A History of Pussy Riot: Watch the Band’s Early Performances/Protests Against the Putin Regime

Recent­ly attacked by Cos­sacks in Sochi and by black-clad men with green anti­sep­tic in Moldo­va, Nadezh­da Tolokon­niko­va and Maria Alyokhi­na have, since their Decem­ber release from a two-year prison sen­tence, remained the very pub­lic faces of the punk band/ag­it-prop col­lec­tive known as Pussy Riot. The two also con­tin­ue to raise the band’s pro­file in the States. Last month alone, they appeared on The Col­bert Report and onstage with Madon­na at a star-stud­ded Amnesty Inter­na­tion­al event.

Not only promi­nent activists for prison reform, Nadia and Masha—as they’re called in the HBO doc­u­men­tary Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayerhave become celebri­ties. (So much so that oth­er most­ly anony­mous mem­bers of the group have dis­owned them, cit­ing among oth­er things issues with “per­son­al­i­ty cult.”) The HBO doc begins with pro­files of the women, as does a new book, Words Will Break Cement: The Pas­sion of Pussy Riot, by Russ­ian jour­nal­ist Masha Gessen.

In an inter­view Fri­day for KQED in San Fran­cis­co  (above), Gessen—a les­bian moth­er who recent­ly moved to the Unit­ed States for fear of persecution—describes how Vladimir Putin, Pussy Riot’s pri­ma­ry tar­get, has regained his pop­u­lar­i­ty with the Russ­ian peo­ple after his aggres­sions at the Ukraine bor­der and Crimea’s Sun­day vote for seces­sion. She cites, for exam­ple, alarm­ing poll num­bers of only 6% of Rus­sians who oppose an inva­sion of Ukraine. Yet at the time of Pussy Riot’s infa­mous per­for­mance at a Moscow cathe­dral in Feb­ru­ary of 2012, which led to Tolokin­niko­va and Alyokhina’s impris­on­ment, the anti-Putin protest move­ment made the auto­crat­ic ruler very ner­vous.

Voina_umved

Gessen sketch­es the his­to­ry of the move­ment in her inter­view (and details it in the book). At first the protests involved the sit­u­a­tion­ist antics of per­for­mance art col­lec­tive Voina—“War”—(see Tolokon­niko­va, above at far right, with oth­er Voina mem­bers in 2008). The fem­i­nist punk band has only emerged in the past three years, when Voina’s art-school pranks became Pussy Riot’s provo­ca­tions days after Putin announced his intent to return to the pres­i­den­cy.

One month before the cathe­dral per­for­mance that sent Nadia and Masha to prison, the band appeared in their trade­mark flu­o­res­cent dress­es and bal­a­clavas in Red Square (top). Only three months pri­or, on Octo­ber 1, 2011, they released their first song, “Ubey sek­sista” (“Kill the Sex­ist”) and—as mem­bers of Voina—announced the arrival of Pussy Riot, a rad­i­cal oppo­si­tion to the author­i­tar­i­an­ism, patri­archy, and crony cap­i­tal­ism they allege char­ac­ter­ize Putin’s rule.

In Novem­ber of 2011, Pussy Riot staged its first pub­lic per­for­mance (above), scal­ing atop scaf­fold­ing and Moscow trol­ley and sub­way cars while scat­ter­ing feath­ers and danc­ing to their song “Osvo­bo­di Bruschatku” (“Release the Cob­ble­stones”). The song rec­om­mends that Rus­sians throw cob­ble­stones in street protests because–as Salon quotes from the group’s blog—“ballots will be used as toi­let paper” in the approach­ing elec­tions.

The col­lec­tive next released the video for “Kropotkin Vod­ka” (above), fea­tur­ing a mon­tage of pub­lic appear­ances in fash­ion­able loca­tions around Moscow. The loca­tions were cho­sen, the band writes, specif­i­cal­ly as “for­bid­den sites in Moscow.” More from their (Google-trans­lat­ed) blog below:

The con­certs were held in pub­lic places [for] wealthy putin­ists: bou­tiques in the cap­i­tal, at fash­ion shows, lux­u­ry cars and roofs close to Krem­lin bars […] Per­for­mances includ­ed arson and a series of musi­cal occu­pa­tions [of] glam­orous areas of the cap­i­tal.

The song takes its title and inspi­ra­tion from Peter Kropotkin, the 19th cen­tu­ry Russ­ian aris­to­crat-turned-anar­cho-com­mu­nist intel­lec­tu­al.

In their open let­ter pub­licly releas­ing their two most promi­nent mem­bers from the group, six mem­bers of Pussy Riot write that the “ideals of the group” Nadia and Masha have alleged­ly aban­doned were pre­cise­ly “the cause for their unjust pun­ish­ment.” The two have become, they say, “insti­tu­tion­al­ized advo­cates of pris­on­ers’ rights.” And yet in mid-Decem­ber, 2011, the band per­formed their song “Death to Prison, Free­dom to Protests” on the rooftop of a deten­tion cen­ter hold­ing oppo­si­tion lead­ers and activists. This was at the height of the anti-Putin move­ment when upwards of 100,000 peo­ple took to the streets of Moscow chant­i­ng “Rus­sia with­out Putin” and “Putin is a Thief” and demand­ing free elec­tions.

Pussy_Riot_by_Igor_Mukhin

While most of us only heard of Pussy Riot after their arrest and tri­al for the cathe­dral stunt, their “break­through per­for­mance,” writes Salon, occurred  one month ear­li­er at the Red Square appear­ance at the top of the post. This was when the band decid­ed to “take revolt to the Krem­lin,” and coin­cid­ed with promis­es from Putin to reform elec­tions. “The rev­o­lu­tion should be done by women,” said one mem­ber at the time. “For now, they don’t beat us or jail us as much.” The sit­u­a­tion would turn rather quick­ly only weeks lat­er, and it was with Pussy Riot, says Gessen, that the wave of arrests and beat­ings of pro­test­ers began. The band’s cur­rent schism comes just as the anti-Putin move­ment seems to be frac­tur­ing and los­ing resolve, and the future of demo­c­ra­t­ic oppo­si­tion in Putin’s increas­ing­ly bel­liger­ent Rus­sia seems entire­ly uncer­tain.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Slavoj Žižek & Pussy Riot’s Nadezh­da Tolokon­niko­va Exchange An Extra­or­di­nary Series of Let­ters

Fear of a Female Plan­et: Kim Gor­don (Son­ic Youth) on Why Rus­sia and the US Need a Pussy Riot

Russ­ian Punk Band, Sen­tenced to Two Years in Prison for Derid­ing Putin, Releas­es New Sin­gle

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

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

A film that began its life as a script called Who Killed Bam­bi?, writ­ten by Roger Ebert and Russ Mey­er, The Great Rock and Roll Swin­dle (trail­er below) became a far­ci­cal caper star­ring the Sex Pis­tols minus their lead singer. John­ny Rot­ten had quit the band at this point and appears only in archival footage. Most­ly The Great Rock and Roll Swin­dle was a vehi­cle for Mal­colm McLaren to sell him­self as the guru of punk and the dri­ving force behind the band. Direct­ed by Julien Tem­ple (who also made the far supe­ri­or Sex Pis­tols doc, The Filth and the Fury), Swin­dle is also notable for almost launch­ing a Sid Vicious solo career, and it might have worked, were it not for his epi­cal­ly destruc­tive flame-out in 1978.

The film saw release two years lat­er, and pro­duced a sound­track album, which I remem­ber find­ing in a used record bin—pre-Google—and think­ing I’d dis­cov­ered some long lost Sex Pis­tols album. One lis­ten dis­abused me of the notion. Some of album is a snap­shot of the band’s sham­bol­ic final days, but most of it is devot­ed to “jokey mate­r­i­al” from the movie and most of that is pret­ty ter­ri­ble. The sole excep­tion is Sid’s ver­sion of Paul Anka’s “My Way” (top), a sneer­ing piss take on the song Sina­tra made famous. After some obnox­ious faux-croon­ing, Sid tears through song with punk aplomb. All­mu­sic apt­ly describes the per­for­mance as “inar­guably remark­able” yet show­ing that Sid was “inca­pable of com­pre­hend­ing the irony of his sit­u­a­tion.”

The moment of the per­for­mance itself is bathed in sad irony. I’ve always thought it showed that—had he just a lit­tle more instinct for self-preservation—we might have some­day seen Sid Vicious record­ing an album’s worth of brat­ty takes on the Amer­i­can Song­book, but prob­a­bly at McLaren’s behest. What more he might have had in him is any­one’s guess; in life he seemed unable to rise above the role McLaren assigned him in the film “Gim­mick.” But he made it look good. Those famil­iar with Alex Cox’s defin­i­tive por­trait Sid and Nan­cy will of course remem­ber Gary Oldman’s recre­ation of Sid’s “My Way” (above). Con­vinc­ing stuff, but no sub­sti­tute for the real thing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sid Vicious and Nan­cy Spun­gen Take Phone Calls on New York Cable TV (1978)

Watch the Sex Pis­tols’ Very Last Con­cert (San Fran­cis­co, 1978)

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock

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

See The Guidonian Hand, the Medieval System for Reading Music, Get Brought Back to Life

guidoneanhand

Singing a piece of music for the first time while read­ing the notes from a sheet is hard, and requires com­plete con­trol of one’s vocals. Today, the most pop­u­lar ways of teach­ing this skill to musi­cians are based on the solfège method, where notes on a scale are matched to par­tic­u­lar syl­la­bles: your stan­dard do, re, mi, fa, so la, si. Stu­dents prac­tice singing dif­fer­ent com­bi­na­tions of these syl­la­bles, using vary­ing rhythms and inter­vals, and even­tu­al­ly cement their knowl­edge of that par­tic­u­lar scale.  The method is, sur­pris­ing­ly, almost a mil­le­ni­um old, with the first Euro­pean use of this mnemon­ic tech­nique dat­ing back to the mid­dle ages.

In the 11th cen­tu­ry, a monk known as Gui­do of Arez­zo, began to use the “Guidon­ian hand” as way to teach medieval music singers his hexa­chord, or six-note scales. Arez­zo, who had also devised the mod­ern musi­cal nota­tion sys­tem, had noticed that singers strug­gled to remem­ber the var­i­ous Gre­go­ri­an chants that the monas­tic orders per­formed in the monas­ter­ies.

To help their mem­o­riza­tion, Gui­do decid­ed to take the first syl­la­ble in each line of the well known hymn Ut Queant Lax­is, and cre­at­ed a hexa­chord, or six note scale, that singers famil­iar with the hymn already knew: ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la.  The hand, shown above, was a map of the musi­cal notes in this hexa­chord sys­tem, with each note asso­ci­at­ed with a par­tic­u­lar joint. In all, the Guidon­ian hand ranges almost three octaves. Although it had fall­en out of use for the past few cen­turies, the Guidon­ian hand seems to be mak­ing a come­back. Here’s a video of the method in action, for­ward­ed our way by Anton Hecht, an Open Cul­ture read­er:

I love the con­cept, but can’t help feel that using the Guidon­ian hand dur­ing a per­for­mance makes you look a lit­tle like a first grad­er strug­gling with basic arith­metic.

For more infor­ma­tion on the Guidon­ian hand, check out this write­up of a 2011 Stan­ford sym­po­sium, and watch anoth­er demon­stra­tion video, here.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lis­ten to a Record­ing of a Song Writ­ten on a Man’s Butt in a 15-Cen­tu­ry Hierony­mus Bosch Paint­ing

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

Dis­cov­er the “Brazen Bull,” the Ancient Greek Tor­ture Machine That Dou­bled as a Musi­cal Instru­ment

Explo­sive Cats Imag­ined in a Strange, 16th Cen­tu­ry Mil­i­tary Man­u­al

David Bowie and Cher Sing Duet of “Young Americans” and Other Songs on 1975 Variety Show

David Bowie and Cher: the com­bi­na­tion sounds so incon­gru­ous, but then you think about it and real­ize the two could hard­ly have more in com­mon. Two singers of the same gen­er­a­tion, close indeed in age but both (whether through their sen­si­bil­i­ties or through var­i­ous cos­met­ic tech­nolo­gies) per­pet­u­al­ly youth­ful; both per­form­ers of not exact­ly rock and not exact­ly pop, but some oscil­lat­ing form between that they’ve made whol­ly their own; both mas­ters of the dis­tinc­tive­ly flam­boy­ant and the­atri­cal; both giv­en to some­times rad­i­cal changes of image through­out the course of their careers; and both imme­di­ate­ly iden­ti­fi­able by just one name. The only vast dif­fer­ence comes in their per­for­mance sched­ules: Bowie, despite releas­ing an acclaimed album The Next Day last year, seems to have quit play­ing live shows in the mid-2000s, while Cher’s con­tin­u­ing tours grow only more lav­ish.

Long before this cur­rent stage of Bowie and Cher’s lives as musi­cal icons, the two came togeth­er on an episode of the lat­ter’s short-lived solo (i.e., with­out ex-hus­band Son­ny Bono, with whom she’d host­ed The Son­ny & Cher Show) tele­vi­sion vari­ety show, sim­ply titled Cher. On the broad­cast of Novem­ber 23, 1975, Bowie and Cher sang “Young Amer­i­cans,” at the top, “Can You Hear Me,” just above, and bits of oth­er songs besides.

Watch these clips not just for the per­for­mances, and not just for the out­fits — cos­tumes, real­ly, espe­cial­ly when you con­sid­er Cher’s even then-famous vari­ety of arti­fi­cial hair­styles — but for the video effects, which by mod­ern stan­dards look like some­thing out of a late-night pub­lic-access cable pro­gram. An espe­cial­ly trip­py set of visu­als accom­pa­nies Bowie’s solo moment on the episode below, singing about the one qual­i­ty that per­haps unites he and Cher more than any oth­er: “Fame.” And lots of it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie Sings ‘I Got You Babe’ with Mar­i­anne Faith­full in His Last Per­for­mance As Zig­gy Star­dust

David Bowie Releas­es Vin­tage Videos of His Great­est Hits from the 1970s and 1980s

David Bowie Recalls the Strange Expe­ri­ence of Invent­ing the Char­ac­ter Zig­gy Star­dust (1977)

David Bowie’s Top 100 Books

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.

Watch Stephen Sondheim (RIP) Teach a Kid How to Sing “Send In the Clowns”

Stephen Son­deim’s  “Send in the Clowns,” like the much man­gled “Mem­o­ry” from the much maligned musi­cal CATS, has weath­ered any num­ber of ill-advised inter­pre­ta­tions.

The show-stop­ping solo from 1973’s A Lit­tle Night Music’ref­er­ence to clowns is not meant to be lit­er­al, but that did­n’t stop the Mup­pet Show from send­ing a trio of them in to back Judy CollinsFrank Sina­tra peeked around on every cho­rus, as if he’d yet to come to grips with the fact that Bozo would­n’t be pop­ping up on cue.

It’s mis­in­ter­pre­ta­tions like these that set com­posers spin­ning in their graves, but Sond­heim is still very much in the game. His approach to musi­cal the­ater con­tin­ues to be exact­ing, no doubt nerve wrack­ing, though the Guild­hall School of Music and Dra­ma stu­dent he’s fine-tun­ing in the video above bears up brave­ly.

She’s a cou­ple of decades too young to play Desiree, whose unsuc­cess­ful attempt to woo an old lover away from his teenage bride occa­sions the song, but no mat­ter. Her adjust­ments show the div­i­dends a close read­ing of the text can pay.

See what you can do with Sond­heim’s advice next time you’re singing in the show­er, the only place pri­vate enough for me to believe I’m doing cred­it to his oeu­vre. Those of us who can’t sing can take heart know­ing that the orig­i­nal Desiree, Gly­nis Johns, could­n’t either, at least by the mas­ter’s usu­al stan­dards. The song’s unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly short phras­ing allowed her to shine as an actress, and deflect­ed from any vocal short­com­ings.

Here are the lyrics. If you need fur­ther inspi­ra­tion, watch Ing­mar Bergman’s Smiles of a Sum­mer Night, on which A Lit­tle Night Music is based.

Those who are more direc­tor than diva may pre­fer to eval­u­ate the per­for­mances below. In my opin­ion, at least one of them mer­its a firm rap on the knuck­les from Mae­stro Sond­heim for exces­sive wal­low­ing. (Hint for those whose time is short: we’ve saved the best for last.)

Judi Dench, Desiree in the 1995 Roy­al Nation­al The­atre revival, per­form­ing at the BBC Proms 2010, in hon­or of Sond­heim’s 80th birth­day.

Glenn Close, anoth­er Night Music vet at Carnegie Hall.

Car­ol Bur­nett stuck close to the spir­it of the orig­i­nal in a non-com­ic sketch for her 1970’s vari­ety show, costar­ring the late Har­vey Kor­man.

Bernadette Peters, the 2010 Broad­way revival’s Desiree, at South­ern Methodist Uni­ver­si­ty. Her accom­pa­nist seems pret­ty hap­py with this per­for­mance. 

Dame Judi again, show­ing us how it’s done, in cos­tume on the edge of a giant red bed, with Lau­rence Gui­t­tard as Fred­erik. Have a han­kie ready at the 3:10 mark.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Tay­lor Teach­es You to Play “Car­oli­na in My Mind,” “Fire and Rain” & Oth­er Clas­sics on the Gui­tar

David Lynch Teach­es Louis C.K. How to Host The David Let­ter­man Show

What Books, Movies, Songs & Paint­ings Could Have Entered the Pub­lic Domain on Jan­u­ary 1, 2014?

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the musi­cal­ly ungift­ed Bride of Urine­town. Fol­low her  @AyunHalliday

The Last Time Lennon & McCartney Played Together Captured in A Toot And a Snore in ’74

The num­ber of Bea­t­les bootlegs—in every pos­si­ble medi­um and state of quality—must approach infin­i­ty. A per­son could spend a life­time acquir­ing, cat­a­logu­ing, scru­ti­niz­ing, and dis­cussing the rel­a­tive mer­its of var­i­ous out­takes, live record­ings, demos, and stu­dio goof-offs from the band and its indi­vid­ual mem­bers. It should go with­out say­ing that a great many of these arti­facts have more his­tor­i­cal than musi­cal inter­est, giv­en their frag­men­tary and unse­ri­ous nature—and the sim­ple bar­ri­ers posed by bad record­ing. But while I imag­ine some angry anti­quar­i­an or zeal­ous devo­tee inter­ject­ing here to tell me that absolute­ly every­thing the fab four touched turned direct­ly to gold, I remain unsold on this arti­cle of faith.

So where are we aver­age fans to place A Toot and a Snore in ’74, the boot­leg album (above) record­ed at Bur­bank Stu­dios and fea­tur­ing musi­cal con­tri­bu­tions from Ste­vie Won­der, Har­ry Nils­son, Jesse Ed Davis, and Bob­by Keys? Well, its his­tor­i­cal val­ue is beyond ques­tion, since it rep­re­sents the only known record of John Lennon and Paul McCart­ney play­ing togeth­er after the Bea­t­les’ breakup. Though their mutu­al dis­like at this time was well-estab­lished and they hadn’t seen each oth­er in three years, the tapes doc­u­ment a very laid-back ses­sion with the two legends—John on lead vocal and gui­tar, Paul singing har­monies and play­ing Ringo’s drumkit—letting go of the past and hav­ing some fun again. Lennon first men­tioned the record­ing while dis­cussing the pos­si­bil­i­ty of reunion in the 1975 inter­view below (he’s sur­pris­ing­ly warm to the idea). At 1:45, he says, “I jammed with Paul. We did a lot of stuff in LA. There was 50 oth­er peo­ple play­ing, but they were all just watch­ing me and Paul.”

How does McCart­ney remem­ber the ses­sion? “Hazy,” he said in a 1997 inter­view, “for a num­ber of rea­sons.” The drugs were sure­ly one of them. The title refers to Lennon offer­ing Ste­vie Won­der coke in the open­ing track: “do you want a snort Steve? A toot? It’s going round….” The impromp­tu gath­er­ing con­vened on March 28 dur­ing the record­ing of Har­ry Nilsson’s Pussy Cats, which Lennon was pro­duc­ing. This was dur­ing Lennon’s so-called “lost week­end,” the year and a half dur­ing which he sep­a­rat­ed from Yoko, lived with their assis­tant May Pang, and did some seri­ous drink­ing and drugs (as well as record­ing three albums).

Pang, who was present and plays tam­bourine, recalls it as a night of “joy­ous music” in her 1983 book Lov­ing John, but you prob­a­bly had to be there to ful­ly appre­ci­ate it. As Richard Met­zger at Dan­ger­ous Minds notes, “it’s basi­cal­ly just a drunk, coked-up jam ses­sion.” But, he adds, “a drunk, coked-up jam ses­sion of great his­tor­i­cal sig­nif­i­cance.” And for that rea­son alone, it’s worth a lis­ten. Or, if you like, you can read a tran­script of the ram­ble and ban­ter over at Boot­leg Zone. Con­sist­ing of lots of stu­dio crosstalk, noodling improv, and a few attempt­ed cov­ers, the ses­sion was released by Ger­many’s Mis­tral Music in 1992, cred­it­ed sim­ply to “John and Paul.”

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Bea­t­les: Unplugged Col­lects Acoustic Demos of White Album Songs (1968)

The 10-Minute, Nev­er-Released, Exper­i­men­tal Demo of The Bea­t­les’ “Rev­o­lu­tion” (1968)

Hear the 1962 Bea­t­les Demo that Dec­ca Reject­ed: “Gui­tar Groups are on Their Way Out, Mr. Epstein”

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

Listen to Tree Rings Getting Played on a Turntable and Turned into Music

There’s some­thing odd­ly sooth­ing about lis­ten­ing to music on vinyl. Regard­less of what dig­i­tal music lovers say, and irre­spec­tive of the fact that the same sound may be pro­duced dig­i­tal­ly, die-hard vinyl fans will tell you that noth­ing com­pares to the warm scratch­i­ness of a nee­dle on a record. I don’t have a horse in the race, but hav­ing grown up with a record play­er in my bed­room, I can’t help but slip into a brief rever­ie when­ev­er I hear an old Satch­mo record spin­ning on a turntable.

In an ele­gant twist on the digital/analog bat­tle, Ger­man-born Bartholomäus Traubeck has cre­at­ed Years, a “record play­er that plays slices of wood,” using a process that trans­lates the data from the tree’s year rings into music. This process is, how­ev­er, com­plete­ly dig­i­tal. Instead of using a nee­dle to pick up the sound from the record’s grooves, Traubeck used a tiny cam­era to cap­ture the image of the wood, and dig­i­tal­ly trans­formed this data into piano tones. More than mere­ly a clever con­trap­tion, how­ev­er, Years is also an intrigu­ing inter­ac­tion between the phys­i­cal and the tem­po­ral. As Traubeck notes,

 “On reg­u­lar vinyl, there is this groove that rep­re­sents how­ev­er long the track is. There’s a phys­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the length of the audio track that’s imprint­ed on the record. The year rings are very sim­i­lar because it takes a very long time to actu­al­ly grow this struc­ture because it depends on which record you put on of those I made. It’s usu­al­ly 30 to 60 or 70 years in that amount of space. It was real­ly inter­est­ing for me to have this visu­al rep­re­sen­ta­tion of time and then trans­late it back into a song which it wouldn’t orig­i­nal­ly be.”

A lit­tle con­vo­lut­ed? Don’t wor­ry. Play the video above, and enjoy the eerie melody.

via Live­Science

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman, or read more of his writ­ing at the Huff­in­g­ton Post.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

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

A Song of Our Warm­ing Plan­et: Cel­list Turns 130 Years of Cli­mate Change Data into Music

Glob­al Warm­ing: A Free Course from UChica­go Explains Cli­mate Change

Har­vard Thinks Green: Big Ideas from 6 All-Star Envi­ron­ment Profs

How Cli­mate Change Is Threat­en­ing Your Dai­ly Cup of Cof­fee

 

Louis Armstrong Plays Historic Cold War Concerts in East Berlin & Budapest (1965)

In its effort to under­mine the Sovi­et Union’s claims to cul­tur­al suprema­cy dur­ing the Cold War, the CIA found­ed the Con­gress of Cul­tur­al Free­dom (CCF), which spon­sored lit­er­ary jour­nals, bal­let and mod­ernist musi­cal per­for­mances, and mod­ern art exhi­bi­tions. The CCF also sent jazz musi­cians like Ben­ny Good­man, Dizzy Gille­spie, Dave Brubeck, and Duke Elling­ton to Europe, Latin Amer­i­ca, and Africa. Fore­most among the “Good­will Jazz Ambas­sadors” was Louis Arm­strong.

From 1955 on, Arm­strong trav­eled the world, per­form­ing with his All Stars in sup­port of U.S. inter­ests abroad. Arm­strong and his All Stars began their tours in Europe, where he became known as “Ambas­sador Satch.” His pop­u­lar­i­ty among sol­diers and civil­ians on both sides of the Berlin wall was leg­endary: “No bound­ary was closed to Louis,” said bassist Arvell Shaw. In a 1955 inter­view, Arm­strong recalled that dur­ing a con­cert in West Berlin fans “slipped over the Iron Cur­tain” to hear him play.

Arm­strong and the All Stars returned to Berlin sev­er­al times in the fol­low­ing years. Ten years after their first Euro­pean tour, they appeared in East Berlin in March of 1965, play­ing two sets, includ­ing pop­u­lar tunes like “Hel­lo, Dol­ly,” “How High the Moon,” and “Mack the Knife.” Jazz his­to­ri­an Ricky Ric­car­di observes that this was “a his­toric tour as it marked the first—and only—time Louis cracked the Iron Cur­tain.” Ric­car­di also calls Armstrong’s ensem­ble “one of the finest edi­tions of Armstrong’s All Stars.” See the full East Berlin per­for­mance at the top of the post.

That same year, Arm­strong and band brought their jazz diplo­ma­cy to Budapest, con­tribut­ing to the long­stand­ing love of Amer­i­can jazz in the Hun­gar­i­an city, which now hosts a Louis Arm­strong Fes­ti­val in the near­by town of Vác (and once had its own “Satch­mo Jazz Café”). You can hear a record­ing of the Budapest con­cert in two parts, above and below.

Despite the last­ing impres­sion Arm­strong left all over the world, his tours involved some con­tro­ver­sy. He faced crit­i­cism from African-Amer­i­can press at home when, dur­ing his 1965 East Berlin appear­ance, he “refused to be drawn into a dis­cus­sion of the race prob­lem in the Unit­ed States.” He is quot­ed as say­ing “I’ve got no griev­ances… I have been treat­ed fine in the South.” The cen­sure was per­haps a lit­tle unfair. Accord­ing to Ric­car­di, Arm­strong react­ed angri­ly to the vio­lent abuse of pro­test­ers in Sel­ma ear­li­er that month, mak­ing head­lines with the com­ment “They would beat Jesus if he was black and marched.” Nev­er­the­less, once on the oth­er side of the wall, Arm­strong stayed mum on racial con­flict in the Deep South.

Arm­strong also took a very point­ed stand for civ­il rights a few years ear­li­er. In 1957, furi­ous over Arkansas gov­er­nor Orval Faubus’ use of Nation­al Guard troops to block the inte­gra­tion of Cen­tral High School in Lit­tle Rock, Arm­strong famous­ly can­celed a tour to the Sovi­et Union and only resumed his ambas­sador tours after Eisen­how­er inter­vened. At first, learn­ing of events in Lit­tle Rock, Arm­strong told Lar­ry Lubenow, a 21-year-old jour­nal­ism stu­dent, “it’s get­ting almost so bad a col­ored man hasn’t got any coun­try.” Eisen­how­er, he said, was “two faced” and had “no guts.”

It was in part this protest—and the hyp­o­crit­i­cal U.S. deploy­ment of black per­form­ers abroad as rep­re­sen­ta­tives of rights they were denied at home—that inspired Dave Brubeck and his wife Iola to write a satir­i­cal jazz musi­cal called The Real Ambas­sadors, fea­tur­ing Louis Arm­strong as a per­former and main char­ac­ter of the dra­ma (hear an excerpt above). In the musi­cal “Pops,” Armstrong’s nick­name in the busi­ness, trav­els to a fic­tion­al African coun­try to spread the gospel of Amer­i­can democ­ra­cy, well aware of the irony of his sit­u­a­tion: “though he rep­re­sents the gov­ern­ment, the gov­ern­ment don’t rep­re­sent him.” Arm­strong saw the musical—which had only one live per­for­mance, at the Mon­terey Jazz Fes­ti­val in 1962—as an oppor­tu­ni­ty to address the com­plex racial issues sur­round­ing his role as an ambas­sador for a seg­re­gat­ed nation.

The set­ting of the Brubecks’ musical—where “Pops” the char­ac­ter is made “king or a day”—came from Armstrong’s tours in Africa, par­tic­u­lar­ly his 1956 trip to Ghana as a guest of Kwame Nkrumah. As you can see in the film above—shot by CBS and Edward R. Murrow—Armstrong was indeed treat­ed like a king on his arrival to the new­ly-inde­pen­dent West African coun­try. Audi­ences, includ­ing Prime Min­is­ter Nkrumah, to whom Arm­strong ded­i­cates “Black and Blue,” sit rapt as the All Stars per­form at the Opera House in Accra.

On his flight home after the tour, Arm­strong rubbed elbows with anoth­er world leader, then-vice pres­i­dent Richard Nixon. Nixon, writes KCRW’s Tom Schn­abel, “was a big fan, and chat­ted with Satch­mo through­out the flight back.” Oth­er ver­sions of the sto­ry have Nixon meet­ing Arm­strong at Dulles Air­port, and some say the two met in Paris. In each ver­sion, how­ev­er, Armstrong—who “loved mar­i­jua­na and smoked it everyday”—gets Nixon to unwit­ting­ly car­ry a trum­pet case full of “fine Ghana­ian weed” through cus­toms. The sto­ry may well be apoc­ryphal, but it speaks to Arm­strong’s can­ny, sub­ver­sive role as America’s fore­most “good­will jazz ambas­sador.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Louis Arm­strong Plays Trum­pet at the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids; Dizzy Gille­spie Charms a Snake in Pak­istan

Dizzy Gille­spie Runs for US Pres­i­dent, 1964. Promis­es to Make Miles Davis Head of the CIA

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

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

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