Kurt Cobain Lists His 50 Favorite Albums: Features LPs by David Bowie, Public Enemy & More

Top50byNirvana

Cir­cu­lat­ing ‘round the inter­net recent­ly is, wouldn’t you know it, yet anoth­er famous list of favorites. But it’s not a “lis­ti­cle,” I’d say, one of those con­coct­ed click­bait hodge­podges that crop up in every cor­ner with some­times only the most ten­u­ous, or lurid, of orga­niz­ing prin­ci­ples. While we do have a tra­di­tion of show­cas­ing lists here, they are gen­er­al­ly on the order of those organ­i­cal­ly com­piled by sin­gu­lar cre­ative minds rank­ing and order­ing their uni­vers­es. I would say these things are true of Kurt Cobain’s list of albums above, which he titles “Top 50 by Nir­vana” (see a full tran­scrip­tion at the bot­tom of the post, cour­tesy of Brook­lyn Veg­an). It not only presents a pic­ture of the late Cobain and his band­mates’ musi­cal her­itage, it also offers us a gen­uine sam­pler of a generation’s protest music—plenty of clas­sic angry ’80s hard­core punk and post-punk, lo-fi indie, a smat­ter­ing of clas­sic rock, some fringe out­siders like The Shag­gs, and a rap album at #43, the fierce­ly polit­i­cal Pub­lic Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Mil­lions to Hold Us Back, a record beloved of almost all chil­dren of the 80s.

Hav­ing had an almost iden­ti­cal musi­cal edu­ca­tion as Cobain, it seems from the list, I can’t say that I find any of the choic­es here par­tic­u­lar­ly sur­pris­ing. It almost looks to me like the ide­al code for pro­duc­ing a 90s alter­na­tive star—just add tal­ent, teen angst, and the look of a bedrag­gled home­less pup­py. But a Fla­vor­wire take on the list does call Pub­lic Ene­my (see their “Fight the Pow­er” video above) one of a hand­ful of “fas­ci­nat­ing sur­pris­es.” Oth­er than this styl­is­tic depar­ture, many of the selec­tions from the list are par­tic­u­lar­ly sig­nif­i­cant as influ­ences on Cobain’s song­writ­ing, and some of the artists list­ed are those the band cov­ered on occa­sion.

One of Cobain’s major influ­ences can also be eas­i­ly claimed by near­ly every indie artist of the 90s: Austin, Texas’ Daniel John­ston, a savant song­writer who has weath­ered a life­long strug­gle with bipo­lar dis­or­der yet pro­duced one of the most hon­est, touch­ing, and fun­ny bod­ies of work in the past few decades. Cobain namechecks Johnston’s 1983 Yip Jump Music, from which comes the song above, “Wor­ried Shoes,” an almost per­fect exam­ple of his poignant lyri­cism and deft han­dling of emo­tion­al dis­af­fec­tion. One can see the appeal of Johnston’s spare home­made folk-blues to a sen­si­bil­i­ty like Cobain’s: “I took my lucky break / And I broke it in two / Put on my wor­ried shoes / My wor­ried shoes.” Johnston’s reac­tion to the inter­est of artists like Nir­vana, Mud­honey, Beck, the But­t­hole Surfers, and Wilco is typ­i­cal­ly under­stat­ed. “Ah, it’s pret­ty cool,” he says, “The atten­tion was nice, ya know. Sells a few records.”

Cobain’s debt to David Bowie is evi­dent in his swip­ing of some of Bowie’s chord changes and melod­ic phras­ing. A touch­stone for the grunge star was “The Man Who Sold the World,” which of course the band cov­ered (above, unplugged) and which many a naïve Nir­vana fan assumes was a Cobain orig­i­nal. Cobain places the album, The Man Who Sold the World at #45. Bowie is quot­ed in rock bio Nir­vana: The Cho­sen Rejects as say­ing he was “sim­ply blown away” when he found out that Cobain liked his work. Bowie “always want­ed to talk to him about his rea­sons for cov­er­ing ‘The Man Who Sold the World’’ and said “it was a good straight for­ward ren­di­tion and sound­ed some­how very hon­est.” He also expressed sur­prise at being “part of America’s musi­cal land­scape.” How­ev­er, when young fans would approach Bowie and com­pli­ment him on his cov­er of a “Nir­vana song” after he played the tune, his reac­tions were less than polite. Accord­ing to Nicholas Pegg, Bowie said, “kids that come up after­wards and say, ‘It’s cool you’re doing a Nir­vana song.’ And I think, ‘Fuc& you, you lit­tle toss­er!’”

No short­age of ’90s artists, like their ’60s folk-rock fore­bears, named Lead­bel­ly as a pri­ma­ry influ­ence. Cobain places the icon­ic blues­man­’s Lead­bel­ly’s Last Ses­sions Vol. 1 at num­ber 33. Whether or not any­one can hear acoustic Delta blues in Nir­vana, most peo­ple are famil­iar with their unplugged cov­er of the Lead­bel­ly stan­dard “In the Pines,” aka “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” (Cobain learned the song from Scream­ing Trees singer Mark Lane­gan). Above is a rare, much dark­er, Nir­vana cov­er of the song from a boot­leg album of live record­ings called Ultra Rare Trax, per­formed at Pachy­derm Stu­dios in Can­non Falls, MN in 1993. (We will nev­er know, of course, what Lead­bel­l­ly would have thought of Kurt Cobain, though your guess­es are appre­ci­at­ed.)

If the Nir­vana list did not include Black Flag, some­one would have to add it. Cobain places the L.A. hard­core band’s My War at num­ber 11 on the list (first place is reserved for Iggy and the Stooges Raw Pow­er). Above, for­mer Black Flag vocal­ist Hen­ry Rollins explains in a 1992 seg­ment of MTV’s late-night alter­na­tive video show 120 Min­utes what he thought were the rea­sons for the band’s phe­nom­e­nal suc­cess. “It doesn’t take an idiot to real­ize that the mass media con­tin­u­al­ly under­es­ti­mates the intel­li­gence of their audi­ence,” he says, “You know how dis­sat­is­fied you’ve been with a lot of main­stream rock and roll.” Rollins goes on: “When a band like Nir­vana comes along who are kick­ing the real thing, you like it because it’s real.”

Not every one of the artists Cobain lists had such nice things to say about him in return, how­ev­er. The Sex Pis­tols’ Nev­er Mind the Bul­locks gets slot­ted at #14 on the list. In his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, for­mer Pis­tols leader and infa­mous con­trar­i­an John Lydon appar­ent­ly “reserved some ven­om for the likes of Nir­vana,” writes review­er Tim Kennedy, “com­par­ing them to the clue­less met­al bands [the Sex Pis­tols] were up against in the sev­en­ties.” For all the mil­lions of Nir­vana fans dur­ing the band’s hey­day, there was also a small con­tin­gent of kids who felt sim­i­lar­ly, no mat­ter how rar­i­fied or rep­re­sen­ta­tive Cobain’s musi­cal tastes. In some of those cas­es, no doubt, rival bands felt that way because, as Hen­ry Rollins describes it, while they were still tak­ing the bus, “the oth­er guy is sneer­ing at you from a block-long limo.”

Kurt Cobain’s Favorite Albums
1. Iggy and the Stooges, “Raw Pow­er”
2. Pix­ies, “Surfer Rosa”
3. The Breed­ers, “Pod”
4. The Vase­lines, “Pink EP”
5. The Shag­gs, “Phi­los­o­phy of the World”
6. Fang, “Land­shark”
7. MDC, “Mil­lions of Dead Cops”
8. Scratch Acid, “Scratch Acid EP”
9. Sac­cha­rine Trust, “Pagan­i­cons”
10. But­t­hole Surfers, “Pee Pee the Sailor” aka “Brown Rea­son to Live”
11. Black Flag, “My War”
12. Bad Brains, “Rock for Light”
13. Gang of Four, “Enter­tain­ment!”
14. Sex Pis­tols, “Nev­er Mind the Bol­locks”
15. The Frogs, “It’s Only Right and Nat­ur­al”
16. PJ Har­vey, “Dry”
17. Son­ic Youth, “Day­dream Nation”
18. The Knack, “Get the Knack”
19. The Saints, “Know Your Prod­uct”
20. any­thing by Kleenex
21. The Rain­coats, “The Rain­coats”
22. Young Mar­ble Giants, “Colos­sal Youth”
23. Aero­smith, “Rocks”
24. Var­i­ous Artists, “What Is It”
25. R.E.M., “Green”
26. Shon­en Knife, “Burn­ing Farm”
27. The Slits, “Typ­i­cal Girls”
28. The Clash, “Com­bat Rock”
29. The Faith/Void, “Split EP”
30. Rites of Spring, “Rites of Spring”
31. Beat Hap­pen­ing, “Jam­boree”
32. Tales of Ter­ror, “Tales of Ter­ror”
33. Lead­bel­ly, “Lead­bel­ly’s Last Ses­sions Vol. 1”
34. Mud­honey, “Super­fuzz Big­muff”
35. Daniel John­ston, “Yip/Jump Music”
36. Flip­per, “Gener­ic Flip­per”
37. The Bea­t­les, “Meet the Bea­t­les”
38. Half Japan­ese, “We Are They Who Ache With Amorous Love”
39. But­t­hole Surfers, “Locust Abor­tion Tech­ni­cian”
40. Black Flag, “Dam­aged”
41. Fear, “The Record”
42. PiL, “Flow­ers of Romance”
43. Pub­lic Ene­my, “It Takes a Nation of Mil­lions to Hold Us Back”
44. Marine Girls, “Beach Par­ty”
45. David Bowie, “The Man Who Sold the World”
46. Wipers, “Is This Real?”
47. Wipers, “Youth of Amer­i­ca”
48. Wipers, “Over the Edge”
49. Mazzy Star, “She Hangs Bright­ly”
50. Swans, “Young God”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Awkward/NSFW Inter­view with Nir­vana Pro­duc­er Steve Albi­ni (Plus B‑52 Front­man Fred Schnei­der)

Ani­mat­ed Video: Kurt Cobain on Teenage Angst, Sex­u­al­i­ty & Find­ing Sal­va­tion in Punk Music

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

David Bowie’s Final Gig as Ziggy Stardust Documented in 1973 Concert Film

We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly brought you the ori­gin sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust, David Bowie’s first and most flam­boy­ant rock & roll char­ac­ter, as well as his lat­er rec­ol­lec­tions of those times in a 1977 inter­view on Cana­di­an tele­vi­sion. Above, see the doc­u­men­tary that marked the end of that piv­otal era, D.A. Pennebaker’s Zig­gy Star­dust and the Spi­ders from Mars, a con­cert film of Bowie’s last show as the glam rock kabu­ki space alien. (Part 1 can be found above, remain­ing parts reside here.) Bowie had grown tired of the char­ac­ter, feel­ing forced by his man­ag­er Tony DeFries to put on big­ger, more elab­o­rate stage shows (though there is spec­u­la­tion that record com­pa­ny RCA refused to finance planned US and Cana­di­an sta­di­um shows). In a lat­er rec­ol­lec­tion, Bowie stat­ed he was ready to move on:

I want­ed the whole Main­Man thing away from me. It was cir­cusy. I was nev­er much of an entourage per­son — I hat­ed all of that. It’s a relief for all these years … not have a con­stant stream of peo­ple fol­low­ing me around to the point where, when I sat down, fif­teen oth­er peo­ple sat down. It was unbear­able. I think Tony [DeFries] saw him­self as a Sven­gali type, but I think I would have done okay any­way. Now, I look back on it with amuse­ment more than any­thing else.

Along with broth­ers Albert and David Maysles, who made Gimme Shel­ter, Pen­nebak­er had an uncan­ny knack for being in the right place at exact­ly the right time in music his­to­ry. His Dont Look Back defined Bob Dylan for a gen­er­a­tion and launched the much-imi­tat­ed pro­to-music video with cue cards for “Sub­ter­ranean Home­sick Blues.”

The epony­mous Mon­terey Pop doc­u­ment­ed the explo­sive 1967 fes­ti­val that “crystallize[d] the ener­gy of a coun­ter­cul­ture that by then seemed both bless­ed­ly inevitable and dan­ger­ous­ly embat­tled,” accord­ing to Robert Christ­gau. In 1973, Pen­nebak­er found him­self again posi­tioned per­fect­ly to doc­u­ment a piv­otal moment—the end of Bowie’s Zig­gy Star­dust per­sona at London’s Ham­mer­smith Odeon in what became known as “The Retire­ment Gig.”

Pen­nebak­er, who’d only just signed on dur­ing the final Lon­don leg of the tour to make a full-length film and who knew lit­tle of Bowie’s music, was as sur­prised as any­one when Bowie announced Ziggy’s retire­ment by say­ing “this show will stay the longest in our mem­o­ries, not just because it is the end of the tour but because it is the last show we’ll ever do.” No one knew at the time that Bowie would return, trans­formed into Aladdin Sane in an album of the same name that year (with the same band—watch them do a ver­sion of Lou Reed’s “White Light/White Heat” above at 1:18:10, a track record­ed for, but cut from, 1973 cov­ers album Pin Ups). The farewell con­cert opened with a med­ley of Bowie songs on solo piano per­formed by Mike Gar­son, who called the show “phe­nom­e­nal” (hear Garson’s med­ley above, begin­ning at 2:30, after the intro­duc­tion).

The retire­ment gig was the 60th of 40 tour dates on the third Zig­gy UK tour and was, in fact, a replace­ment for a can­celled gig at Earl’s Court. Find a full list of the set here. Bowie and the Spi­ders were joined onstage by Jeff Beck for two songs before Bowie’s farewell speech, but Beck lat­er had him­self cut from Pennebaker’s film, unhap­py with his solos, and per­haps his wardrobe. Though Beck was Bowie gui­tarist Mick Ronson’s hero, Ron­son remem­bers being too dis­tract­ed to be over­whelmed: “I was too busy look­ing at his flares. Even by our stan­dards, those trousers were exces­sive!” See grainy boot­leg footage from the show of Beck and his trousers in “Jean Genie,” and a snip­pet of “Love Me Do” (above), and Chuck Berry’s “Round and Round” (below).

via Net­work Awe­some

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust: How David Bowie Cre­at­ed the Char­ac­ter that Made Him Famous

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

Lego Video Shows How David Bowie Almost Became “Cob­bler Bob,” Not “Aladdin Sane”

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

New Jerry Garcia Web Site Features 5,000 Hours of Free Music, Plus Some Fantastic Archival Material

jerry siteA lit­tle some­thing for the Dead Heads among us. JerryGarcia.com  relaunched this past week, and boy does it deliv­er. Run by Gar­ci­a’s fam­i­ly, the new site offers great visu­al time­lines of the singer-song­writer’s life and the 26 bands he played with; a cool look at the many gui­tars he owned and loved; inter­ac­tive maps that let you fol­low 10 Grate­ful Dead tours from 1970 to 1993. You can also lis­ten to the shows them­selves, which have been archived gra­cious­ly by Archive.org — some­thing we’ve told you about before. In total, the new site will lead you to 5,000 hours of record­ed music and 3,450 shows, accord­ing to Rolling Stone. It’s a beau­ti­ful thing to see Jer­ry’s life and music being cel­e­brat­ed in such an open way.

Relat­ed Con­tent:   

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks

8,976 Free Grate­ful Dead Con­cert Record­ings in the Inter­net Archive, Explored by the New York­er

The Grate­ful Dead’s “Ulti­mate Boot­leg” Now Online & Added to the Library of Con­gress’ Nation­al Record­ing Reg­istry

Jer­ry Gar­cia Talks About the Birth of the Grate­ful Dead & Play­ing Kesey’s Acid Tests in New Ani­mat­ed Video

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 8 ) |

Neil Young Performs Classic Songs in 1971 Concert: “Old Man,” “Heart of Gold” & More

A the­o­ry of mer­it states that Neil Young rein­vents him­self every 10 years or so, but the work in-between isn’t always pret­ty. Yet for an artist with a some­what lim­it­ed range, he remains one of the most inter­est­ing singers and song­writ­ers in rock and roll well over four decades after his start. Young once played gui­tar in a garage band with Rick James in 1965 called the Mynah Birds; released a sur­pris­ing­ly lis­ten­able elec­tro album in 1982 com­plete with Gior­gio Morodor-like synths and vocoders; and last year, record­ed a col­lec­tion of folk stan­dards like “Oh, Susan­na” and “She’ll Be Com­ing ‘Round the Moun­tain” in the style of 1979’s Rust Nev­er Sleeps (an album, Paul Nel­son wrote at the time, that “burns [rock & roll] to the ground”). In-between the styl­is­tic leaps and inno­va­tions are some painful­ly mediocre albums and some that define, or rather rede­fine, gen­res. One of the lat­ter, Young’s 1972 Har­vest picked up and refined the folk-rock of his first band Buf­fa­lo Springfield’s self-titled 1966 debut—an album wide­ly cred­it­ed with the cre­ation of folk-rock.

Har­vest—by any account one of Young’s best albums and the high­est-sell­ing of ’72—produced “Heart of Gold,” “Old Man,” and, indi­rect­ly led to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alaba­ma” (writ­ten in response to Har­vest’s anti-seg­re­ga­tion rock­er, “Alaba­ma”). It’s a sur­pris­ing­ly qui­et album for the impact it’s had, and it set the stan­dard for lat­er folk-acoustic Young albums like 1992’s Har­vest Moon and 2000’s Sil­ver & Gold. And as much as Young can destroy a venue with a full-on elec­tric attack (even now!), he can mes­mer­ize an audi­ence with just an acoustic gui­tar, piano, har­mon­i­ca, and casu­al ban­ter, even while play­ing a suite of songs they’d nev­er heard before. See him do so above in a 1971 con­cert live at the BBC’s Shep­herds Bush Empire The­atre. Young plays four songs that would appear on Har­vest: “Out on the Week­end,” “Old Man,” “Heart of Gold,” and “A Man Needs a Maid.” He also does “Jour­ney Through the Past” and “Love in Mind,” which would appear two years lat­er on the bleak 1973 Time Fades Away, and “Don’t Let it Bring You Down,” a song from 1970’s bril­liant After the Gold Rush. Young per­formed the last song, “Dance Dance Dance,” with Cros­by, Stills, and Nash, but it went unre­leased in a stu­dio ver­sion until the 2009 box set The Archives, Vol­ume 1: 1963–1972.

Some fur­ther evi­dence of Young’s con­tin­ued rel­e­vance: just last week, he per­formed a series of shows at Carnegie Hall, and audi­ence mem­bers took video of sev­er­al songs, includ­ing the title track to Har­vest (above). It’s a song Young almost nev­er played live until 2007. Onstage, alone, with acoustic and harp, he is still, forty-three years lat­er, a mes­mer­iz­ing pres­ence.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

‘The Nee­dle and the Dam­age Done’: Neil Young Plays Two Songs on The John­ny Cash Show, 1971

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

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

Quentin Tarantino Lists His Favorite Records: Bob Dylan, Freda Payne, Phil Ochs and More

Quentin Taran­ti­no cares about music, as you can tell from watch­ing any of his films, from his max­i­mal­ly dis­com­fit­ing use of Steal­ers Wheel’s “Stuck in the Mid­dle with You” in Reser­voir Dogs on out. A Tele­graph arti­cle on that song’s writer Ger­ry Raf­fer­ty describes it as “writ­ten as a par­o­dy of Bob Dylan’s para­noia,” “lit­tle more than a joke but with a catchy pop arrange­ment” that unex­pect­ed­ly sold more than a mil­lion copies. If Taran­ti­no has a fas­ci­na­tion with Dylan par­o­dies, then he has an even deep­er fas­ci­na­tion with the real thing, as revealed in a post on his ten favorite records from Uncut’s Michael Bon­ner. He pulled Taran­ti­no’s selec­tions and com­ments from an inter­view he con­duct­ed with the direc­tor back around the time of Pulp Fic­tion. Above, you can watch Dylan play “Tan­gled Up in Blue,” which Taran­ti­no calls his “all-time favorite song,” “one of those songs where the lyrics are ambigu­ous you can actu­al­ly write the song your­self.” (Hear the orig­i­nal record­ing here.)

Just above, we have Fre­da Payne per­form­ing “Band of Gold,” anoth­er of Taran­ti­no’s choice cuts, on Soul Train in 1970. “This is just so cool,” he says. “It’s a com­bi­na­tion of the way it’s pro­duced, the cool pop/R&B sound, and Freda’s voice. Its kin­da kitschy in a way – y’know, it’s got a real­ly up-tem­po tune – and, the first few times I heard it, I was, like, total­ly into the cool­ness of the song. It was only on the third or fourth lis­ten I realised the lyrics were so fuck­ing heart­break­ing.” Below you’ll find a cut from Phil Ochs’ I Ain’t March­ing Any­more, which Taran­ti­no calls “one of my favorite protest/folk albums. While Dylan was a poet Ochs was a musi­cal jour­nal­ist: he was a chron­i­cler of his time, filled with humor and com­pas­sion. He’d write songs which would seem very black and white, and then, in the last verse, he’d say some­thing which, like, com­plete­ly shat­tered you.” This par­tic­u­lar song, “Here’s To The State of Mis­sis­sip­pi,” he con­sid­ers “every­thing the movie Mis­sis­sip­pi Burn­ing should have been.”

In Bon­ner’s Uncut post, you can read Taran­ti­no’s fur­ther thoughts on Bob Dylan, his dec­la­ra­tion of Elvis’ finest era, and his film scores of choice. And speak­ing of things cin­e­mat­ic, see also our lists of Taran­ti­no’s favorite films since 1992, his ten favorite films of last year, and what he deems the twelve great­est films of all time.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Imper­son­ates His Idol, Elvis Pres­ley

Jim Jar­musch: The Art of the Music in His Films

The Rolling Stones at 50: Mick, Kei­th, Char­lie & Ron­nie Revis­it Their Favorite Songs

Mick Jones Plays Three Favorite Songs by The Clash at the Library

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

Read Beethoven’s Lengthy Love Letter to His Mysterious “Immortal Beloved” (1812)

ImmortalBeloved

If you’ve ever seen the 1994 fea­ture film where Gary Old­man plays Lud­wig van Beethoven, you know the sig­nif­i­cance of the words “Immor­tal Beloved” from which it takes its title. But have you seen the actu­al arti­fact that inspired it? “Around 1812 Beethoven wrote a long let­ter (10 pages) to a woman who he was obvi­ous­ly quite tak­en with,” says the blog LvB and More. “Sad­ly we will nev­er know for cer­tain who it was. How­ev­er the let­ter itself was dis­cov­ered after Beethoven’s death in a secret draw­er where he also kept the Heili­gen­stadt Tes­ta­ment, some sav­ings and some pic­tures.” There you can find images of the let­ter in ques­tion (the first two pages appear above, the sec­ond two below) and a trans­la­tion from LVBeethoven.com, faith­ful right down to the com­poser’s line breaks, which begins as fol­lows:

July 6
In the morn­ing-

My angel, my all
my self — only a few
words today, and indeed with pen­cil
(with yours)
only tomor­row is my lodg­ing pos­i­tive­ly fixed
what a worth­less waste
of time on such — why
this deep grief, where
neces­si­ty speaks -
can our love exist but
by sac­ri­fices
by not demand­ing every­thing
can you change it, that you
not com­plete­ly mine. I am not
com­plete­ly yours — Oh God

ImmortalBeloved2

Despite the best efforts of Beethoven’s biog­ra­phers (and of the wide­ly dis­put­ed the­o­ry on which the afore­men­tioned movie oper­ates), igno­rant we remain of the iden­ti­ty of the Immor­tal Beloved to whom Beethoven addressed such words of pas­sion. Still, don’t let that stop you from draw­ing your own con­clu­sions, such as you can from exam­i­na­tion of the pages them­selves, also avail­able for perusal at Fu$k Yeah Man­u­scripts. You may remem­ber them from our post on the draw­ings Dos­toyevsky did as he wrote his nov­els, and from there you can draw the cor­rect con­clu­sion that the site offers a deep well of intrigu­ing works in progress, pieces of cor­re­spon­dence, cris de coeur, and var­i­ous com­bi­na­tions there­of.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Slavoj Žižek Exam­ines the Per­verse Ide­ol­o­gy of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy

Beethoven’s Ode to Joy Played With 167 Theremins Placed Inside Matryosh­ka Dolls in Japan

Richard Feynman’s Let­ter to His Depart­ed Wife: “You, Dead, Are So Much Bet­ter Than Any­one Else Alive” (1946)

James Joyce’s “Dirty Let­ters” to His Wife (1909)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

In 1968, Artist Imagines What John, Paul, George & Ringo Will Look Like When They’re 64

beatles64

When I get old­er los­ing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be send­ing me a valen­tine
Birth­day greet­ings bot­tle of wine?

Paul McCart­ney’s wist­ful song “When I’m Six­ty-Four” was released on the Bea­t­les’ 1967 album Sgt. Pep­per’s Lone­ly Hearts Club Band. The next year, an artist named Michael Leonard tried to imag­ine what the young musi­cians might look like four decades lat­er — on their 64th birth­days. We nev­er got a chance to fig­ure out whether he sized up Lennon and Har­ri­son cor­rect­ly. But we know that Paul, even at 71 today, nev­er got jow­ly. And Ringo nev­er went the suit route. You can see for your­self when the two per­form at the Gram­mys on Jan­u­ary 26.

Don’t miss any­thing from Open Cul­ture. Sign up for our Dai­ly Email or RSS Feed. And we’ll send cul­tur­al curiosi­ties your way, every day. 

Relat­ed con­tent 

Flash­mob Per­forms The Bea­t­les’ ‘Here Comes the Sun’ in Madrid Unem­ploy­ment Office

Eric Clapton’s Iso­lat­ed Gui­tar Track From the Clas­sic Bea­t­les Song, ‘While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps’ (1968)

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

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 5 ) |

Patti Smith Documentary Dream of Life Beautifully Captures the Author’s Life and Long Career (2008)

My wife jokes that I’m pre­ten­tious for my love of what she calls “tiny awards” on the cov­ers of movies—little lau­rel leaf-bound seals of fresh­ness from the art film fes­ti­val cir­cuit. It’s true, I near­ly always bite when unknown films come to me preap­proved. Were I to encounter the cov­er of the 2008 Pat­ti Smith doc­u­men­tary Dream of Life I should be forced to watch it even if were I total­ly igno­rant of Pat­ti Smith. It won sev­er­al tiny awards—including a Sun­dance Prize for best cin­e­matog­ra­phy, a well-deserved hon­or that shows direc­tor Steven Sebring’s high regard for his sub­ject. Any worth­while film about Smith—singer, writer, poet, artist—must priv­i­lege the visu­al as well as the musi­cal and lit­er­ary. Smith’s world has always been one of high con­trast and dan­ger­ous pre­science, like the work of her child­hood friend, pho­tog­ra­ph­er Robert Map­plethor­pe, with whom she moved to the Chelsea Hotel in 1969 and who took the icon­ic pho­to on the cov­er of her first album, Hors­es. Her and Mapplethorpe’s sto­ried part­ner­ship helped both take New York City by storm. As a young Smith says above, “New York is the thing that seduced me; New York is the thing that formed me; New York is the thing that deformed me.”

Born in Chicago—“mainline of Amer­i­ca” she calls it—Smith’s fam­i­ly moved across the Mid­west to rur­al New Jer­sey. Her work also bespeaks of an expe­ri­ence of East­ern Migra­tion, with nos­tal­gic traces of long­ing for open spaces. The film opens with a gal­lop­ing herd of hors­es, nod­ding to Smith’s 1975 debut, a blast of punk poet­ry that still sounds men­ac­ing and raw. But the documentary’s title comes from a 1988 record that marked a sort of cesura for Smith, as one peri­od of her life end­ed and anoth­er wait­ed to begin. Pro­duced by her hus­band, Fred “Son­ic” Smith (for­mer­ly of the MC5), whom she met in 1976, it’s an album of “pol­ished love songs, lul­la­bies, and polit­i­cal state­ments” and it’s a very grown-up record, the some­times adult con­tem­po­rary sound saved from bland­ness by Smith’s com­pelling lyri­cism and beau­ti­ful voice.

Fred “Son­ic” Smith fell ill not long after the album, and Pat­ti retired, more or less, from music. She returned to per­form­ing and record­ing after her husband’s death in 1994, after the loss also of her broth­er and Map­plethor­pe. Always an intense­ly emo­tion­al writer and per­former, her lat­er peri­od is marked by memo­ri­als and med­i­ta­tions on loss—not unusu­al for an old­er poet and long­time sur­vivor of rock and roll, as well as the lit­er­ary and art worlds. All of Smith’s many changes occur before us above as she remem­bers and reflects in her poet’s voice over that Sun­dance-win­ning cin­e­matog­ra­phy. It’s hard to imag­ine anoth­er document—save her Nation­al Book Award-win­ning mem­oir Just Kids—doing more jus­tice to Smith’s vision than Dream of Life.

This comes to us via BrainPicking’s Maria Popo­va, who points us toward a cof­fee-table book of pho­tographs from the film. The select­ed few she fea­tures are stun­ning indeed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith Reads Her Final Words to Her Dear Friend Robert Map­plethor­pe

1976 Film Blank Gen­er­a­tion Doc­u­ments CBGB Scene with Pat­ti Smith, The Ramones, Talk­ing Heads, Blondie & More

Four Female Punk Bands That Changed Women’s Role in Rock

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

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast