An Animated Lou Reed Explains The Velvet Underground’s Artistic Goals, and Why The Beatles Were “Garbage”

Blank on Blank returns this week with anoth­er one of their groovy ani­ma­tions. This time, we find Lou Reed recall­ing the goals and ambi­tions of his avant-garde rock band, The Vel­vet Under­ground. We want­ed, he says, “to ele­vate the rock n’ roll song, to take it where it had­n’t been tak­en before.” And, in his hum­ble opin­ion, they did just that, far exceed­ing the musi­cal out­put of con­tem­po­rary bands like The Doors and The Bea­t­les, which he respec­tive­ly calls “stu­pid” and “garbage.” If you lis­ten to the com­plete inter­view record­ed in 1987 (webiTunes), you’ll hear Lou diss a lot of bands. But which one did he give props to? U2. Go fig­ure.

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:

Lou Reed Reads Del­more Schwartz’s Famous Sto­ry “In Dreams Begin Respon­si­bil­i­ties”

Teenage Lou Reed Sings Doo-Wop Music (1958–1962)

Watch Red Shirley, Lou Reed’s Short Doc­u­men­tary on His Fas­ci­nat­ing 100-Year-Old Cousin (2010)

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

Mark Moth­ers­baugh’s stu­dio is locat­ed in a cylin­dri­cal struc­ture paint­ed bright green — it looks more like a fes­tive auto part than an office build­ing. It’s a fit­ting place for the icon­o­clast musi­cian. For those of you who didn’t spend your child­hoods obses­sive­ly watch­ing the ear­ly years of MTV, Mark Moth­ers­baugh was the mas­ter­mind behind the band Devo. They skew­ered Amer­i­can con­for­mi­ty by dress­ing alike in shiny uni­forms and their music was nervy, twitchy and weird. They taught a nation that if you must whip it, you should whip it good.

In the years since, Moth­ers­baugh has segued into a suc­cess­ful career as a Hol­ly­wood com­pos­er, spin­ning scores for 21 Jump Street and The Roy­al Tenen­baums among oth­ers.

In the video above, you can see Moth­ers­baugh hang out in his stu­dio filled with syn­the­siz­ers of var­i­ous makes and vin­tages, includ­ing Bob Moog’s own per­son­al Mem­o­ry­moog. Watch­ing Moth­ers­baugh pull out and play with each one is a bit like watch­ing a pre­co­cious child talk about his toys. He just has an infec­tious ener­gy that is a lot of fun to watch.

Prob­a­bly the best part in the video is when he shows off a device that can play sounds back­ward. It turns out that if you say, “We smell sausage” back­wards it sounds an awful lot like “Jesus loves you.” Who knew?

Below you can see Moth­ers­baugh in action with Devo, per­form­ing live in Japan dur­ing the band’s hey­day in 1979.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Thomas Dol­by Explains How a Syn­the­siz­er Works on a Jim Hen­son Kids Show (1989)

Watch Her­bie Han­cock Rock Out on an Ear­ly Syn­the­siz­er on Sesame Street (1983)

All Hail the Beat: How the 1980 Roland TR-808 Drum Machine Changed Pop Music

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

In Animated Cartoon, Alison Bechdel Sees Her Life Go From Pulitizer Prize Winning Comic to Broadway Musical

No one is sur­prised when authors mine their per­son­al expe­ri­ences. If they’re lucky enough to strike gold, oth­er min­ers may be brought on to bring the sto­ries to the sil­ver screen. Here’s where things get tricky (if lucra­tive). No one wants to see his or her impor­tant life details get­ting roy­al­ly botched, espe­cial­ly when the results are blown up 70 feet across.

Car­toon­ist Ali­son Bechdel’s path to let­ting oth­ers take the reins as her sto­ry is immor­tal­ized in front of a live audi­ence is not the usu­al mod­el. The fam­i­ly his­to­ry she shared in the Pulitzer Prize-win­ning Fun Home: A Fam­i­ly Tragi­com­ic has been turned into a Broad­way musi­cal.

Now that would be a nail biter, espe­cial­ly if the non-fic­tion­al source mate­r­i­al includes a graph­i­cal­ly awk­ward first sex­u­al encounter and your clos­et­ed father’s sui­cide.

In the ani­mat­ed com­ic above, Bechdel recounts the sur­re­al expe­ri­ence of see­ing her most per­son­al expe­ri­ences musi­cal­ized dur­ing Fun Home’s recent Off-Broad­way run at the Pub­lic The­ater.

In the wrong hands, it could have been an excru­ci­at­ing evening, but Fun Home, the musi­cal, has had excel­lent pedi­gree from the get go.

It’s also worth not­ing that this show pass­es the infa­mous Bechdel Test (below) both onstage and off, with a book and lyrics by Lisa Kron and music by Jea­nine Tesori.

Pre­views begin next month in New York City.

bechdel-rule

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Car­toon­ist Kate Beat­on Plays on Lit­er­ary Clas­sics — The Great Gats­by, Julius Cae­sar & More

Lyn­da Bar­ry, Car­toon­ist Turned Pro­fes­sor, Gives Her Old Fash­ioned Take on the Future of Edu­ca­tion

Under­ground Car­toon­ist R. Crumb Intro­duces Us to His Rol­lick­ing Album Cov­er Designs

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

Hear the World’s Oldest Instrument, the “Neanderthal Flute,” Dating Back Over 43,000 Years

Back in July of last year, we brought you a tran­scrip­tion and a cou­ple of audio inter­pre­ta­tions of the old­est known song in the world, dis­cov­ered in the ancient Syr­i­an city of Ugar­it and dat­ing back to the 14th cen­tu­ry B.C.E.. Like­ly per­formed on an instru­ment resem­bling an ancient lyre, the so-called “Hur­ri­an Cult Song” or “Hur­ri­an Hymn No. 6” sounds oth­er­world­ly to our ears, although mod­ern-day musi­col­o­gists can only guess at the song’s tem­po and rhythm.

When we reach even fur­ther back in time, long before the advent of sys­tems of writ­ing, we are com­plete­ly at a loss as to the forms of music pre­his­toric humans might have pre­ferred. But we do know that music was like­ly a part of their every­day lives, as it is ours, and we have some sound evi­dence for the kinds of instru­ments they played. In 2008, arche­ol­o­gists dis­cov­ered frag­ments of flutes carved from vul­ture and mam­moth bones at a Stone Age cave site in south­ern Ger­many called Hohle Fels. These instru­ments date back 42,000 to 43,000 years and may sup­plant ear­li­er find­ings of flutes at a near­by site dat­ing back 35,000 years.

bone flute

Image via the The Archae­ol­o­gy News Net­work

The flutes are metic­u­lous­ly craft­ed, reports Nation­al Geo­graph­ic, par­tic­u­lar­ly the mam­moth bone flute, which would have been “espe­cial­ly chal­leng­ing to make.” At the time of their dis­cov­ery, researchers spec­u­lat­ed that the flutes “may have been one of the cul­tur­al accom­plish­ments that gave the first Euro­pean mod­ern-human (Homo sapi­ens) set­tlers an advan­tage over their now extinct Nean­derthal-human (Homo nean­derthalis) cousins.” But as with so much of our knowl­edge about Nean­derthals, includ­ing new evi­dence of inter­breed­ing with Homo Sapi­ens, these con­clu­sions may have to be revised.

It is per­haps pos­si­ble that the much-under­es­ti­mat­ed Nean­derthals made their own flutes. Or so a 1995 dis­cov­ery of a flute made from a cave bear femur might sug­gest. Found by arche­ol­o­gist Ivan Turk in a Nean­derthal camp­site at Div­je Babe in north­west­ern Slove­nia, this instru­ment (above) is esti­mat­ed to be over 43,000 years old and per­haps as much as 80,000 years old. Accord­ing to musi­col­o­gist Bob Fink, the flute’s four fin­ger holes match four notes of a dia­ton­ic (Do, Re, Mi…) scale. “Unless we deny it is a flute at all,” Fink argues, the notes of the flute “are inescapably dia­ton­ic and will sound like a near-per­fect fit with­in ANY kind of stan­dard dia­ton­ic scale, mod­ern or antique.” To demon­strate the point, the cura­tor of the Sloven­ian Nation­al Muse­um had a clay repli­ca of the flute made. You can hear it played at the top of the post by Sloven­ian musi­cian Ljuben Dimkaros­ki.

The pre­his­toric instru­ment does indeed pro­duce the whole and half tones of the dia­ton­ic scale, so com­plete­ly, in fact, that Dimkaros­ki is able to play frag­ments of sev­er­al com­po­si­tions by Beethoven, Ver­di, Rav­el, Dvořák, and oth­ers, as well as some free impro­vi­sa­tions “mock­ing ani­mal voic­es.” The video’s Youtube page explains his choice of music as “a pot­pour­ri of frag­ments from com­po­si­tions of var­i­ous authors,” select­ed “to show the capa­bil­i­ties of the instru­ment, tonal range, stac­ca­to, lega­to, glis­san­do….” (Dimkaros­ki claims to have fig­ured out how to play the instru­ment in a dream.) Although arche­ol­o­gists have hot­ly dis­put­ed whether or not the flute is actu­al­ly the work of Nean­derthals, as Turk sug­gest­ed, should it be so, the find­ing would con­tra­dict claims that the close human rel­a­tives “left no firm evi­dence of hav­ing been musi­cal.” But what­ev­er its ori­gin, it seems cer­tain­ly to be a hominid arti­fact—not the work of preda­tors—and a key to unlock­ing the pre­his­to­ry of musi­cal expres­sion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to the Old­est Song in the World: A Sumer­ian Hymn Writ­ten 3,400 Years Ago

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

Hear The Epic of Gil­gamesh Read in the Orig­i­nal Akka­di­an and Enjoy the Sounds of Mesopotamia

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

B.B. King Explains in an Animated Video Whether You Need to Endure Hardship to Play the Blues

George Har­ri­son had a beloved gui­tar named Lucy. B.B. King has one named Lucille. Curi­ous, that.

Above, in a new ani­mat­ed video by Blank on Blank, B.B. explains the sto­ry behind the nam­ing of his leg­endary gui­tar, and then answers the big ques­tion: Do you real­ly need to endure hard times to play the blues?  No spoil­ers here.

The audio was record­ed in Sep­tem­ber, 1985 by Warn­er Bros. A&R man­ag­er Joe Smith. While writ­ing a book on the music indus­try, Smith taped inter­views with leg­endary fig­ures like Dave Brubeck, Lou Reed, Paul McCart­ney, Joan Baez, Her­bie Han­cock, David Bowie, George Har­ri­son, Yoko Ono, James Brown, Bo Did­dley, Jer­ry Gar­cia, Chris­tine McVie, Mick Jag­ger, Lin­da Ron­stadt and more. Each inter­view runs 30–60 good min­utes. They’re fas­ci­nat­ing to lis­ten to, and you can find them on iTunes and the web.

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:

Free Archive of Audio Inter­views with Rock, Jazz & Folk Leg­ends Now on iTunes

Maya Angelou Tells Studs Terkel How She Learned to Count Cards & Hus­tle in a New Ani­mat­ed Video

Blank on Blank Ani­ma­tions Revive Lost Inter­views with David Fos­ter Wal­lace, Jim Mor­ri­son & Dave Brubeck

Watch a Young Bob Marley and The Wailers Perform Live in England (1973): For His 70th Birthday Today

If you’ve spent any time at all on a col­lege cam­pus, you’ve heard Bob Mar­ley and the Wailer’s 1984 com­pi­la­tion album Leg­end waft­ing from dorm rooms and frat house win­dows. The longest chart­ing album in the his­to­ry of Bill­board mag­a­zine, it con­tains all of the band’s top 40 hits and more or less stands as every young American’s intro­duc­tion to the icon­ic Jamaican singer, if not to reg­gae music itself. Before Leg­end, there was Eric Clapton’s cov­er of Marley’s 1973 sin­gle “I Shot the Sher­iff.” Clapton’s ver­sion hit num­ber one on the Bill­board Hot 100 in ’74—his only num­ber one hit in the U.S.—and intro­duced Amer­i­can audi­ences to Marley’s fiery pol­i­tics, if not always to Mar­ley him­self. On what would have been Mar­ley’s 70th birth­day, we bring you some ear­ly footage of the man and his band.

marleyedomntototn

While many Amer­i­cans may been rather late to the Bob Mar­ley par­ty, and to reg­gae, the Eng­lish have long had a fas­ci­na­tion with West Indi­an music. Ska pio­neers like Desmond Dekker drew huge crowds in the UK while remain­ing much less pop­u­lar state­side (though Dekker had a num­ber one hit in the U.S. in 1969). But even some Brits didn’t quite know what to do with Mar­ley when he and the Wail­ers hit Eng­lish shores in the spring of 1973. Play­ing the Sun­down The­ater in the Lon­don sub­urb of Edmon­ton in sup­port of Dekker and a host of oth­er acts (top), Mar­ley, writes Dan­ger­ous Minds, “was still some­what of an enig­ma and the Wail­ers were son­i­cal­ly much more adven­tur­ous than some of the oth­er acts on the bill that day…. Accord­ing to reports at the time, most of the audi­ence at this Wail­ers gig didn’t ‘get’ the group.”

Nev­er­the­less, that ’73 tour changed the band’s for­tunes for­ev­er. After three albums, a pre­vi­ous UK tour, and sev­er­al attempts to break into the pop charts, the Wailer’s fourth record, major label-debut Catch a Fire, final­ly made them inter­na­tion­al stars, if not yet every Amer­i­can col­lege freshman’s favorite band. Just above, hear an FM broad­cast of anoth­er date from the UK leg of the Catch a Fire tour (see the Youtube page for the full setlist). After Britain, the band played a run of shows at Paul’s Mall in Boston, then four nights at New York’s Max’s Kansas City. Just a few months lat­er, they hit major cities all over the U.S. before return­ing to Eng­land in Novem­ber in sup­port of Burnin’, and the song Clap­ton made famous.

While we tend to asso­ciate Mar­ley with peace, love, and patchouli—an impres­sion fur­thered by Leg­end, which leans rather heav­i­ly on the love songs—these ear­ly albums are fierce and mil­i­tant, and do not hold back from explic­it calls for vio­lent rev­o­lu­tion and con­dem­na­tion of his­tor­i­cal oppres­sion. It’s a some­what neglect­ed side of Marley’s leg­end, but in these con­certs, we see just how mul­ti­fac­eted a song­writer and per­former he was. Charis­mat­ic and vibrant, and flanked by the tal­ent­ed Peter Tosh, Mar­ley exudes star pow­er. Today on his 70th birth­day, it’s still as good a time as any to cel­e­brate his life and remem­ber his stri­dent yet soul­ful calls for love and jus­tice.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Video: The Day Bob Mar­ley Played a Big Soc­cer Match in Brazil, 1980

John­ny Cash & Joe Strum­mer Sing Bob Marley’s “Redemp­tion Song” (2002)

Bill Graham’s Con­cert Vault: From Miles Davis to Bob Mar­ley

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

How David Bowie, Kurt Cobain & Thom Yorke Write Songs With William Burroughs’ Cut-Up Technique

The strict real­ist mold that dom­i­nat­ed fic­tion and poet­ry for over a hun­dred years broke open in the late nine­teenth cen­tu­ry with sym­bol­ist French poets like Arthur Rim­baud, Stéphane Mal­lar­mé, and Charles Baude­laire. The next few mod­ernist decades made it impos­si­ble to ignore exper­i­men­tal lit­er­a­ture, which trick­led into the pub­lic con­scious­ness through all vari­ety of media. Pop­u­lar songcraft, how­ev­er, held out for a few more decades, and though styles pro­lif­er­at­ed, the stan­dard bal­lad forms—straightforward nar­ra­tives of love and loss—more or less dom­i­nat­ed into the 1960s, with the excep­tion of odd nov­el­ty records whose exis­tence proved the rule.

Though nei­ther ever aban­doned the bal­lad, it’s sig­nif­i­cant that two of that decade’s most inno­v­a­tive pop song­writ­ers, John Lennon and Bob Dylan, drew much of the inspi­ra­tion for their more exper­i­men­tal songs from poet­ry—Lennon from an old­er non­sense tra­di­tion in Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture exem­pli­fied by Lewis Car­roll, and Dylan from T.S. Eliot and oth­er mod­ernist poets.

But anoth­er strain devel­oped in the fifties and sixties—darker and weird­er, though no less trace­able to a lit­er­ary source: William S. Bur­roughs’ sur­re­al­ist cut-up tech­nique, which he devel­oped with artist Brion Gysin. Just above, you can hear Bur­roughs explain cut-up writ­ing as a “mon­tage tech­nique” from paint­ing applied to “words on a page.” Words and phras­es are cut from news­pa­pers and mag­a­zines and the frag­ments re-arranged at ran­dom. Bur­roughs and Gysin expand­ed the tech­nique to audio record­ing and film, and these exper­i­ments inspired avant-garde elec­tron­ic artists like Throb­bing Gris­tle and Atari Teenage Riot, both of whom shared Bur­roughs’ desire to dis­rupt the social order with their audio exper­i­ments and nei­ther of whom are house­hold names. But Bur­roughs’ exper­i­ments with cut-up writ­ing were also adopt­ed by song­writ­ers every­one knows well. In the clip at the top of the post, see David Bowie explain how he used the cut-up technique—“a kind of West­ern Tarot,” he calls it—both as a com­po­si­tion­al tool and a means of find­ing inspi­ra­tion.

In a 2008 inter­view, Bowie fur­ther explained his use of cut-ups: “You write down a para­graph or two describ­ing dif­fer­ent sub­jects, cre­at­ing a kind of ‘sto­ry ingre­di­ents’ list, I sup­pose, and then cut the sen­tences into four or five-word sec­tions, mix ‘em up and recon­nect them.” The tech­nique allows song­writ­ers, he says, to “get some pret­ty inter­est­ing idea com­bi­na­tions,” even if they “have a craven need not to lose con­trol.” Bowie almost sin­gle-hand­ed­ly cre­at­ed the cat­e­go­ry of “art rock” with his appli­ca­tion of avant-garde tech­niques to con­ven­tion­al song struc­tures and rock ‘n’ roll atti­tudes.

Decades lat­er, anoth­er huge­ly influ­en­tial song­writer also made Bur­roughs’ tech­nique main­stream. Kurt Cobain, who had the chance to meet and col­lab­o­rate with Bur­roughs (above), used cut-ups to con­struct his lyrics—like Bowie, tak­ing the bits of text from his own writ­ing rather than from the mass media pro­duc­tions Bur­roughs and Gysin pre­ferred. Pop music crit­ic Jim Dero­gatis quotes Cobain as say­ing, “My lyrics are total cut-up. I take lines from dif­fer­ent poems that I’ve writ­ten. I build on a theme if I can, but some­times I can’t even come up with an idea of what the song is about.” Bur­roughs blog Real­i­tyS­tu­dio fur­ther doc­u­ments the artis­tic influ­ence of Bur­roughs and oth­er writ­ers on Cobain’s song­writ­ing.

Though Bowie and Cobain are per­haps the two most promi­nent adopters of Bur­roughs’ tech­nique, the Beat writer’s influ­ence on pop music stretch­es back to the Bea­t­les, who includ­ed him on the cov­er of Sgt. Pep­pers Lone­ly Hearts Club Band, and extends through the work of artists like Joy Divi­sion, Iggy Pop, and, notably, Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, who sup­pos­ed­ly drew cut-up phras­es from a hat to write the lyrics for the band’s ground­break­ing album Kid A. And though Bur­roughs can seem like a sui gener­is force, whol­ly orig­i­nal, Lan­guage is a Virus notes that he him­self “cit­ed T.S. Eliot’s poem, The Waste Land (1922) and John Dos Pas­sos’ U.S.A. Tril­o­gy, which incor­po­rat­ed news­pa­per clip­pings, as ear­ly exam­ples of the cut ups he pop­u­lar­ized.” The tech­nique can be traced even fur­ther back to found­ing Dadaist artist Tris­tan Tzara’s 1920 “To Make a Dadaist Poem.” Each case of Bur­roughs’ influ­ence on both avant-garde and pop­u­lar musi­cians demon­strates not only his well-deserved rep­u­ta­tion as the father of the underground—from Beats to punks—but also the sym­bi­ot­ic rela­tion­ship between musi­cal and lit­er­ary inno­va­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs on the Art of Cut-up Writ­ing

The “Priest” They Called Him: A Dark Col­lab­o­ra­tion Between Kurt Cobain & William S. Bur­roughs

How William S. Bur­roughs Used the Cut-Up Tech­nique to Shut Down London’s First Espres­so Bar (1972)

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

Hear Albums from Brian Eno’s 1970s Label, Obscure Records

Eno Discreet Music

Giv­en his celebri­ty sta­tus in the realms of both music and visu­al art, I don’t know that we can real­ly call any­thing Bri­an Eno does obscure. But at one point, he did call his own efforts obscure — or at least those efforts required to estab­lish and run the label Obscure Records, which he did between 1975 and 1978. In that short peri­od, Obscure Records man­aged to put out ten albums, from Gavin Bryars’ The Sink­ing of the Titan­ic (cat­a­log no. 1) to Michael Nyman’s Decay Music (no. 6) to Harold Bud­d’s Pavil­ion of Dreams (no. 10), all of which we might broad­ly cat­e­go­rize as “con­tem­po­rary clas­si­cal music,” with a strong bent toward new com­po­si­tion­al tech­niques and what we’d now call ambi­ent tex­tures.

“The label pro­vid­ed a venue for exper­i­men­tal music,” says Ubuwe­b’s Obscure Records page, “and its asso­ci­a­tion with Eno gave increased pub­lic expo­sure to its com­posers and musi­cians.” There, you freely can lis­ten to all ten Obscure releas­es — which, I sup­pose, effec­tive­ly makes them obscure no more — although they don’t include the famous­ly detailed orig­i­nal lin­er notes “ana­lyz­ing the com­po­si­tions and pro­vid­ing a biog­ra­phy of the com­pos­er.”

Though he most­ly act­ed as pro­duc­er on Obscure record­ings, Eno also used the label to put out his sem­i­nal 1975 solo album Dis­creet Music (no. 3),  which con­tains a com­po­si­tion made using the then unheard-of tech­nique of run­ning sev­er­al tape loops simul­ta­ne­ous­ly and let­ting the sound record­ed on them run grad­u­al­ly out of sync. Obscure’s fifth release, Jan Steele and John Cage’s 1976 Voic­es and Instru­ments, fea­tures “The Won­der­ful Wid­ow Of Eigh­teen Springs,” pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture as inter­pret­ed by Joey Ramone.

This may seem col­or­ful enough for any label’s life­time, but Eno did have an eleventh Obscure record planned. It ulti­mate­ly made more sense, how­ev­er, to found an entire­ly new oper­a­tion to put out this work, a cer­tain Music for Air­ports. It came out as the flag­ship release from Eno’s Ambi­ent Records — and the rest, my friends, is pop­u­lar-exper­i­men­tal music his­to­ry.

Albums from Obscure Records can be sam­pled over at UBU.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie & Bri­an Eno’s Col­lab­o­ra­tion on “Warsza­wa” Reimag­ined in Com­ic Ani­ma­tion

Jump Start Your Cre­ative Process with Bri­an Eno’s “Oblique Strate­gies”

Bri­an Eno on Cre­at­ing Music and Art As Imag­i­nary Land­scapes (1989)

How David Byrne and Bri­an Eno Make Music Togeth­er: A Short Doc­u­men­tary

Hear Joey Ramone Sing a Piece by John Cage Adapt­ed from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake

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

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