9‑minute video offers a fair­ly tech­ni­cal primer on what went into mak­ing this stop motion clip in the first place. So if you want to get to the action, fast for­ward to the 4:20 mark.

If you hang with Kras­now’s video, you can also see him take some micro­scop­ic looks at oth­er media for­mats — CD-ROMs, ear­ly forms of DVDs, and more.

via Devour

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Vinyl Records Are Made: A Primer from 1956 (That’s Rel­e­vant in 2014)

How to Clean Your Vinyl Records with Wood Glue

World Records: New Pho­to Exhib­it Pays Trib­ute to the Era of Vinyl Records & Turnta­bles

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Watch President Obama Sing “Amazing Grace” at the Funeral of Clementa Pinckney

It was quite a week for Pres­i­dent Oba­ma. On Mon­day, we all got to hear the reveal­ing inter­view Oba­ma record­ed in the Los Ange­les garage of come­di­an Marc Maron. Mid­week, the Supreme Court reject­ed the lat­est legal chal­lenge to the Afford­able Health­care Act, his sig­na­ture piece of leg­is­la­tion. Now on Fri­day — the same day that Oba­ma wel­comed the court’s land­mark deci­sion on gay mar­riage — the Pres­i­dent solemn­ly presided over the funer­al of Clemen­ta Pinck­ney, one of the nine African-Amer­i­cans mur­dered in a Charleston church last week.

You can watch his eulo­gy above in its entire­ty, but we’re fast for­ward­ing to the end, when, rather unex­pect­ed­ly, the pres­i­dent led the con­gre­ga­tion in singing Amaz­ing Grace, a Chris­t­ian hymn writ­ten in 1779 by John New­ton. In an iron­ic his­toric foot­note, New­ton was the cap­tain of Eng­lish slave ships and wrote the spir­i­tu­al song when his ship, buf­fet­ed by a storm, near­ly met its demise. This marked the begin­ning of a spir­i­tu­al con­ver­sion for New­ton, dur­ing which he remained active in the slave trade. Only years lat­er did he repent and focus his ener­gy on abol­ish­ing slav­ery. He would write ‘Thoughts upon the African Slave Trade,’ an influ­en­tial tract that “described the hor­rors of the Slave Trade and his role in it.”

Like many things, the descen­dants of slaves took the good from “Amaz­ing Grace” and made it their own.

Note: the singing starts at the 35:20 mark if you real­ly need to move things along.

Fol­low us on Face­book, Twit­ter, Google Plus and LinkedIn and  share intel­li­gent media with your friends. Or bet­ter yet, sign up for our dai­ly email and get a dai­ly dose of Open Cul­ture in your inbox.

via Moth­er Jones

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1.5 Mil­lion Slav­ery Era Doc­u­ments Will Be Dig­i­tized, Help­ing African Amer­i­cans to Learn About Their Lost Ances­tors

Pres­i­dent Oba­ma Chats with David Simon About Drugs, The Wire & Omar

Visu­al­iz­ing Slav­ery: The Map Abra­ham Lin­coln Spent Hours Study­ing Dur­ing the Civ­il War

Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es

Hear Johnny Cash Deliver Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address

Four score and sev­en years ago…

It goes on from there.

If you’re a bit rusty on Abra­ham Lincoln’s Get­tys­burg Address, lis­ten to singer John­ny Cash recite the famous­ly brief speech in its entire­ty, above, from his Amer­i­ca: A 200-Year Salute in Sto­ry and Song album. (The acoustic gui­tar accom­pa­ni­ment is by long time Cash col­lab­o­ra­tor, Nor­man Blake.)

A lit­tle back­ground for those in need of a refresh­er: Lin­coln deliv­ered the speech in Novem­ber 1863, at the ded­i­ca­tion of the Nation­al Ceme­tery in Get­tys­burg, Penn­syl­va­nia.

Four months ear­li­er, rough­ly 10,000 Con­fed­er­ate and Union sol­diers perished—and anoth­er 30,000 were wounded—during three days of fight­ing in the area. The Bat­tle of Get­tys­burg end­ed in a major vic­to­ry for the North, though Lin­coln was frus­trat­ed that Gen­er­al George Meade failed to pur­sue Robert E. Lee’s retreat­ing forces. (Whether or not such a move could have short­ened the war is a mat­ter of some debate.)

Lin­coln wel­comed the invi­ta­tion to the cemetery’s ded­i­ca­tion as a chance to frame the sig­nif­i­cance of the war in terms of the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence. Slave own­ers fre­quent­ly cit­ed the con­sti­tu­tion­al­i­ty of their actions, for unlike the Dec­la­ra­tion, the Con­sti­tu­tion did not hold that all men were cre­at­ed equal.

The day’s oth­er speak­er, for­mer Har­vard Pres­i­dent and Sec­re­tary of State Edward Everett, praised  the “elo­quent sim­plic­i­ty & appro­pri­ate­ness” of the pres­i­den­t’s two minute speech, per­haps blush­ing a bit, giv­en that he him­self had held the podi­um for two hours.

A year and a half lat­er, when Lin­coln was assas­si­nat­ed, Sen­a­tor Charles Sum­n­er of Mass­a­chu­setts summed it up:

That speech, uttered at the field of Gettysburg…and now sanc­ti­fied by the mar­tyr­dom of its author, is a mon­u­men­tal act. In the mod­esty of his nature he said “the world will lit­tle note, nor long remem­ber what we say here; but it can nev­er for­get what they did here.” He was mis­tak­en. The world at once not­ed what he said, and will nev­er cease to remem­ber it.

(How sor­ry those gen­tle­man would be to learn just how lit­tle most Amer­i­cans today know of the  the Bat­tle of Get­tys­burg. Fear not, though. A restored ver­sion of Ken Burns’ Civ­il War doc­u­men­tary is com­ing to PBS this fall.)

Please note that Lincoln’s brief remarks were care­ful­ly pre­pared, and not scrib­bled on the back of an enve­lope dur­ing the train ride that took him to Get­tys­burg. As a nation, we love folksy ori­gin sto­ries, and depend­ing on the size of one’s pen­man­ship, it is indeed pos­si­ble to fit 272 words on an enve­lope, but it’s a myth… no mat­ter what John­ny Cash may say in his intro­duc­tion.

PS — If you would like to com­mit the Get­tys­burg Address to mem­o­ry, try singing it to the tune of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz. No doubt Pro­fes­sor Lyn­da Bar­ry would approve.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Poet­ry of Abra­ham Lin­coln

Res­ur­rect­ing the Sounds of Abra­ham Lin­coln in Steven Spielberg’s New Biopic

Ani­mat­ed Video: John­ny Cash Explains Why Music Became a Reli­gious Call­ing

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

Tom Waits Reads Two Charles Bukowski Poems, “The Laughing Heart” and “Nirvana”

Oppor­tu­ni­ties to meet one’s heroes can go any num­ber of ways. They can be under­whelm­ing and dis­ap­point­ing, embar­rass­ing and awk­ward, or—as Tom Waits found out in meet­ing Kei­th Richards and Charles Bukows­ki—com­plete­ly over­whelm­ing. Both encoun­ters became too much for Waits for the same rea­son: when you “try to match them drink for drink,” he says in an inter­view, “you’re a novice, you’re a child. You’re drink­ing with a roar­ing pirate.” Waits “wasn’t able to hang in there” with these vet­er­an imbibers—“They’re made out of dif­fer­ent stock. They’re like dock­work­ers.” But of course it was­n’t just their leg­endary drink­ing that impressed the sand­pa­per-voiced L.A. trou­ba­dour.

Waits calls both Richards and Bukows­ki artis­tic “father figures”—two of many stand-ins for his own absent father—but it’s Bukows­ki who had the most pro­found effect on the singer and song­writer. Both South­ern Cal­i­for­nia natives, both keen observers of America’s seed­i­er side, as writ­ers they share a num­ber of com­mon themes and obses­sions.

When he dis­cov­ered Bukows­ki through the poet’s “Notes of a Dirty Old Man” col­umn in the LA Free Press, Waits observed that he “seemed to be a writer of the com­mon peo­ple and street peo­ple, look­ing in the dark cor­ners where no one seems to want to go.” Waits has gone there, and always—like his lit­er­ary hero—returned with a hell of a sto­ry. His song­writ­ing voice can chan­nel “Hank,” as Bukowski’s friends knew him, and his speak­ing voice can too—with sharp glints of dry, sar­don­ic humor and sur­pris­ing vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty, though much more ragged and pitched sev­er­al octaves low­er.

Waits’ artis­tic kin­ship with Bukows­ki makes him bet­ter-suit­ed than per­haps any­one else to read the down-and-out, Dos­to­evsky-lov­ing, alcoholic’s work. At the top of the post, hear him read Bukowski’s “The Laugh­ing Heart,” a poem of weary, almost resigned exhor­ta­tion to “be on the watch / There are ways out / There is light some­where,” in the midst of life’s dark­ness. Below it, Waits reads “Nir­vana,” a poem we’ve fea­tured before in sev­er­al ren­di­tions. Here, the poet tells a story—of lone­li­ness, imper­ma­nence, and a brief moment of solace. For com­par­i­son, hear Bukows­ki him­self, in his high, nasal­ly voice, read “The Secret of My Endurance” above. Waits almost became more than just a Bukows­ki lover and read­er; he was once up for the role of Bukowski’s alter-ego Hen­ry Chi­nas­ki in Bar­bet Schroed­er’s 1987 Bukows­ki adap­ta­tion, Barfly. “I was offered a lot of mon­ey,” says Waits, “but I just couldn’t do it.” Mick­ey Rourke could, and did, but as I hear Waits read these poems, I like to imag­ine the film that would have been had he tak­en that part.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Four Charles Bukows­ki Poems Ani­mat­ed

Hear 130 Min­utes of Charles Bukowski’s First-Ever Record­ed Read­ings (1968)

Charles Bukows­ki Rails Against 9‑to‑5 Jobs in a Bru­tal­ly Hon­est Let­ter (1986)

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

Neil Young’s New Album, The Monsanto Years, Now Streaming Free Online (For a Limited Time)

The Monsanto Years
A quick heads up: Neil Young’s 36th stu­dio album, The Mon­san­to Years, is now stream­ing for free online thanks to NPR’s First Lis­ten web site:

The album can also be pre-ordered as a CD on Ama­zon, or bought in dig­i­tal for­mat from the Pono music store (which pre-sup­pos­es that you have one of Neil’s Pono music play­ers.)

About the new album, NPR has this to say:

Here, we have a series of taut and stone-sim­ple Neil Young songs that fit togeth­er under a catchall con­cept (about com­pa­nies wield­ing extra­or­di­nary influ­ence over many aspects of our qual­i­ty of life), each pow­ered by its own sup­ply of right­eous fury. Enjoy­ment of it prob­a­bly depends less on whether you agree with Young’s posi­tions than on how much tol­er­ance you have for a mantra, repeat­ed fre­quent­ly, using the three syl­la­bles that make up the trade name Mon­san­to. It also helps to like your harangues set to three-chord rock and expressed through tri­adic melodies. This is not sub­tle, Har­vest Moon Neil, brood­ing at the piano. This is ornery, snarly Neil.

Mean­while, if you actu­al­ly do side with Neil’s polit­i­cal posi­tions, you’ll prob­a­bly find some amuse­ment in today’s news that Young, hav­ing blast­ed Don­ald Trump for using his 1989 song “Rockin’ in the Free World,” turned around and gave Bernie Sanders free license to use the song. And that he did.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Young Busk­ing in Glas­gow, 1976: The Sto­ry Behind the Footage

Great Sto­ry: How Neil Young Intro­duced His Clas­sic 1972 AlbumHar­vest to Gra­ham Nash

Miles Davis Opens for Neil Young and “That Sor­ry-Ass Cat” Steve Miller at The Fill­more East (1970)

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Hear Ornette Coleman Collaborate with Lou Reed, Which Lou Called “One of My Greatest Moments”

Sax­o­phon­ist Ornette Cole­man died yes­ter­day at age 85, leav­ing behind one of jaz­z’s most inter­est­ing and illus­tri­ous lega­cies. Cole­man strode into the fifties and six­ties with a hand­ful of van­guard artists—Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Dave Brubeck—and, as the New York Times writes, “widened the options in jazz.” This meant tak­ing jazz places it had not been before, even­tu­al­ly into the psy­che­del­ic jams on Cole­man’s 1971 Sci­ence Fic­tion album, which fea­tures one track with “a ‘Pur­ple Haze’-styled bassline through a wah-wah ped­al,” Jaz­zTimes wrote in 2000, while “Ornette over­dubs on trum­pet and vio­lin and Dewey Red­man wails on musette over Ed Black­well’s inim­itable groove.” The track “Hap­py House” seems to bend space and time in new direc­tions, pair­ing two trum­pet play­ers and two drummers—one for each ear in stereo record­ing.

Cole­man’s free form will­ing­ness to exper­i­ment made him a sought after col­lab­o­ra­tor (at least once against his will) with artists who also bent, or invent­ed, their own genre bound­aries. Thir­ty-two years after Sci­ence Fic­tion, Cole­man made an appear­ance on the 2003 Edgar Allan Poe-trib­ute The Raven, a late album by Lou Reed, the pio­neer­ing artist who took pop and R&B down a dark, psy­che­del­ic path.

The result­ing col­lab­o­ra­tion, which you can hear at the top of the post, just bare­ly holds togeth­er in a gospel/free jazz/funk groove that hyp­no­tizes even as it bewil­ders lis­ten­ers, giv­ing us an ensem­ble of musi­cians each hear­ing slight­ly dif­fer­ent rhythms and tim­bres in the repet­i­tive drone of Reed’s lead vocal.

Reed was excit­ed about Cole­man’s con­tri­bu­tion, writ­ing on his web­site, “THIS IS ONE OF MY GREATEST MOMENTS.” The jazz great “did sev­en versions—all dif­fer­ent and all amaz­ing and won­drous.” You can hear four above. “Each take,” Reed explains, “is Ornette play­ing against a dif­fer­ent instrument—ie drum, gui­tar 1 gui­tar 2 etc. Lis­ten to this!!!” And lis­ten you should. Try to fig­ure out which of the sev­en takes made the album ver­sion above. Then lis­ten to them again. Then read this inter­view between Jacques Der­ri­da and Cole­man in which he explains how he came to devel­op his sin­u­ous style, one writes the New York Times Ben Ratliff, less behold­en to the rules of har­mo­ny and rhythm” and more in tune with “an intu­itive, col­lec­tive musi­cal lan­guage.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da Inter­views Jazz Leg­end Ornette Cole­man: Talk Impro­vi­sa­tion, Lan­guage & Racism (1997)

Charles Min­gus Explains in His Gram­my-Win­ning Essay “What is a Jazz Com­pos­er?”

Lou Reed Rewrites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” See Read­ings by Reed and Willem Dafoe

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

The Sex Pistols’ 1976 Manchester “Gig That Changed the World,” and the Day the Punk Era Began

“Ever get the feel­ing you’ve been cheat­ed?”

John­ny Rot­ten aka John Lydon’s clos­ing words at the last Sex Pis­tols gig (watch it online) seemed apt this week when Vir­gin Bank announced their cur­rent line of cred­it cards would fea­ture the band’s sig­na­ture art­work. That Jamie Reid’s famous cut-n-paste zine-cum-Sit­u­a­tion­al­ist aes­thet­ic has turned into a bit of cap­i­tal­ist plas­tic for your wal­let is an irony that the Sex Pis­tols might nev­er have seen com­ing back in 1976, when they played the “gig that changed the world.”

Recre­at­ed above in a clip from Michael Winterbottom’s 24 Hour Par­ty Peo­ple, the June 4, 1976 gig at Manchester’s Less­er Free Trade Hall spawned the British punk move­ment and the post-punk move­ment that was soon to fol­low in a scant two years. For in the audi­ence were future mem­bers of the Buz­zcocks Howard Devo­to and Pete Shel­ley (who orga­nized the gig and opened for the Pis­tols); a nascent ver­sion of Joy Divi­sion; the two founders of Fac­to­ry Records Mar­tin Han­net and Tony Wil­son; Mark E. Smith of The Fall, Mick Huck­nall of Fran­tic Ele­va­tors and much lat­er Sim­ply Red; and a one Steven Patrick Mor­ris­sey, who would form The Smiths. (That’s Steve Coogan play­ing Tony Wil­son in the clip, by the way.)

The Sex Pis­tols played 13 songs in their set, includ­ing cov­ers of Dave Berry’s “Don’t Give Me No Lip Child,” Paul Revere and the Raiders “(I’m Not Your) Step­ping Stone”, the Small Faces “What’cha Gonna Do About It,” The Stooges’ “No Fun”, and The Who’s “Sub­sti­tute.” When asked for an encore, they played “No Fun” again.

Of their orig­i­nals, their two most famous songs–”God Save the Queen” and “Anar­chy in the U.K.” had yet to be written–but “Pret­ty Vacant,” “Prob­lems,” “New York,” “No Feel­ings” are all here in their raw form.

A few songs nev­er made it onto their first album, but can be found on their heav­i­ly boot­legged demo tape they record­ed the same year.

Also of note is how non “punk” the mem­bers are dressed, not in the sense of how Mal­colm McLaren and Vivi­enne West­wood would design, pack­age and sell the fash­ion. The boys look clos­er to the work­ing class job­bers of ear­ly Devo and the Stooges. Plus: no Sid Vicious. He’d come lat­er. That’s Glen Mat­lock on bass, who left the band in ear­ly ’77 after clash­ing with Lydon. He went on to form Rich Kids with Midge Ure.

When the Pis­tols returned to Lon­don, every­body in Man­ches­ter and beyond had start­ed a band, or at least that’s how it felt. By the time the Pis­tols got back to Lon­don, The Clash and The Damned had formed. And even if you hadn’t been at Less­er Free Trade Hall, you told your friends you had been and picked up a gui­tar.

The Sex Pis­tols would return three weeks lat­er to play the Hall again, play­ing to hun­dreds this time and solid­i­fy­ing the dawn of the punk era.

Below is a BBC doc­u­men­tary on the famous gig, telling­ly titled I Swear I Was There, which has an accom­pa­ny­ing book.

On a side note: Less­er Free Trade Hall–named after the rad­i­cal Free Trade polit­i­cal move­ment–was the site of anoth­er famous moment in rock his­to­ry. It was here that a new­ly elec­tri­fied Bob Dylan was called “Judas” by a very upset folk music fan.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sex Pis­tols Do Dal­las: A Strange Con­cert from the Strangest Tour in His­to­ry (Jan­u­ary 10, 1978)

John­ny Rotten’s Cor­dial Let­ter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pis­tols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

Sid Vicious Sings Paul Anka’s “My Way” in His Own Spec­tac­u­lar Way

Rock Crit­ic Greil Mar­cus Picks 10 Unex­pect­ed Songs That Tell the Sto­ry of Rock ‘n’ Roll

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

Hear Friedrich Nietzsche’s Classical Piano Compositions: They’re Aphoristic Like His Philosophy

In March, we fea­tured 43 orig­i­nal tracks of clas­si­cal music by philoso­pher and self-taught com­pos­er Friedrich Niet­zsche, bet­ter known as the author of books like Thus Spoke Zarathus­tra and Beyond Good and Evil. Despite the endur­ing impor­tance of his tex­tu­al out­put, Josh Jones not­ed that “what Niet­zsche loved most was music.” He “found the mun­dane work of pol­i­tics and nation­al­ist con­quest, with its trib­al­ism and moral pre­ten­sions, thor­ough­ly dis­taste­ful. Instead, he con­sid­ered the cre­ative work of artists, writ­ers, and musi­cians, as well as sci­en­tists, of para­mount impor­tance.”

Today we offer more of the eccen­tric, high­ly opin­ion­at­ed 19th-cen­tu­ry Ger­man philoso­pher’s musi­cal side. In the playlist just above, you can hear his piano com­po­si­tions as col­lect­ed on Michael Krück­er’s Friedrich Niet­zsche: Com­plete Solo Piano Works. “Most of the works on this album date from the 1860s, when [Niet­zsche] was a cel­e­brat­ed young pro­fes­sor and philoso­pher,” writes All­Mu­sic’s James Man­heim. “The music is light, often qua­si-impro­visato­ry, and some of it resem­bles the key­board music of the com­pos­er whom Niet­zsche extolled lat­er in life, Georges Bizet. The most sub­stan­tial piece, the 20-minute Hym­nus an die Fre­und­schaft, was essen­tial­ly his last com­po­si­tion, but he lat­er reworked it with texts by his then-love inter­est, Lou Andreas-Salomé; that ver­sion was lat­er arranged for cho­rus and orches­tra by anoth­er com­pos­er.”

Man­heim also notes that this selec­tion of piano pieces, in their brevi­ty, sug­gest that “the apho­ris­tic style of Niet­zsche’s late writ­ings was antic­i­pat­ed by his musi­cal think­ing.” Enthu­si­asts of Niet­zsche’s life and career will cer­tain­ly find them­selves mak­ing even more con­nec­tions between his musi­cal and philo­soph­i­cal work than that. But those look­ing for his moti­va­tion to work in this purest of all arts per­haps need look no fur­ther than this typ­i­cal­ly unequiv­o­cal pro­nounce­ment: “With­out music, life would be a mis­take.”

You can find more Niet­zschean piano com­po­si­tions below, these per­formed by Dorothea Klotz. To hear the music, you will need to down­load Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, if you haven’t already.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Clas­si­cal Music Com­posed by Friedrich Niet­zsche: 43 Orig­i­nal Tracks

130+ Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

The Phi­los­o­phy of Niet­zsche: An Intro­duc­tion by Alain de Bot­ton

A Free Playlist of Music From The Works Of James Joyce (Plus Songs Inspired by the Mod­ernist Author)

The Dig­i­tal Niet­zsche: Down­load Nietzsche’s Major Works as Free eBooks

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

 

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