An Ancient Philosophical Song Reconstructed and Played for the First Time in 1,000 Years

Above and below, you can watch musi­cians per­form “Songs of Con­so­la­tion,” a 1,000-year-old song set “to the poet­ic por­tions of Roman philoso­pher Boethius’ mag­num opus The Con­so­la­tion of Phi­los­o­phy,” an influ­en­tial medieval text writ­ten dur­ing the 6th cen­tu­ry. Accord­ing to Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty, the per­for­mance of the piece, which had been lost in time until recent­ly, did­n’t come eas­i­ly:

[T]he task of per­form­ing such ancient works today is not as sim­ple as read­ing and play­ing the music in front of you. 1,000 years ago, music was writ­ten in a way that record­ed melod­ic out­lines, but not ‘notes’ as today’s musi­cians would recog­nise them; rely­ing on aur­al tra­di­tions and the mem­o­ry of musi­cians to keep them alive. Because these aur­al tra­di­tions died out in the 12th cen­tu­ry, it has often been thought impos­si­ble to recon­struct ‘lost’ music from this era – pre­cise­ly because the pitch­es are unknown.

Now, after more than two decades of painstak­ing work on iden­ti­fy­ing the tech­niques used to set par­tic­u­lar verse forms, research under­tak­en by Cam­bridge University’s Dr Sam Bar­rett has enabled him to recon­struct melodies from the redis­cov­ered leaf of the 11th cen­tu­ry ‘Cam­bridge Songs’.

The song is per­formed here by Ben­jamin Bag­by, Han­na Mar­ti and Nor­bert Rodenkirchen, three mem­bers of the medieval music ensem­ble known as Sequen­tia.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

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:

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Lis­ten to a Recon­struc­tion That’s “100% Accu­rate”

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

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

Hear the Song Writ­ten on a Sinner’s But­tock in Hierony­mus Bosch’s Paint­ing The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights

Hear Classical Music Composed by Friedrich Nietzsche

A philoso­pher per­haps more wide­ly known for his prodi­gious mus­tache than for the vari­eties of his thought, Friedrich Niet­zsche often seems to be mis­read more than read. Even some­one like Michel Fou­cault could gloss over a cru­cial fact about Nietzsche’s body of work: Fou­cault remarked in an unpub­lished inter­view that Nietzsche’s “won­der­ful ideas” were “used by the Nazi Par­ty.” But that use, he neglect­ed to men­tion, came about through a scheme hatched by Nietzsche’s sis­ter, after his men­tal col­lapse and death, to edit, change, and oth­er­wise manip­u­late the thinker’s work in a way The Tele­graph deemed “crim­i­nal.” Fou­cault may not have known the full con­text, but Niet­zsche had about as much sym­pa­thy for fas­cism as he did for Christianity—both rea­sons for his break with com­pos­er Richard Wag­n­er.

What Niet­zsche loved most was music. Even in the wake of this scan­dal, with Niet­zsche ful­ly reha­bil­i­tat­ed at the schol­ar­ly lev­el at least, the philoso­pher is gen­er­al­ly read piece­meal, used to prop up some ide­ol­o­gy or crit­i­cal the­o­ry or anoth­er, a ten­den­cy his anti-sys­tem­at­ic, apho­ris­tic work inspires.

A more holis­tic approach yields two impor­tant gen­er­al obser­va­tions: Niet­zsche found the mun­dane work of pol­i­tics and nation­al­ist con­quest, with its trib­al­ism and moral pre­ten­sions, thor­ough­ly dis­taste­ful. Instead, he con­sid­ered the cre­ative work of artists, writ­ers, and musi­cians, as well as sci­en­tists, of para­mount impor­tance.

Niet­zsche almost entered med­i­cine and was him­self an artist: “before he engaged him­self ful­ly as a philoso­pher, he had already cre­at­ed a sub­stan­tial out­put as poet and com­pos­er,” writes Albany Records. In an 1887 let­ter writ­ten three years before his death, Niet­zsche claimed, “There has nev­er been a philoso­pher who has been in essence a musi­cian to such an extent as I am,” though he also admit­ted he “might be a thor­ough­ly unsuc­cess­ful musi­cian.” In any case, he hoped that at least some of his com­po­si­tions would become known and heard as com­ple­men­tary to his philo­soph­i­cal project.

Now seri­ous read­ers of Niet­zsche, or those sim­ply curi­ous about his musi­cian­ship, can hear some of his com­po­si­tions online. The music ranges from spright­ly to pen­sive, roman­tic to mourn­ful, and some of it seems to come right out of the Protes­tant hym­nals he grew up with as the son of a Luther­an min­is­ter. Niet­zsche com­posed music through­out his life—a com­plete chronol­o­gy spans the years 1854, when he was only ten, to 1887. See The Niet­zsche Chan­nel for a thor­ough list of pub­lished Niet­zsche record­ings and sheet music.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ancient Philo­soph­i­cal Song Recon­struct­ed and Played for the First Time in 1,000 Years

Lis­ten to Music Playlists to Help You Study Like Niet­zsche, Socrates, Kant & Oth­er Great Thinkers

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

Nietzsche’s 10 Rules for Writ­ing with Style

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Friedrich Nietzsche’s Life & Thought

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

 

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A Newly Discovered Recording Lets You Hear Delta Blues Legend Robert Johnson in Stunning Clarity

Great swathes of rock music since the nine­teen-six­ties would nev­er have exist­ed, we’re some­times told, were it not for the record­ings of Robert John­son. Cer­tain­ly the likes of Kei­th Richards, Eric Clap­ton, Robert Plant, and Bob Dylan have nev­er hes­i­tat­ed to acknowl­edge his influ­ence. “From the first note the vibra­tions from the loud­speak­er made my hair stand up,” Dylan writes in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy of his first encounter with John­son’s music. “The stab­bing sounds from the gui­tar could almost break a win­dow. When John­son start­ed singing, he seemed like a guy who could have sprung from the head of Zeus in full armor. I imme­di­ate­ly dif­fer­en­ti­at­ed between him and any­one else I had ever heard.” Not bad for a record­ing old­er than Dylan him­self.

In the ear­ly nine­teen-six­ties, the blues as John­son played it seems to have sound­ed elec­tri­fy­ing­ly rev­e­la­to­ry to the gen­er­a­tion of then-young musi­cians who man­aged to hear it, regard­less of their own ori­gins. All such record­ings date from 1936 or 1937, the fruits of just two ses­sions in makeshift Texas stu­dios over­seen by pro­duc­er Don Law.

Though the “king of the Delta blues singers” left behind only this small body of work after his still-unex­plained death at the age of 27, it’s been end­less­ly scru­ti­nized by the gen­re’s enthu­si­asts. All of them will sure­ly regard as a god­send the new­ly dis­cov­ered shel­lac mas­ter test press­ing above of “Cross Road Blues,” a song that plays an out­sized part in the leg­end of Robert John­son, who some say sold his soul to the dev­il at just such a loca­tion in exchange for his for­mi­da­ble gui­tar skills.

Though it con­tains no ref­er­ence to any such unholy pact, nor to any denizen of the under­world, “Cross Road Blues” does have a haunt­ing sound that goes with the shad­owy ambi­ence of the man’s short life sto­ry. Some of that had to do with the less-than-ide­al qual­i­ty of the record­ings that have long cir­cu­lat­ed, but this test press­ing of John­son’s sec­ond take sounds dif­fer­ent. Uploaded by sound restor­er Nick Del­low, it was orig­i­nal­ly made in 1940 straight from the met­al mas­ter by Colum­bia Records pro­duc­er George Avakian, who would go on to work with every­one from Miles Davis to Edith Piaf to John Cage. The son­ic mud­di­ness of most Robert John­son releas­es thus far has done its part to pre­vent mod­ern-day lis­ten­ers from get­ting quite what the big deal was about him. But per­haps the unprece­dent­ed clar­i­ty of this record­ing will get the hair of young musi­cians and mature con­nois­seurs alike stand­ing on end.

via Ted Gioia

Relat­ed con­tent:

Kei­th Richards Shows Us How to Play the Blues, Inspired by Robert John­son, on the Acoustic Gui­tar

Cov­er­ing Robert Johnson’s Blues Became a Rite of Rock ‘n’ Roll Pas­sage: Hear Cov­ers by The Rolling Stones, Eric Clap­ton, Howl­in’ Wolf, Lucin­da Williams & More

Robert John­son Final­ly Gets an Obit­u­ary in The New York Times 81 Years After His Death

Jimi Hen­drix Plays the Delta Blues on a 12-String Acoustic Gui­tar in 1968, and Jams with His Blues Idols, Bud­dy Guy & B.B. King

The Leg­end of How Blues­man Robert John­son Sold His Soul to the Dev­il at the Cross­roads

A Brief His­to­ry of Mak­ing Deals with the Dev­il: Nic­colò Pagani­ni, Robert John­son, Jim­my Page & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

10,000 Chicago Concert Recordings Are Being Uploaded to the Internet Archive: Nirvana, Phish, Sonic Youth, They Might Be Giants & More

Per­haps you’ve had the expe­ri­ence of mov­ing to a new city and imme­di­ate­ly being told that you’ve missed its gold­en age of live music. To an extent, this has hap­pened in more or less every peri­od of the past fifty or six­ty years. But what if the per­son regal­ing you with those sto­ries had an archive of more than 10,000 con­cert record­ings to back them up? Chicago’s Aadam Jacobs has made just such an archive, and a few years ago he and it became the sub­ject of Katlin Schnei­der’s doc­u­men­tary Melo­ma­ni­ac. Apart from their sto­ries of Jacobs’ exploits with his increas­ing­ly bulky record­ing rig, the var­i­ous rock musi­cians and club own­ers inter­viewed there­in express one con­cern above all: what will become of all his tapes in the future?

As so often, the Inter­net Archive has come to save the day. At its new­ly opened Aadam Jacobs Archive, you can now lis­ten to near­ly 2,500 of the con­cert record­ings that vol­un­teers have dig­i­tized and uploaded so far. In that more than a ter­abyte of files, you’ll find con­certs by Nir­vana, Phish, Tra­cy Chap­man, Depeche Mode, Flam­ing Lips, Stere­o­lab, Liz Phair, Son­ic Youth, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Björk, They Might Be Giants (record­ed four times in 1988 alone), and the Mekons, among many oth­ers.

If you have a cer­tain taste in rock — and espe­cial­ly if you belong to a cer­tain gen­er­a­tion — you may well, in the full­ness of time, find a Jacobs-record­ed show by your favorite band. But you’re just as like­ly to dis­cov­er a per­for­mance by the best act you’ve nev­er heard of before.

Pur­su­ing his avo­ca­tion of con­cert-record­ing with the indus­tri­ous­ness of a pro­fes­sion­al, and indeed an obses­sive one, Jacobs cap­tured mul­ti­ple shows each night at the height of his activ­i­ty. He has his par­tic­u­lar tastes, as empha­sized in Melo­ma­ni­ac, but also demon­strates remark­ably lit­tle dis­crim­i­na­tion about which bands are “cool” and which aren’t, to say noth­ing of their lev­el of com­mer­cial suc­cess. When Chica­go musi­cians first saw Jacobs’ famil­iar long-haired, heavy-back­packed fig­ure turn up at their own shows, they knew they had a chance of “mak­ing it.” Even so, as Jacobs acknowl­edges, there’s scant cor­re­la­tion between which bands blew up, which bands he likes as peo­ple, and which bands have cre­at­ed his favorite records. His tapes con­sti­tute a valu­able record of the sound of Chica­go between the eight­ies and the twen­ty-tens, and it will only grow more so, the more acces­si­ble it becomes. But as we enjoy it, we should also bear in mind the efforts of the man who cre­at­ed it, and the love of music he per­son­i­fies. Enter the archive here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed con­tent:

Jam­Base Launch­es a New Video Archive of 100,000 Stream­ing Con­certs: Phish, Wilco, the Avett Broth­ers, Grate­ful Dead & Much More

The Live Music Archive Lets You Stream/Download More Than 250,000 Con­cert Recordings–for Free

Stream a Mas­sive Archive of Grate­ful Dead Con­certs from 1965–1995

Rock Scene: Browse a Com­plete Online Archive of the Irrev­er­ent Mag­a­zine That Chron­i­cled the 1970s Rock & Punk Scene

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

Nir­vana Before They Were Nir­vana: Watch Their 1988 Per­for­mance Record­ed in a Radio Shack

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

John Cage’s Silent, Avant-Garde Piece 4′33″ Gets Covered by a Death Metal Band

When we think of silence, we think of med­i­ta­tive stretch­es of calm: hikes through desert­ed for­est paths, an ear­ly morn­ing sun­set before the world awakes, a stay­ca­tion at home with a good book. But we know oth­er silences: awk­ward silences, omi­nous silences, and—in the case of John Cage’s infa­mous con­cep­tu­al piece 4’33”—a mys­ti­fy­ing silence that asks us to lis­ten, not to noth­ing, but to every­thing. Instead of focus­ing our aur­al atten­tion, Cage’s for­mal­ized exer­cise in lis­ten­ing dis­pers­es it, to the ner­vous coughs and squeak­ing shoes of a rest­less audi­ence, the cease­less ebb and flow of traf­fic and breath­ing, the ambi­ent white noise of heat­ing and AC…

and the sus­pend­ed black noise of death met­al….

We’re used to see­ing 4’33” “per­formed” as a clas­si­cal exer­cise, with a dig­ni­fied pianist seat­ed at the bench, osten­ta­tious­ly turn­ing the pages of Cage’s “score.” But there’s no rea­son at all the exercise—or hoax, some insist—can’t work in any genre, includ­ing met­al. NPR’s All Songs TV brings us the video above, in which “64 years after its debut per­for­mance by pianist David Tudor,” death met­al band Dead Ter­ri­to­ry lines behind their instru­ments, tunes up, and takes on Cage: “There’s a set­up, earplugs go in, a brief gui­tar chug, a drum-stick count-off and… silence.”

As in every per­for­mance of 4’33”, we’re drawn not only to what we hear, in this case the sounds in what­ev­er room we watch the video, but also to what we see. And watch­ing these five met­al­heads, who are so used to deliv­er­ing a con­tin­u­ous assault, nod their heads solemn­ly in silence for over four min­utes adds yet anoth­er inter­pre­tive lay­er to Cage’s exper­i­ment, ask­ing us to con­sid­er the per­for­ma­tive avant-garde as a domain fit not only for rar­i­fied clas­si­cal and art house audi­ences but for every­one and any­one.

Also, despite their seri­ous­ness, NPR reminds us that Dead Territory’s take is “anoth­er in a long line of 4′33″ per­for­mances that under­stand Cage had a sense of humor while expand­ing our musi­cal uni­verse.” Cage hap­pi­ly gave his exper­i­ments to the world to adapt and impro­vise as it sees fit, and—as we see in his own per­for­mance of 4’33” in Har­vard Square—he was hap­py to make his own changes to silence as well.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch John Cage Play His “Silent” 4′33″ in Har­vard Square, Pre­sent­ed by Nam June Paik (1973)

The Curi­ous Score for John Cage’s “Silent” Zen Com­po­si­tion 4′33″

When the Berlin Phil­har­mon­ic Per­formed John Cage’s Icon­ic Piece 4′33″, Cap­tur­ing the Soli­tude of the Pan­dem­ic (2020)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

Discover the Retirement Home for Elderly Musicians Created by Giuseppe Verdi: Created in 1899, It Still Lives On Today

Among my works, the one I like best is the Home that I have had built in Milan for accom­mo­dat­ing old singers not favored by for­tune, or who, when they were young did not pos­sess the virtue of sav­ing. Poor and dear com­pan­ions of my life! 

Giuseppe Ver­di

Is there a rem­e­dy for the iso­la­tion of old age?

What about the jol­ly fra­ter­ni­ty and com­pet­i­tive­ness of an art col­lege dorm, as envi­sioned by opera com­pos­er Giuseppe Ver­di?

Short­ly before his death, the com­pos­er donat­ed all roy­al­ties from his operas to the con­struc­tion and admin­is­tra­tion of a lux­u­ri­ous retreat for retired musi­cians, designed by his librettist’s broth­er, archi­tect Camil­lo Boito.

Com­plet­ed in 1899, Casa Ver­di still serves elder­ly musi­cians today—up to 60 at a time. Res­i­dents of Casa Ver­di include alum­nae of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Opera and the Roy­al Opera House. Guests have worked along­side such nota­bles as Chet Bak­er and Maria Callas.

Com­pe­ti­tion for res­i­den­tial slots is stiff. To qual­i­fy, one must have been a pro­fes­sion­al musi­cian or music teacher. Those select­ed enjoy room, board, and med­ical treat­ment in addi­tion to, writes The New York Times, “access to con­certs, music rooms, 15 pianos, a large organ, harps, drum sets and the com­pa­ny of their peers.” Musi­cal pro­gram­ming is as con­stant as the fine view of Verdi’s grave.

Din­ing tables are named in hon­or of Verdi’s works. Those inclined to wor­ship do so in a chapel named for San­ta Cecil­ia, the patron saint of musi­cians.

Prac­tice rooms are alive with the sound of music and crit­i­cism. As Casa Verdi’s music ther­a­pist told the Finan­cial Times, “They are very com­pet­i­tive: they are all pri­ma don­nas.”

When mem­o­ry fails, res­i­dents can tune in to such doc­u­men­taries as actor Dustin Hoffman’s Tosca’s Kiss, below

Get a peek inside Verdi’s retire­ment home for artists, com­pli­ments of Urban Sketch­ers here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2018.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How a Dutch “Demen­tia Vil­lage” Improves Qual­i­ty of Life with Inten­tion­al Design

Meet Nadia Boulanger, “The Most Influ­en­tial Teacher Since Socrates,” Who Men­tored Philip Glass, Leonard Bern­stein, Aaron Cop­land, Quin­cy Jones & Oth­er Leg­ends

How Music Can Awak­en Patients with Alzheimer’s and Demen­tia

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and the­ater mak­er in NYC.

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How Kraftwerk’s 22-Minute Song “Autobahn” Became an Early Masterpiece in Electronic Music (1975)

It takes about five hours to dri­ve from Düs­sel­dorf to Ham­burg on the Auto­bahn. Dur­ing that stretch, you can lis­ten to Kraftwerk’s album Auto­bahn sev­en times — or if you pre­fer, you can loop its epony­mous open­ing song thir­teen times. For it was “Auto­bahn,” more so than Auto­bahn, that changed the sound of music around the world in ways we still hear today. “Ger­many was sud­den­ly on the musi­cal map,” writes the Guardian’s Tim Jonze. “David Bowie – who used to ride the auto­bahn while lis­ten­ing to the record – moved to Berlin and went on to make the elec­tron­i­cal­ly influ­enced Low, “Heroes” and Lodger. Bri­an Eno relo­cat­ed to the rur­al vil­lage of Forst to record with the influ­en­tial avant-garde band Har­mo­nia.” Soon would come the elec­tron­ic pop of Ultra­vox, DAF and the Eury­th­mics, fol­lowed by Don­na Sum­mer and Gior­gio Moroder’s flood­gate-open­ing “I Feel Love”.

Not a bad pop-cul­tur­al coup for, as Jonze puts it, “a 22-minute 43-sec­ond song about the Ger­man road net­work.” At the time of its release in ear­ly 1975, Kraftwerk had put out three full albums, but what would become their sig­na­ture Teu­ton­ic-elec­tron­ic sound had­n’t quite tak­en shape. But it was already clear that their work took its inspi­ra­tion from twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry moder­ni­ty, a sub­ject of which no sin­gle work of man in their home­land could have been more evoca­tive than the Auto­bahn.

With its ori­gins in the Weimar Repub­lic and its long stretch­es with­out a speed lim­it, the Ger­man free­way net­work is inter­na­tion­al­ly regard­ed as a con­crete sym­bol of total per­son­al free­dom, and total per­son­al respon­si­bil­i­ty, with­in a high­ly rule-respect­ing cul­ture. To the young mem­bers of Kraftwerk, who often drove the Düs­sel­dorf-Ham­burg sec­tion, it held out the promise of free­dom.

So did the then-new Min­i­moog syn­the­siz­er, which cost as much as a Volk­swa­gen at the time, but offered the chance to make music like noth­ing the pub­lic had ever heard before. “Auto­bahn” cap­tured the imag­i­na­tions of lis­ten­ers every­where with not just its elec­tron­ic effects, but also the incon­gruity of their com­bi­na­tion with instru­ments like the flute (a holdover from Kraftwerk’s ear­li­er com­po­si­tions) and vehic­u­lar sounds evoca­tive of a gen­uine road trip — all assem­bled at what would then have seemed a hyp­not­i­cal­ly expan­sive length for a pop song. Lit­tle did even the hippest lis­ten­ers of the mid-sev­en­ties, such as the Amer­i­cans tuned into ear­ly free-form FM sta­tions where no cor­po­rate pro­gram­ming rules applied, know that they were hear­ing what Jones calls “the point where elec­tron­ic pop music tru­ly began.” All car trips run out of road even­tu­al­ly, but human­i­ty’s jour­ney into the pos­si­bil­i­ties of high-tech music shows no signs of approach­ing its end.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Psy­che­del­ic Ani­mat­ed Video for Kraftwerk’s “Auto­bahn” (1979)

Kraftwerk Plays a Live 40-Minute Ver­sion of their Sig­na­ture Song “Auto­bahn:” A Sound­track for a Long Road Trip (1974)

How Kraftwerk Made the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Kraftwerk’s First Con­cert: The Begin­ning of the End­less­ly Influ­en­tial Band (1970)

How the Moog Syn­the­siz­er Changed the Sound of Music

Hear the Evo­lu­tion of Elec­tron­ic Music: A Son­ic Jour­ney from 1929 to 2019

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

When Soviet Youth Bootlegged Western Rock Music on Discarded X‑Rays: Hear Original Audio Samples

A catchy trib­ute to mid-cen­tu­ry Sovi­et hip­sters popped up a few years back in a song called “Stilya­gi” by lo-fi L.A. hip­sters Puro Instinct. The lyrics tell of a charis­mat­ic dude who impress­es “all the girls in the neigh­bor­hood” with his “mag­ni­tiz­dat” and gui­tar. Wait, his what? His mag­ni­tiz­dat, man! Like samiz­dat, or under­ground press, mag­ni­tiz­dat—from the words for “tape recorder” and “publishing”—kept Sovi­et youth in the know with sur­rep­ti­tious record­ings of pop music. Stilya­gi (a post-war sub­cul­ture that copied its style from Hol­ly­wood movies and Amer­i­can jazz and rock and roll) made and dis­trib­uted con­tra­band music in the Sovi­et Union. But, as an NPR piece informs us, “before the avail­abil­i­ty of the tape recorder and dur­ing the 1950s, when vinyl was scarce, inge­nious Rus­sians began record­ing banned boot­leg jazz, boo­gie woo­gie and rock ‘n’ roll on exposed X‑ray film sal­vaged from hos­pi­tal waste bins and archives.” See one such X‑ray “record” above, and see here the fas­ci­nat­ing process dra­ma­tized in the first scene of a 2008 Russ­ian musi­cal titled, of course, Stilya­gi (trans­lat­ed into Eng­lish as “Hipsters”—the word lit­er­al­ly means “obsessed with fash­ion”).

These records were called roent­g­e­niz­dat (X‑ray press) or, says Sergei Khrushchev (son of Niki­ta), “bone music.” Author Anya von Bremzen describes them as “for­bid­den West­ern music cap­tured on the inte­ri­ors of Sovi­et cit­i­zens”: “They would cut the X‑ray into a crude cir­cle with man­i­cure scis­sors and use a cig­a­rette to burn a hole. You’d have Elvis on the lungs, Duke Elling­ton on Aunt Masha’s brain scan….” The ghoul­ish makeshift discs sure look cool enough, but what did they sound like? Well, as you can hear below in the Bea­t­les sam­ples, a bit like old Vic­tro­la phono­graph records played through tiny tran­sis­tor radios on a squonky AM fre­quen­cy.

Dressed in fash­ions copied from jazz and rock­a­bil­ly albums, stilya­gi learned to dance at under­ground night­clubs to these tin­ny ghosts of West­ern pop songs, and fought off the Komsomol—super-square Lenin­ist youth brigades—who broke up roent­g­e­niz­dat rings and tried to sup­press the influ­ence of bour­geois West­ern pop cul­ture. Accord­ing to Arte­my Troit­sky, author of Back in the USSR: The True Sto­ry of Rock in Rus­sia, these records were also called “ribs”: “The qual­i­ty was awful, but the price was low—a rou­ble or rou­ble and a half. Often these records held sur­pris­es for the buy­er. Let’s say, a few sec­onds of Amer­i­can rock ’n’ roll, then a mock­ing voice in Russ­ian ask­ing: ‘So, thought you’d take a lis­ten to the lat­est sounds, eh?, fol­lowed by a few choice epi­thets addressed to fans of styl­ish rhythms, then silence.”

See more images of bone music records over at Laugh­ing Squid and Wired co-founder Kevin Kel­ly’s blog Street Use, and above dig some his­tor­i­cal footage of stilya­gi jit­ter­bug­ging through what appears to be a kind of Sovi­et train­ing film about West­ern influ­ence on Sovi­et youth cul­ture, pro­duced no doubt dur­ing the Khrushchev thaw when, as Russ­ian writer Vladimir Voinovich tells NPR, things got “a lit­tle more lib­er­al than before.”

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Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Spot a Com­mu­nist by Using Lit­er­ary Crit­i­cism: A 1955 Man­u­al from the U.S. Mil­i­tary

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

Read the CIA’s Sim­ple Sab­o­tage Field Man­u­al: A Time­less Guide to Sub­vert­ing Any Orga­ni­za­tion with “Pur­pose­ful Stu­pid­i­ty” (1944)

Bertolt Brecht Tes­ti­fies Before the House Un-Amer­i­can Activ­i­ties Com­mit­tee (1947)

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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