Open Culture Picks Our 10 Avant-Garde Favorites on Ubuweb: Joyce, Borges, Sontag, Wittgenstein & More

samuelbeckett-ubuweb

If you know about Open Cul­ture, sure­ly you know about Ubuweb. If you don’t, its slo­gan says almost every­thing you need to know about it: “All Avant-Garde. All the Time.” This vast online repos­i­to­ry of cut­ting-edge cul­tur­al arti­facts from a vari­ety of eras also adheres stead­fast­ly to the prin­ci­ple of keep­ing all of its mate­r­i­al free: free in the sense of charg­ing you noth­ing to read, hear or view it, and free in the sense that you can do what­ev­er you want with it. Need­less to say, the site, found­ed by poet Ken­neth Gold­smith in 1996, has made many fans, and Ubuweb itself has tapped quite a few of the high­er-pro­file ones to curate top ten lists. Assem­bled by peo­ple like New York­er music crit­ic Alex Ross, nov­el­ists Hari Kun­zru and Rick Moody, alter­na-pop star Nick “Momus” Cur­rie, these help the poten­tial­ly (and under­stand­ably) bewil­dered find their way through the trove of Ubuwe­b’s media, which is uni­ver­sal­ly influ­en­tial and van­ish­ing­ly obscure, vis­cer­al­ly trans­gres­sive and ver­tig­i­nous­ly intel­lec­tu­al, eter­nal­ly excit­ing and delib­er­ate­ly bor­ing.

This month, Ubuweb called upon our fear­less edi­tor here at Open Cul­ture for a top ten list. Most of the picks have been pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured on OC. The list runs as fol­lows:

1. Finnegans Wake (1939), Read by Patrick Healy
Open Cul­ture: Hear All of Finnegans Wake Read Aloud: A 35 Hour Read­ing

“The sheer plea­sure one can derive — con­ven­tion­al expec­ta­tions duly set aside — from the almost tac­tile qual­i­ty of Joyce’s prose, its earthy, ancient, elven sounds, seems more to the point of appre­ci­at­ing this odd, frus­trat­ing work. Per­haps, like any well-writ­ten poem, one sim­ply needs to hear it read aloud. Joyce him­self said so, and so you can.”

2. The Craft of Verse: Jorge Luis Borges’ Nor­ton Lec­tures, 1967–68
Open Cul­ture: Jorge Luis Borges’ 1967–8 Nor­ton Lec­tures On Poet­ry (And Every­thing Else Lit­er­ary)

“Near­ing both 70 years of age and total blind­ness, Borges nonethe­less gives a vir­tu­osi­cal­ly wide-rang­ing series of talks, freely reach­ing across forms, coun­tries, eras, and lan­guages with­out the aid of notes. Enti­tled ‘This Craft of Verse,’ these lec­tures osten­si­bly deal with poet­ry. Alas, like many lit­er­ary geeks, I know too lit­tle of poet­ry, but if Borges can’t moti­vate you to learn more, who can?”

3. Three Rare Films by Susan Son­tag
Open Cul­ture: The Film­mak­ing of Susan Son­tag & Her 50 Favorite Films (1977)

“Son­tag, they say, ‘sought to lib­er­ate art from inter­pre­ta­tion (which is a bit iron­ic, of course, for some­one who was essen­tial­ly an exalt­ed crit­ic). When it came to her own film, she made some­thing that intend­ed to delib­er­ate­ly con­found the notion that there was any sort of under­ly­ing mean­ing beyond exact­ly what the audi­ence was see­ing on the screen direct­ly in front of them.’ ”

4.  M.A. Num­mi­nen Sings Wittgen­stein (1983 / 1989)
Open Cul­ture: Lud­wig Wittgenstein’s Trac­ta­tus Gets Adapt­ed Into an Avant-Garde Com­ic Opera

“Giv­en the Trac­ta­tus’s fire­bomb­ing of an entire area of human endeav­or, it’s no sur­prise it hasn’t fared well in many tra­di­tion­al depart­ments, but that hasn’t stopped Wittgenstein’s work from find­ing pur­chase else­where, influ­enc­ing mod­ern artists like Jasper Johns, the Coen Broth­ers, and, not least sure­ly, Finnish avant garde com­pos­er and musi­cian M.A. Num­mi­nen. This odd char­ac­ter, who caused a stir in the 60s by set­ting sex guides to music, took it upon him­self to do the same for many of the Trac­ta­tus’s propo­si­tions, and the results are, well…. Lis­ten for your­self.”

5. Aldous Huxley’s Vision­ary Expe­ri­ence
Open Cul­ture: Aldous Hux­ley, Psy­che­delics Enthu­si­ast, Lec­tures About “the Vision­ary Expe­ri­ence” at MIT (1962)

“Hux­ley had already gained world­wide fame for his views on bet­ter liv­ing, which was some­times achieved, he believed, through psy­che­del­ic drugs. This might have already sound­ed like old hat in, say, the San Fran­cis­co of the late 1960s, let alone the 70s and onward, but in these record­ings Hux­ley says his piece in — I still can’t quite believe it — the MIT of the ear­ly 1960s. But diag­nosed a cou­ple years before with the can­cer that would claim his life the next, he had noth­ing to lose by spread­ing the word of his sub­stance-induced dis­cov­er­ies.”

6. Jacques Derrida’s Inter­view with Ornette Cole­man [PDF]
Open Cul­ture: Philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da Inter­views Jazz Leg­end Ornette Cole­man: Talk Impro­vi­sa­tion, Lan­guage & Racism (1997)

“Trans­lat­ing Coleman’s tech­nique into ‘a domain that I know bet­ter, that of writ­ten lan­guage,’ Der­ri­da ven­tures to com­pare impro­vi­sa­tion to read­ing, since it ‘doesn’t exclude the pre-writ­ten frame­work that makes it pos­si­ble.’ For him, the exis­tence of a framework—a writ­ten composition—even if only loose­ly ref­er­enced in a jazz per­for­mance, ‘com­pro­mis­es or com­pli­cates the con­cept of impro­vi­sa­tion.’ ”

7. Joey Ramone Sings a Piece by John Cage Adapt­ed from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake: “The Won­der­ful Wid­ow of Eigh­teen Springs,”
Open Cul­ture: Hear Joey Ramone Sing a Piece by John Cage Adapt­ed from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake

“Ramone’s inter­pre­ta­tion of the piece is enthralling sim­ply as a piece of record­ed music.  But it’s also a fas­ci­nat­ing piece of cul­tur­al his­to­ry, rep­re­sent­ing a con­flu­ence of the fore­most fig­ures in ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry mod­ernist lit­er­a­ture, mid-cen­tu­ry avant-garde music, and late cen­tu­ry punk rock.”

8. The Avant-Garde Project
Open Cul­ture: The Avant-Garde Project: An Archive of Music by 200 Cut­ting-Edge Com­posers, Includ­ing Stravin­sky, Schoen­berg, Cage & More

“Every sphere of record­ed music has its crate-dig­gers, those hap­py to flip through hun­dreds — nay, hun­dreds of thou­sands — of obscure, for­got­ten vinyl albums in search of their subgenre’s even obscur­er, more for­got­ten gems. This holds espe­cial­ly true, if not in num­ber than in avid­i­ty, for enthu­si­asts of the 20th-cen­tu­ry clas­si­cal-exper­i­men­tal-elec­troa­coustic tra­di­tion that The Avant-Garde Project takes as its preser­va­tion man­date.”

9. Alice Tok­las Reads Her Hashish Fudge Recipe
Open Cul­ture: Alice B. Tok­las Reads Her Famous Recipe for Hashish Fudge (1963)

“In this 1963 record­ing from Paci­fi­ca Radio, Tok­las reads her noto­ri­ous recipe. The snack ‘might pro­vide an enter­tain­ing refresh­ment for a Ladies’ Bridge Club or a chap­ter meet­ing of the DAR,’ Tok­las notes in her reedy, dig­ni­fied voice.”

10. Jean Bau­drillard Sings!
Open Cul­ture: Jean Bau­drillard Reads His Poet­ry, Backed By All-Star Arts Band (1996)

“Known to hip aca­d­e­m­ic types and avant-garde-ists, Bau­drillard’s maybe the kind of thinker who gets name-dropped more than read (and he’s no easy read). But in the audio clip above, he reads to us, from his poet­ry no less, while backed by the swirling abstract sounds of The Chance Band. It’s an odd, one-time, assem­blage of artists and thinkers Ubuweb describes as ‘unbe­liev­able but true!’ ”

If you’ve already seen every­thing on it, con­grat­u­la­tions: you can con­sid­er your­self a true, shall we say, OC OG.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Avant-Garde Media: The UbuWeb Col­lec­tion

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of the 1913 Exhi­bi­tion That Intro­duced Avant-Garde Art to Amer­i­ca

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

Django Reinhardt Demonstrates His Guitar Genius in Rare Footage From the 1930s, 40s & 50s

In one of my favorite Woody Allen films, Sweet and Low­down, Sean Penn plays Emmett Ray, a fic­tion­al jazz gui­tarist who embod­ies the tit­u­lar qual­i­ties in equal­ly great mea­sure. “Already con­sid­ered peer­less among Amer­i­can jazz gui­tarists,” Ray admits of only one rival—Parisian gyp­sy gui­tarist Djan­go Rein­hardt, whom Emmett wor­ships, obvi­ous­ly pat­terns him­self after, and can’t stand to see in per­son with­out faint­ing dead away. Where Ray is a tremen­dous­ly con­vinc­ing cre­ation of Allen and Penn, Rein­hardt was very much a real musi­cian, and was indeed the reign­ing king of jazz gui­tar from the 1930s to the 50s. Reinhardt’s incred­i­ble skill is all the more impres­sive con­sid­er­ing he only had use of three fin­gers on his left hand due to injuries sus­tained in a car­a­van fire in 1928.

Rein­hardt and jazz vio­lin­ist Stéphane Grap­pel­li found­ed the Quin­tette du Hot Club de France in 1934, and in the for­ties, Rein­hardt began com­pos­ing, and toured Eng­land, Switzer­land, and the U.S. as a soloist with Duke Ellington’s band. He record­ed his final album, Djan­gol­o­gy in 1949, retired in 51, and died in 53, already a leg­end, “one of the few Euro­pean musi­cians to exert a seri­ous influ­ence on the Amer­i­can art form of jazz,” writes an NPR “Week­end Edi­tion” pro­file. Django’s play­ing, “at times joy­ous, fierce and lyri­cal,” draws heav­i­ly on his Roma roots while mas­ter­ing the vocab­u­lary of swing—a lan­guage, it seems, still new to many audi­ences in 1938, when the film at the top of the post, Jazz “Hot,” was made.

In a pre­vi­ous post, Mike Springer points out the “didac­tic tone” of the first cou­ple min­utes of the doc­u­men­tary, cre­at­ed by Reinhardt’s man­ag­er Lew Grade in order to famil­iar­ize the British pub­lic with jazz in advance of the quintet’s first UK tour. The film “real­ly comes alive when Djan­go arrives on the screen,” play­ing an arrange­ment of the pop­u­lar French song “J’attendrai.” Pri­or to the UK tour, the Quin­tet du Hot Club trav­eled to the Nether­lands and played The Hague. See them in the Dutch film clip above, begin­ning at 0:34. Grap­pel­li solos while Djan­go holds down the rhythm.

By 1944, Rein­hardt was well known to jazz lovers and musi­cians alike, appear­ing at the upscale Paris cabaret Bal Tabarin in the footage above at 2:54, fol­low­ing a clip of Mar­lene Diet­rich look­ing on from the audi­ence.

In 1952, the year before his death, Rein­hardt was famous enough to be cast along­side Louis Arm­strong and Sid­ney Bechet in the French-Ital­ian film La Route de Bon­heur (titled Salu­ti e baci in Italy). In this clip, Rein­hardt enter­tains a packed train car. The song dubbed over the footage is Nuits de St. Ger­main des Pres.

See much more film and pho­tog­ra­phy of Djan­go Rein­hardt and his famous quin­tet in this bio­graph­i­cal doc­u­men­tary, The Genius of Djan­go Rein­hardt. Described as an unsta­ble and child­like man capa­ble of the most unusu­al whims, the por­trait of Rein­hardt, prac­ti­cal­ly the inven­tor of jazz gui­tar, traces his life from birth in a Roma encamp­ment in Bel­gium to his final years in semi-retire­ment. And for even more Djan­go, don’t miss this French doc­u­men­tary film, Trois doigts de genie.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Djan­go Rein­hardt and the Inspir­ing Sto­ry Behind His Gui­tar Tech­nique

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

Swedish Scientists Sneak Bob Dylan Lyrics Into Their Academic Publications For Last 17 Years

Sci­en­tists who study and write about intesti­nal gases—just like the rest of us, I guess—find it hard to resist the occa­sion­al fart joke. And when they’re John Jund­berg and Eddie Weitzberg, two pro­fes­sors at the Karolin­s­ka Insti­tute in Stock­holm, they can’t resist couch­ing their occa­sion­al fart joke in a Bob Dylan lyric, part of a now sev­en­teen-year tra­di­tion among five Swedish sci­en­tists who’ve been slip­ping Dylan lyrics into their pub­li­ca­tions, wager­ing on who can fit the most in before retire­ment.

It all began with Jund­berg and Weitzberg’s “Nitric oxide and inflam­ma­tion: the answer is blow­ing in the wind,” pub­lished in the jour­nal Nature Med­i­cine in 1997. (See Dylan play the paper’s inspi­ra­tion above in 1963.) Next came arti­cles like “Blood on the tracks: a sim­ple twist of fate” by Kon­stan­ti­nos Meletis and Jonas Frisen and “Tan­gled up in blue: Mol­e­c­u­lar car­di­ol­o­gy in the post­mol­e­c­u­lar era” by Ken­neth Chien.

The five aren’t the only sci­en­tists who try to spice up dry research pub­li­ca­tions with word­play. “If you read oth­er sci­en­tif­ic arti­cles,” ways Weitzberg, “you’ll find peo­ple try­ing to be clever in dif­fer­ent ways.” But they don’t do so at the expense of the sci­ence, or their careers: “We’re not talk­ing about sci­en­tif­ic papers—we could have got in trou­ble for that-but rather arti­cles we have writ­ten about research by oth­ers, book intro­duc­tions, edi­to­ri­als and things like that.”

The writer with the most Dylan ref­er­ences gets lunch in a restau­rant in Sol­na, a town north of Stock­holm. But thanks to inter­est from out­lets like the Wash­ing­ton Post, he may also get a few extra min­utes of fame. Weitzberg’s response? “I would much rather become famous for my sci­en­tif­ic work than for my Bob Dylan quotes, but yes, I am enjoy­ing this!”

via The Local

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Phys­i­cal Attrac­tion: Mar­riage Pro­pos­al Comes in the Form of a Physics Paper

Fake Bob Dylan Sings Real Dr. Seuss

Stu­dent Rick­rolls Teacher By Sneak­ing Rick Ast­ley Lyrics into Quan­tum Physics Paper

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

Hear the Album Björk Recorded as an 11-Year-Old: Features Cover Art Provided By Her Mom (1977)

bjork 11

Iceland’s biggest export, aside from vol­canic ash, is that pixy­ish pop singer, Björk. Or at least that’s how it seems in the Amer­i­can pop­u­lar imag­i­na­tion. Björk’s first three of albums were pret­ty much required lis­ten­ing in cer­tain cir­cles dur­ing the ‘90s.  Since then, her stature in the indie world has only grown.

Yet before she had a run of beau­ti­ful and strange mas­ter­pieces; before she was sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly tor­tured in front of the cam­era by Lars Von Tri­er in Dancer in the Dark; and before she was singing about birth­days with her break­out band The Sug­ar­cubes, Björk cut her very first album. It was 1977, and Björk was only eleven.

Björk, whose name rhymes with “work” not “pork,” land­ed the record deal after a tape of her singing Tina Charles’ 1976 dis­co hit “I Love to Love” played on Iceland’s one and only radio sta­tion. The album, called sim­ply Björk, was some­thing of a fam­i­ly affair. While Björk sang and played the flute, her step­fa­ther Sævar Árna­son played gui­tar while her mom, Hildur Hauks­dót­tir, designed the album cov­er. (See above.) Over­all, the record sounds exact­ly like what you might expect an Ice­landic album from the ‘70s sung by a tweenaged chanteuse might sound like – part Abba, part King Crim­son and part ear­ly Miley Cyrus. Björk does pret­ty groovy cov­ers of The Bea­t­les’ “Fool on the Hill” (top) and Syree­ta Wright’s “Your Kiss is Sweet (mid­dle),” both sung in Ice­landic. There’s also an equal­ly groovy psy­che­del­ic instru­men­tal track ded­i­cat­ed to painter Jóhannes Kjar­val, (below) whose work is on Ice­landic cur­ren­cy. Björk report­ed­ly went plat­inum in Ice­land. You can lis­ten to more tracks from that album on WFMU.

via WFMU

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Björk and Sir David Atten­bor­ough Team Up in a New Doc­u­men­tary About Music and Tech­nol­o­gy

Ice­land in the Mid­night Sun

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 one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

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

I write this from Toron­to, hav­ing come to explore, record inter­views in, write about, and gen­er­al­ly try to under­stand this big, busy, famous­ly diverse, and some­times form­less-seem­ing metrop­o­lis Cana­di­ans appre­ci­ate and resent in equal mea­sure. Despite the dif­fi­cul­ty of defin­ing or even describ­ing it, the city has nur­tured impres­sive minds. If not Cana­di­an your­self, you might strug­gle to come up with a list of notable Toron­to­ni­ans, but sure­ly names like Mar­garet Atwood, David Cro­nen­berg, Frank Gehry, Joni Mitchell, and Mar­shall McLuhan ring bells. Despite hav­ing passed in 1982, pianist-com­pos­er Glenn Gould may still rank as the city’s best-known cul­tur­al ambas­sador. “I’m not real­ly cut out for city liv­ing, and giv­en my druthers I’d prob­a­bly avoid all cities and live in the coun­try,” he said in 1979. “Toron­to, how­ev­er, belongs on a very short list of cities which I’ve vis­it­ed and which seem to offer to me, at any rate, peace of mind — cities which, for want of a bet­ter def­i­n­i­tion, do not oppose their city­ness upon you.”

He says it at the very begin­ning of Glenn Gould’s Toron­to, which spends the rest of its 50 min­utes explor­ing not just the city itself but Gould’s ideas of its nature. The doc­u­men­tary, which orig­i­nal­ly aired as an episode of the CBC series Cities, fol­lows him from the CN Tow­er which looms over Toron­to to the water­front (on what he calls “the least great of the Great Lakes”) to the grounds of the Cana­di­an Nation­al Exhi­bi­tion (a siz­able event with a “spir­it out of a small-town fall fair”) to the then-new city hall. Along the way, his mono­logue touch­es on the peace and qui­et Toron­to offers him, the reflex­ive dis­taste it can inspire in oth­ers, the “cul­tur­al mosa­ic” to which it plays host (some­times insis­tent­ly), the way it sur­vived the 1960s with­out endur­ing the dis­as­trous hol­low­ing-out Amer­i­can cities did, and the friend­ly rival­ry it enjoys with Mon­tre­al. Gould’s clear, ana­lyt­i­cal man­ner of speech deliv­ers a stream of point­ed obser­va­tions, dry jokes, and child­hood mem­o­ries, reveal­ing his nuanced life­long rela­tion­ship with the city: not the sim­ple one of a boost­er, nor the even sim­pler one of a detrac­tor. But then, Gould nev­er had any­thing sim­ple about him — nor, as I’ve come to find out this past week, does Toron­to.

You can find Glenn Gould’s Toron­to in our col­lec­tion of Free Doc­u­men­taries.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Glenn Gould Per­form His Last Great Stu­dio Record­ing of Bach’s Gold­berg Vari­a­tions (1981)

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

Glenn Gould Offers a Strik­ing­ly Uncon­ven­tion­al Inter­pre­ta­tion of 1806 Beethoven Com­po­si­tion

The Art of Fugue: Gould Plays Bach

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

Rare Footage of the “Human Be-In,” the Landmark Counter-Culture Event Held in Golden Gate Park, 1967

Inves­tiga­tive reporter Steve Sil­ber­man awe­some­ly flagged this video for us today. He writes:

This seems to have just sur­faced: the most com­plete record­ing of the Human Be-In in Gold­en Gate Park in 1967 that I have ever seen, by far. It opens with Allen Gins­berg and Gary Sny­der chant­i­ng, Michael McClure fol­lows, and the Grate­ful Dead (with adorable footage of Allen danc­ing) pop up at about 14:00. At 18:00, Dizzy Gille­spie is smil­ing in the audi­ence. So much myth­i­cal noumenon has piled up around these events over the decades it’s almost inevitable that the real thing seems a lit­tle banal com­pared to one’s imag­i­na­tion, but it’s still cool.

If you’re not quite famil­iar with what the Human Be-In, held on Jan­u­ary 14, 1967, was all about, let me refer you to this suc­cinct descrip­tion by a web site called Mag­ic Bus San Fran­cis­co: “Announced on the cov­er of the first edi­tion of the counter-cul­ture zine San Fran­cis­co Ora­cle, the ‘Gath­er­ing of the Tribes’ or ‘Human Be-In’ as it came to be known, was the pro­to­type of all 1960s counter cul­ture cel­e­bra­tions. The Human Be-In pre­cip­i­tat­ed the leg­endary Sum­mer of Love, and made San Francisco’s Haight-Ash­bury the epi­cen­ter of the bur­geon­ing hip­pie move­ment.

The Be-In fea­tured all the lumi­nar­ies of psy­che­del­ic counter-cul­ture, includ­ing Tim­o­thy Leary, Allen Gins­berg, Gary Sny­der, Richard Alpert (Ram Dass), Dick Gre­go­ry, Lenore Kan­del, and Jer­ry Ruben.  Many of the Haight’s best musi­cal acts also per­formed, includ­ing the Grate­ful Dead and Quick­sil­ver Mes­sen­ger Ser­vice.” As a curi­ous side note, the Dead did­n’t get a men­tion in the poster pro­mot­ing the event. Is that because they were a late addi­tion? I’m not sure.

Human_be-in_poster

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­toric LSD Debate at MIT: Tim­o­thy Leary v. Pro­fes­sor Jerome Lettvin (1967)

The Night When Miles Davis Opened for the Grate­ful Dead in 1970: Hear the Com­plete Record­ings

8,976 Free Grate­ful Dead Con­cert Record­ings in the Inter­net Archive

The Acid Test Reels: Ken Kesey & The Grate­ful Dead’s Sound­track for the 1960s Famous LSD Par­ties

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

Images of Der­ri­da and Cole­man, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

This most cer­tain­ly ranks as one of my favorite things on the inter­net, and I dear­ly wish we had audio to share with you, though I doubt any exists. What we do have is an Eng­lish trans­la­tion from the French of an inter­view that orig­i­nal­ly took place in Eng­lish between philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da and jazz great Ornette Cole­man.

Now there are those who dis­miss Der­ri­da—who con­sid­er his meth­ods fraud­u­lent. If you’re one of them, this is obvi­ous­ly not for you. For those who appre­ci­ate the turns of his thought, and the fas­ci­nat­ing pos­si­bil­i­ties inher­ent in a Der­rid­i­an approach to jazz impro­vi­sa­tion, not to men­tion the con­ver­gences and points of con­flict between these two dis­parate cul­tur­al fig­ures, read on.

The inter­view took place in 1997, “before and dur­ing Coleman’s three con­certs at La Vil­lette, a muse­um and per­form­ing arts com­plex north of Paris that hous­es, among oth­er things, the world-renowned Paris Con­ser­va­to­ry.” As I men­tioned, the two spoke in Eng­lish but, as trans­la­tor Tim­o­thy S. Murphy—who worked with a ver­sion pub­lished in the French mag­a­zine Les Inrock­upt­ibles—notes, “orig­i­nal tran­scripts could not be locat­ed.” Curi­ous­ly, at the heart of the con­ver­sa­tion is a dis­cus­sion about lan­guage, par­tic­u­lar­ly “lan­guages of ori­gin.” In answer to Derrida’s first ques­tion about a pro­gram Cole­man would present lat­er that year in New York called Civ­i­liza­tion, the sax­o­phon­ist replies, “I’m try­ing to express a con­cept accord­ing to which you can trans­late one thing into anoth­er. I think that sound has a much more demo­c­ra­t­ic rela­tion­ship to infor­ma­tion, because you don’t need the alpha­bet to under­stand music.”

As one exam­ple of this “demo­c­ra­t­ic rela­tion­ship,” Cole­man cites the rela­tion­ship between the jazz musi­cian and the composer—or his text: “the jazz musi­cian is prob­a­bly the only per­son for whom the com­pos­er is not a very inter­est­ing indi­vid­ual, in the sense that he prefers to destroy what the com­pos­er writes or says.” Cole­man goes on lat­er in the inter­view to clar­i­fy his ideas about impro­vi­sa­tion as demo­c­ra­t­ic com­mu­ni­ca­tion:

[T]he idea is that two or three peo­ple can have a con­ver­sa­tion with sounds, with­out try­ing to dom­i­nate or lead it. What I mean is that you have to be… intel­li­gent, I sup­pose that’s the word. In impro­vised music I think the musi­cians are try­ing to reassem­ble an emo­tion­al or intel­lec­tu­al puz­zle in which the instru­ments give the tone. It’s pri­mar­i­ly the piano that has served at all times as the frame­work in music, but it’s no longer indis­pens­able and, in fact, the com­mer­cial aspect of music is very uncer­tain. Com­mer­cial music is not nec­es­sar­i­ly more acces­si­ble, but it is lim­it­ed.

Trans­lat­ing Coleman’s tech­nique into “a domain that I know bet­ter, that of writ­ten lan­guage,” Der­ri­da ven­tures to com­pare impro­vi­sa­tion to read­ing, since it “doesn’t exclude the pre-writ­ten frame­work that makes it pos­si­ble.” For him, the exis­tence of a framework—a writ­ten composition—even if only loose­ly ref­er­enced in a jazz per­for­mance, “com­pro­mis­es or com­pli­cates the con­cept of impro­vi­sa­tion.” As Der­ri­da and Cole­man try to work through the pos­si­bil­i­ty of true impro­vi­sa­tion, the exchange becomes a fas­ci­nat­ing decon­struc­tive take on the rela­tion­ships between jazz and writ­ing. (For more on this aspect of their dis­cus­sion, see “Deconstructin(g) Jazz Impro­vi­sa­tion,” an arti­cle in the open access jour­nal Crit­i­cal Stud­ies in Impro­vi­sa­tion.)

The inter­view isn’t all phi­los­o­phy. It ranges all over the place, from Coleman’s ear­ly days in Texas, then New York, to the impact of tech­nol­o­gy on music, to Coleman’s com­plete­ly orig­i­nal the­o­ry of music, which he calls “har­molod­ics.” They also dis­cuss glob­al­iza­tion and the expe­ri­ence of grow­ing up as a racial minority—an expe­ri­ence Der­ri­da relates to very much. At one point, Cole­man observes, “being black and a descen­dent of slaves, I have no idea what my lan­guage of ori­gin was.” Der­ri­da responds in kind, ref­er­enc­ing one of his sem­i­nal texts, Mono­lin­gual­ism of the Oth­er:

JD: If we were here to talk about me, which is not the case, I would tell you that, in a dif­fer­ent but anal­o­gous man­ner, it’s the same thing for me. I was born into a fam­i­ly of Alger­ian Jews who spoke French, but that was not real­ly their lan­guage of ori­gin [… ] I have no con­tact of any sort with my lan­guage of ori­gin, or rather that of my sup­posed ances­tors.

OC: Do you ever ask your­self if the lan­guage that you speak now inter­feres with your actu­al thoughts? Can a lan­guage of ori­gin influ­ence your thoughts?

JD: It is an enig­ma for me.

Indeed. Der­ri­da then recalls his first vis­it to the Unit­ed States, in 1956, where there were “ ‘Reserved for Whites’ signs every­where.” “You expe­ri­enced all that?” he asks Cole­man, who replies:

Yes. In any case, what I like about Paris is the fact that you can’t be a snob and a racist at the same time here, because that won’t do. Paris is the only city I know where racism nev­er exists in your pres­ence, it’s some­thing you hear spo­ken of.

“That does­n’t mean there is no racism,” says Der­ri­da, “but one is oblig­ed to con­ceal it to the extent pos­si­ble.”

You real­ly should read the whole inter­view. The Eng­lish trans­la­tion was pub­lished in the jour­nal Genre and comes to us via Ubuweb, who host a pdf. For more excerpts, see posts at The New York­er and The Lib­er­a­tor Mag­a­zine. As inter­est­ing a read as this dou­bly-trans­lat­ed inter­view is, the live expe­ri­ence itself was a painful one for Der­ri­da. Though he had been invit­ed by the sax­o­phon­ist, Coleman’s impa­tient Parisian fans booed him, even­tu­al­ly forc­ing him off the stage. In a Time mag­a­zine inter­view, the self-con­scious philoso­pher recalled it as “a very unhap­py event.” But, he says, “it was in the paper the next day, so it was a hap­py end­ing.”

Hear more of Coleman’s thoughts on lan­guage, sound, and tech­nol­o­gy in the 2008 inter­view above (see here for Part 2). The year pre­vi­ous, in anoth­er con­junc­tion of the worlds of lan­guage and music, Cole­man was award­ed the Pulitzer Prize in music for his live album Sound Gram­mar, a title that suc­cinct­ly express­es Coleman’s belief in music as a uni­ver­sal lan­guage.

Image of Ornette Cole­man by Geert Van­de­poele

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Der­ri­da: A 2002 Doc­u­men­tary on the Abstract Philoso­pher and the Every­day Man

1959: The Year that Changed Jazz

How to Pot­ty Train Your Cat: A Handy Man­u­al by Charles Min­gus

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

Art Garfunkel Lists 1195 Books He Read Over 45 Years, Plus His 157 Favorites (Many Free)

Image by Nation­aal Archief, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

If you’ve been won­der­ing what Art Gar­funkel has been up to late­ly, the answer is that it seems that he’s been read­ing. A lot.

The lanky, curly-haired num­ber two guy for the sem­i­nal folk-rock band Simon & Gar­funkel has been keep­ing track of every sin­gle thing he has read from June 1968 until Octo­ber 2013 and he’s post­ed all of them  — 1,195 texts — on his web­site. The first item on his list is Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Con­fes­sions and the last is Witold Gom­brow­icz’s Cos­mos. In between, Gar­funkel has knocked through some seri­ous­ly daunt­ing tomes –War and Peace, Ulysses, Mid­dle­march, Remem­brance of Things Past and Immanuel Kant’s Foun­da­tions of the Meta­physics of Morals. He even report­ed­ly read the entire Ran­dom House Dic­tio­nary.

His tastes gen­er­al­ly run towards the greats of the West­ern Canon with some more pulpy works thrown in along the way. J.K. Rowl­ing, Anne Rice and Dan Brown make appear­ances, as does E. L. James’s Fifty Shades of Grey. For those who find it daunt­ing to look at a list of 1,1195 books, Gar­funkel also pro­vides a list of his 157 favorites, which includes many great pub­lic domain works found in our Free eBooks and Free Audio Books col­lec­tions. You can 15 of Art’s favorites here:

“I read for the read­ing plea­sure, not for the gold star,” Gar­funkel told Nick Paum­garten of the New York­er in an inter­view a few years back. “Read­ing is a way to take down­time and make it stim­u­lat­ing. If you’re in the wait­ing room of a dentist’s office and don’t want to twid­dle your thumbs, you turn to Tol­stoy.”
Garfunkel’s list, or “library” as his web­site calls it, cre­ates an expec­tant­ly inti­mate por­trait of the artist. In the win­ter 1970, when Simon & Gar­funkel released their biggest sell­ing album, Like a Bridge Over Trou­bled Water, just as the duo was break­ing up, Gar­funkel blew through Moby Dick and Goethe’s The Sor­rows of Young Werther before mov­ing on to Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nau­sea and then lat­er Bertrand Russell’s The Con­quest of Hap­pi­ness. When the duo reunit­ed to play their famous con­cert in Cen­tral Park in 1981, Gar­funkel pol­ished off Dick­ens’ Nicholas Nick­le­by. And when Simon & Gar­funkel was induct­ed into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Jan­u­ary 1990, he was read­ing Antho­ny Trollope’s An Auto­bi­og­ra­phy.

The one type of book he doesn’t read is post­mod­ern lit­er­a­ture. His list of some 1195 books con­tains no men­tion of the likes of Don DeLil­lo, Don­ald Barthelme or Thomas Pyn­chon. “I tried Gravity’s Rain­bow, and I thought it was fraud­u­lent,” Gar­funkel said.

Image above tak­en by Eddie Mallin.

via @pickover

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Steven Soder­bergh Posts a List of Every­thing He Watched and Read in 2009

Joseph Brodsky’s Read­ing List For Hav­ing an Intel­li­gent Con­ver­sa­tion

Carl Sagan’s Under­grad Read­ing List: 40 Essen­tial Texts for a Well-Round­ed Thinker

David Bowie’s Top 100 Books

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 one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

 

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