Google’s Free App Analyzes Your Selfie and Then Finds Your Doppelganger in Museum Portraits

Hav­ing the abil­i­ty to vir­tu­al­ly explore the his­to­ry, back sto­ries, and cul­tur­al sig­nif­i­cance of art­works from over a thou­sand muse­ums gen­er­ates nowhere near the excite­ment as a fea­ture allow­ing users to upload self­ies in hopes of locat­ing an Insta­gram-wor­thy dop­pel­gänger some­where in this vast dig­i­tal col­lec­tion.

On the oth­er hand, if this low-brow inno­va­tion leads great hordes of mil­len­ni­als and iGen-ers to cross the thresh­olds of muse­ums in over 70 coun­tries, who are we to crit­i­cize?

So what if their pri­ma­ry moti­va­tion is snap­ping anoth­er self­ie with their Flem­ish Renais­sance twin? As long as one or two devel­op a pas­sion for art, or a par­tic­u­lar muse­um, artist, or peri­od, we’re good.

Alas, some dis­grun­tled users (prob­a­bly Gen X‑ers and Baby Boomers) are giv­ing the Google Arts & Cul­ture app (iPhone-Android) one-star reviews, based on their inabil­i­ty to find the only fea­ture for which they down­loaded it.

Allow us to walk you through.

After installing the app (iPhone-Android) on your phone or tablet, scroll down the home­page to the ques­tion “Is your por­trait in a muse­um?”

The sam­pling of art­works fram­ing this ques­tion sug­gest that the answer may be yes, regard­less of your race, though one need not be a Gueril­la Girl to won­der if Cau­casian users are draw­ing their match­es from a far larg­er pool than users of col­or…

Click “get start­ed.” (You’ll have to allow the app to access your device’s cam­era.)

Take a self­ie. (I sup­pose you could hedge your bets by switch­ing the cam­era to front-fac­ing ori­en­ta­tion and aim­ing it at a pleas­ing pre-exist­ing head­shot.)

The app will imme­di­ate­ly ana­lyze the self­ie, and with­in sec­onds, boom! Say hel­lo to your five clos­est match­es.

In the name of sci­ence, I sub­ject­ed myself to this process, grin­ning as if I was sit­ting for my fourth grade school pic­ture. I and received the fol­low­ing results, none of them high­er than 47%:

Vic­to­rio C. Edades’ Moth­er and Daugh­ter (flat­ter­ing­ly, I was pegged as the daugh­ter, though at 52, the resem­blance to the moth­er is a far truer match.)

Gus­tave Courbet’s Jo, la Belle Irlandaise (Say what? She’s got long red hair and skin like Snow White!)

Hen­ry Inman’s por­trait of Pres­i­dent Mar­tin Van Buren’s daugh­ter-in-law and defac­to White House host­ess, Angel­i­ca Sin­gle­ton Van Buren (Well, she looks ….con­ge­nial. I do enjoy par­ties…)

 and Sir Antho­ny van Dyck’s post-mortem paint­ing of Vene­tia, Lady Dig­by, on her Deathbed (Um…)

Hop­ing that a dif­fer­ent pose might yield a high­er match I chan­neled artist Nina Katchadouri­an, and adopt­ed a more painter­ly pose, unsmil­ing, head cocked, one hand lyri­cal­ly rest­ing on my breast­bone… for good mea­sure, I moved away from the win­dow. This time I got:

Joseph Stella’s Boy with a Bag­pipe (Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea with regard to my self-image?)

Cipri­ano Efsio Oppo Por­trait of Isabel­la (See above.)

Adolph Tidemand’s Por­trait of Guro Sil­vers­dat­ter Tra­ven­dal (Is this uni­verse telling me it’s Babush­ka Time?)

Johannes Chris­tiann Janson’s A Woman Cut­ting Bread (aka Renounce All Van­i­ty Time?)

and Anders Zorn’s Madon­na (This is where the mean cheer­leader leaps out of the bath­room stall and calls me the horse from Guer­ni­ca, right?)

Mer­ci­ful­ly, none of these results topped the 50% mark, nor did any of the exper­i­ments I con­duct­ed using self­ies of my teenage son (whose 4th clos­est match had a long white beard).

Per­haps there are still a few bugs to work out?

If you’re tempt­ed to give Google Arts and Culture’s exper­i­men­tal por­trait fea­ture a go, please let us know how it worked out by post­ing a com­ment below. Maybe we’re twins, I mean, triplets!

If such folderol is beneath you, please avail your­self of the app’s orig­i­nal fea­tures:

  • Zoom Views — Expe­ri­ence every detail of the world’s great­est trea­sures
  • Vir­tu­al Real­i­ty — Grab your Google Card­board view­er and immerse your­self in arts and cul­ture
  • Browse by time and col­or — Explore art­works by fil­ter­ing them by col­or or time peri­od
  • Vir­tu­al tours — Step inside the most famous muse­ums in the world and vis­it icon­ic land­marks
  • Per­son­al col­lec­tion — Save your favorite art­works and share your col­lec­tions with friends
  • Near­by — Find muse­ums and cul­tur­al events around you
  • Exhibits — Take guid­ed tours curat­ed by experts
  • Dai­ly digest — Learn some­thing new every time you open the app
  • Art Rec­og­niz­er — Learn more about art­works at select muse­ums by point­ing your device cam­era at them, even when offline
  • Noti­fi­ca­tions — sub­scribe to receive updates on the top arts & cul­ture sto­ries

Down­load Google Arts and Cul­ture or update to Ver­sion 6.0.17 here (for Mac) or here (for Android).

Note: We’re get­ting reports that the app does­n’t seem to be avail­able in every geo­graph­i­cal loca­tion. If it’s not avail­able where you live, we apol­o­gize in advance.

via Good House­keep­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Google Gives You a 360° View of the Per­form­ing Arts, From the Roy­al Shake­speare Com­pa­ny to the Paris Opera Bal­let

Google Art Project Expands, Bring­ing 30,000 Works of Art from 151 Muse­ums to the Web

Google Cre­ates a Dig­i­tal Archive of World Fash­ion: Fea­tures 30,000 Images, Cov­er­ing 3,000 Years of Fash­ion His­to­ry

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

The Movements of a Symphony Conductor Get Artistically Visualized in an Avant-Garde Motion Capture Animation

Some clas­si­cal music enthu­si­asts are purists with regard to visu­al effects, lis­ten­ing with eyes firm­ly fixed on lin­er notes or the ceil­ings of grand con­cert halls.

Those open to a more avant-garde ocu­lar expe­ri­ence may enjoy the short motion cap­ture ani­ma­tion above.

Moti­vat­ed by the Lon­don Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra’s desire for a hip­per iden­ti­ty, the project hinged on recent­ly appoint­ed Musi­cal Direc­tor Sir Simon Rat­tle’s will­ing­ness to con­duct Edward Elgar’s Enig­ma Vari­a­tions with a spe­cial­ly mod­i­fied baton, while 12 top-of-the-range Vicon Van­tage cam­eras not­ed his every move at 120 frames per sec­ond.

Dig­i­tal design­er Tobias Gremm­ler, who’s pre­vi­ous­ly used motion-cap­ture ani­ma­tion as a lens through which to con­sid­er kung fu and Chi­nese Opera, stuck with musi­cal metaphors in ani­mat­ing Sir Simon’s data with Cin­e­ma 4D soft­ware. The move­ments of con­duc­tor and baton morph into a “vor­tex of wood, brass, smoke and strings” and “wires rem­i­nis­cent of the strings of the instru­ments them­selves.” Else­where, he draws on the atmos­phere and archi­tec­ture of clas­sic con­cert halls.

(The unini­ti­at­ed may find them­selves flash­ing on less rar­i­fied sources of inspi­ra­tion, from lava lamps and fire danc­ing to the 80’s‑era dig­i­tal uni­verse of Tron.)

via Atlas Obscu­ra

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Grace­ful Move­ments of Kung Fu & Mod­ern Dance Revealed in Stun­ning Motion Visu­al­iza­tions

Visu­al­iz­ing WiFi Sig­nals with Light

The Entire Dis­ci­pline of Phi­los­o­phy Visu­al­ized with Map­ping Soft­ware: See All of the Com­plex Net­works

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

The Story of How Beethoven Helped Make It So That CDs Could Play 74 Minutes of Music

We music fans of the increas­ing­ly all-dig­i­tal 2010s take com­pact discs for grant­ed, so much so that many of us haven’t slid one into a play­er in years. But if we cast our minds back, and not even all that far, we can remem­ber a time when CDs were pre­cious, and the medi­um itself both impres­sive and con­tro­ver­sial. Back when it first came on the mar­ket in 1982 (pack­aged in long­box­es, you’ll recall) it seemed impos­si­bly high-tech, inspir­ing dream­i­ly futur­is­tic pro­mo­tion­al videos like the one below and emerg­ing from a process of devel­op­ment that required the com­bined R&D and indus­tri­al might of both Japan and Europe’s biggest con­sumer-elec­tron­ics giants, Sony and Philips.

That years-long coor­di­nat­ed effort, as Greg Mil­ner writes in Per­fect­ing Sound For­ev­er, saw a team of engi­neers from both com­pa­nies “shut­tling between Eind­hoven and Tokyo,” the pro­to­type CD play­er “giv­en its own first-class seat on KLM.”

Mil­ner also men­tions that “Philips want­ed a 14-bit sys­tem and a disc that could hold an hour of music, while Sony argued for 16 bits and 74 min­utes, sup­pos­ed­ly because that was the length of Beethoven’s Ninth Sym­pho­ny,” though he calls the Beethoven bit “like­ly a dig­i­tal audio urban leg­end.” But, like any urban leg­end, it con­tains grains of truth, though how many grains nobody quite knows for sure.

Philips’ pre­ferred sys­tem would play 115-mil­lime­ter discs, while Sony’s would play 120-mil­lime­ter discs. As Wired’s Randy Alfred tells it:

When Sony and Philips were nego­ti­at­ing a sin­gle indus­try stan­dard for the audio com­pact disc in 1979 and 1980, the sto­ry is that one of four peo­ple (or some com­bi­na­tion of them) insist­ed that a sin­gle CD be able to hold all of the Ninth Sym­pho­ny. The four were the wife of Sony chair­man Akio Mori­ta, speak­ing up for her favorite piece of music; Sony VP Norio Ohga (the company’s point man on the CD), recall­ing his stud­ies at the Berlin Con­ser­va­to­ry; Mrs. Ohga (her favorite piece, too); and con­duc­tor Her­bert von Kara­jan, who record­ed for Philips sub­sidiary Poly­gram and whose Berlin Phil­har­mon­ic record­ing of the Ninth clocked in at 66 min­utes.

Fur­ther research to find the longest record­ed per­for­mance came up with a mono record­ing con­duct­ed by Wil­helm Furtwän­gler at the Bayreuth Fes­ti­val in 1951. That play­ing went a lan­guorous 74 min­utes.

A good sto­ry, sure, but as Philips Engi­neer Kees A. Schouhamer Immink writes in a tech­ni­cal arti­cle mark­ing the CD’s 25th anniver­sary, “every­day prac­tice is less roman­tic than the pen of a pub­lic rela­tions guru.” What­ev­er the influ­ence of Beethoven, in 1979 “Philips’ sub­sidiary Poly­gram — one of the world’s largest dis­trib­u­tors of music — had set up a CD disc plant in Hanover, Ger­many that could pro­duce large quan­ti­ties of CDs with, of course, a diam­e­ter of 115mm. Sony did not have such a facil­i­ty yet. So if Sony had agreed on the 115mm disc, Philips would have had a sig­nif­i­cant com­pet­i­tive edge in the music mar­ket. Ohga was aware of that, did not like it, and some­thing had to be done.”

How much does the run­ning time of a CD, which would enjoy a long reign as the dom­i­nant media for record­ed music, owe to what Immink calls “Mrs. Ohga’s great pas­sion for [Beethoven],” and how much to “the mon­ey and com­pe­ti­tion in the mar­ket of the two part­ners”? Not even Snopes, which rules the claim of a con­nec­tion between Beethoven’s Ninth and the devel­op­ment of the CD as “unde­ter­mined,” can set­tle the mat­ter. But what­ev­er deter­mined the length of the albums in the CD era, that 74-minute run­time remains a strong influ­ence on our expec­ta­tions of album length even now that musi­cians can record and sell them at any length they like — and now that we the con­sumers can lis­ten any way we like, frag­ment­ing, re-arrang­ing, and cus­tomiz­ing all of our music expe­ri­ences, even Beethoven’s Ninth.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Did Beethoven Com­pose His 9th Sym­pho­ny After He Went Com­plete­ly Deaf?

How Steely Dan Wrote “Dea­con Blues,” the Song Audio­philes Use to Test High-End Stere­os

A Cel­e­bra­tion of Retro Media: Vinyl, Cas­settes, VHS, and Polaroid Too

The Dis­tor­tion of Sound: A Short Film on How We’ve Cre­at­ed “a McDonald’s Gen­er­a­tion of Music Con­sumers”

Neil Young on the Trav­es­ty of MP3s

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Free, Open Source Modular Synth Software Lets You Create 70s & 80s Electronic Music—Without Having to Pay Thousands for a Real-World Synthesizer

In the past decade or so, the ana­log mod­u­lar synth—of the kind pio­neered by Robert Moog and Don Buch­la—has made a come­back, cre­at­ing a boom­ing niche mar­ket full of musi­cians chas­ing the sounds of the 70s and 80s. These inscrutable racks of patch­bays, oscil­la­tors, fil­ters, etc. look to the non-ini­ti­at­ed more like tele­phone oper­a­tor sta­tions of old than musi­cal instru­ments. But the sounds they pro­duce are sub­lime and oth­er­world­ly, with a sat­u­rat­ed warmth unpar­al­leled in the dig­i­tal world.

But while ana­log tech­nol­o­gy may have per­fect­ed cer­tain tones, one can’t beat the con­ve­nience of dig­i­tal record­ing, with its near­ly unlim­it­ed mul­ti-track­ing capa­bil­i­ty, abil­i­ty to save set­tings, and the ease of edit­ing and arrang­ing in the com­put­er. Dig­i­tal audio work­sta­tions have become increas­ing­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed, able to emu­late with “plug-ins” the capa­bil­i­ties of sought-after ana­log stu­dio gear of the past. It has tak­en a bit longer for vir­tu­al instru­ments to meet this same stan­dard, but they may be near­ly there.

Only the most fine­ly-tuned ears, for exam­ple, can hear the dif­fer­ence between the high­est-qual­i­ty dig­i­tal­ly mod­eled gui­tar ampli­fiers and effects and their real-world coun­ter­parts in the mix. Even the most high-end mod­el­ing pack­ages don’t cost as much as their real life coun­ter­parts, and many also come free in lim­it­ed ver­sions. So too the wealth of ana­log synth soft­ware, mod­eled to sound con­vinc­ing­ly like the old and new­ly reis­sued ana­log box­es that can run into the many thou­sands of dol­lars to col­lect and con­nect.

One such col­lec­tion of synths, the VCV Rack, offers open-source vir­tu­al mod­u­lar synths almost entire­ly free, with only a few at very mod­est prices. The stand­alone vir­tu­al rack works with­out any addi­tion­al soft­ware. Once you’ve cre­at­ed an account and installed it, you can start adding dozens of plug-ins, includ­ing var­i­ous syn­the­siz­ers, gates, reverbs, com­pres­sors, sequencers, key­boards, etc. “It’s pret­ty trans­for­ma­tive stuff,” writes CDM. “You can run vir­tu­al mod­ules to syn­the­size and process sounds, both those emu­lat­ing real hard­ware and many that exist only in soft­ware.”

The learn­ing curve is plen­ty steep for those who haven’t han­dled this per­plex­ing tech­nol­o­gy out­side the box. A series of YouTube tuto­ri­als, a few of which you can see here, can get you going in short order. Those already expe­ri­enced with the real-world stuff will delight in the expand­ed capa­bil­i­ties of the dig­i­tal ver­sions, as well as the fideli­ty with which these plug-ins emu­late real equipment—without the need for a room­ful of cables, unwield­ly racks, and sol­dier­ing irons and spare parts for those inevitable bad con­nec­tions and bro­ken switch­es and inputs.

You can down­load the vir­tu­al rack here, then fol­low the instruc­tions to load as many plug-ins as you like. CDM has instruc­tions for the devel­op­er ver­sion (find the source code here), and a YouTube series called Mod­u­lar Curios­i­ty demon­strates how to install the rack and use the var­i­ous plu­g­ins (see their first video fur­ther up and find the rest here). Mod­u­lar Sys­tem Begin­ner Tuto­r­i­al is anoth­er YouTube guide, with five dif­fer­ent videos. See num­ber one above and the rest here. The longer video at the top of the post offers a “first look and noob tuto­r­i­al.”

VCV Rack is only the lat­est of many vir­tu­al mod­u­lar synths, includ­ing Native Instru­ments’ Reak­tor Blocks and Softube’s Mod­u­lar. “But these come with a hefty price tag,” notes FACT mag­a­zine. “VCV Rack can be down­loaded for free on Lin­ux, Mac and Win­dows plat­form.” And if you’re won­der­ing how it stacks up against the real-life box­es it emu­lates, check out the video below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Moog Syn­the­siz­er Changed the Sound of Music

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

Hear What Music Sounds Like When It’s Cre­at­ed by Syn­the­siz­ers Made with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

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

What Actually Is Bitcoin?: Princeton’s Free Online Course “Bitcoin and Currency Technologies” Provides Much-Needed Answers

“Don’t Under­stand Bit­coin?” asked the head­line of a recent video from Click­hole, the Onion’s viral-media par­o­dy site. “This Man Will Mum­ble an Expla­na­tion at You.” The inex­plic­a­ble hilar­i­ty of the mum­bling man and his 72-sec­ond expla­na­tion of Bit­coin con­tains, like all good humor, a sol­id truth: most of us don’t under­stand Bit­coin, and the sim­plis­tic infor­ma­tion we seek out, for all we grasp of it, might as well be deliv­ered unin­tel­li­gi­bly. A few years ago we fea­tured a much clear­er three-minute expla­na­tion of that best-known form of cryp­tocur­ren­cy here on Open Cul­ture, but how to gain a deep­er under­stand­ing of this tech­nol­o­gy that, in one form or anoth­er, so many of us will even­tu­al­ly use?

Con­sid­er join­ing “Bit­coin and Cur­ren­cy Tech­nolo­gies,” a free course from Cours­era taught by sev­er­al pro­fes­sors from Prince­ton Uni­ver­si­ty, includ­ing com­put­er sci­en­tist Arvind Narayanan, whose Prince­ton Bit­coin Text­book we fea­tured last year.

The eleven-week online course (class­room ver­sions of whose lec­tures you can check out here) just began, but you can still eas­i­ly join and learn the answers to ques­tions like the fol­low­ing: “How does Bit­coin work? What makes Bit­coin dif­fer­ent? How secure are your Bit­coins? How anony­mous are Bit­coin users? What deter­mines the price of Bit­coins? Can cryp­tocur­ren­cies be reg­u­lat­ed? What might the future hold?” All of those, you’ll notice, have been raised more and more often in the media late­ly, but sel­dom sat­is­fac­to­ri­ly addressed.

“Real under­stand­ing of the eco­nom­ic issues under­ly­ing the cryp­tocur­ren­cy is almost nonex­is­tent,” writes Nobel-win­ning econ­o­mist Robert J. Shiller in a recent New York Times piece on Bit­coin. â€śIt is not just that very few peo­ple real­ly com­pre­hend the tech­nol­o­gy behind Bit­coin. It is that no one can attach objec­tive prob­a­bil­i­ties to the var­i­ous pos­si­ble out­comes of the cur­rent Bit­coin enthu­si­asm.” Take Prince­ton’s course, then, and you’ll pull way ahead of many oth­ers inter­est­ed in Bit­coin, even allow­ing for all the still-unknow­able unknowns that have caused such thrilling and shock­ing fluc­tu­a­tions in the dig­i­tal cur­ren­cy’s eight years of exis­tence so far. All of it has cul­mi­nat­ed in the cur­rent craze Shiller calls “a mar­velous case study in ambi­gu­i­ty and ani­mal spir­its,” and where ambi­gu­i­ty and ani­mal spir­its rule, a lit­tle intel­lec­tu­al under­stand­ing cer­tain­ly nev­er hurts.

Enroll free in â€śBit­coin and Cur­ren­cy Tech­nolo­gies” here. Find oth­er relat­ed cours­es on cyrp­tocur­ren­cy and blockchain here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bit­coin, the New Decen­tral­ized Dig­i­tal Cur­ren­cy, Demys­ti­fied in a Three Minute Video

The Prince­ton Bit­coin Text­book Is Now Free Online

Cryp­tocur­ren­cy and Blockchain: An Intro­duc­tion to Dig­i­tal Currencies–A Free Online Cours­es from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia

Free Online Economics/Finance Cours­es

1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear the Christmas Carols Made by Alan Turing’s Computer: Cutting-Edge Versions of “Jingle Bells” and “Good King Wenceslas” (1951)

Alan Tur­ing (right) stands next to the Fer­ran­ti Mark I. Pho­to cour­tesy of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Man­ches­ter

This Christ­mas, as our com­put­ers fast learn to com­pose music by them­selves, we might gain some per­spec­tive by cast­ing our minds back to 66 Christ­mases ago, a time when a com­put­er’s ren­di­tion of any­thing resem­bling music at all had thou­sands and thou­sands lis­ten­ing in won­der. In Decem­ber of 1951, the BBC’s hol­i­day broad­cast, in most respects a nat­u­ral­ly tra­di­tion­al affair, includ­ed the sound of the future: a cou­ple of much-loved Christ­mas car­ols per­formed not by a choir, nor by human beings of any kind, but by an elec­tron­ic machine the likes of which almost nobody had even laid eyes upon.

“Among its Christ­mas fare the BBC broad­cast two melodies that, although instant­ly rec­og­niz­able, sound­ed like noth­ing else on earth,” write Jack Copeland and Jason Long at the British Library’s Sound and Vision Blog. “They were Jin­gle Bells and Good King Wences­las, played by the mam­moth Fer­ran­ti Mark I com­put­er that stood in Alan Tur­ing’s Com­put­ing Machine Lab­o­ra­to­ry” at the Vic­to­ria Uni­ver­si­ty of Man­ches­ter. Tur­ing, whom we now rec­og­nize for a vari­ety of achieve­ments in com­put­ing, cryp­tog­ra­phy, and relat­ed fields (includ­ing crack­ing the Ger­man “Enig­ma code” dur­ing the Sec­ond World War), had joined the uni­ver­si­ty in 1948.

That same year, with his for­mer under­grad­u­ate col­league D. G. Cham­per­nowne, Tur­ing began writ­ing a pure­ly the­o­ret­i­cal com­put­er chess pro­gram. No com­put­er exist­ed on which he could pos­si­bly try run­ning it for the next few years until the Fer­ran­ti Mark 1 came along, and even that mam­moth proved too slow. But it could, using a func­tion designed to give audi­to­ry feed­back to its oper­a­tors, play music — of a kind, any­way. The com­put­er com­pa­ny’s “mar­ket­ing supre­mo,” accord­ing to Copeland and Long, called its brief Christ­mas con­cert “the most expen­sive and most elab­o­rate method of play­ing a tune that has ever been devised.”

Since no record­ing of the broad­cast sur­vives, what you hear here is a painstak­ing recon­struc­tion made from tapes of the com­put­er’s even ear­li­er ren­di­tions of “God Save the King,” “Baa Baa Black Sheep,” and “In the Mood.” By man­u­al­ly chop­ping up the audio, write Copeland and Long, “we cre­at­ed a palette of notes of var­i­ous pitch­es and dura­tions. These could then be rearranged to form new melodies. It was musi­cal Lego.” But do “beware of occa­sion­al dud notes. Because the com­put­er chugged along at a sedate 4 kilo­hertz or so, hit­ting the right fre­quen­cy was not always pos­si­ble.” Even so, some­where in there I hear the his­tor­i­cal and tech­no­log­i­cal seeds of the much more elab­o­rate elec­tron­ic Christ­mas to come, from Mannheim Steam­roller to the Jin­gle Cats and well beyond.

via The British Library

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the First Record­ing of Com­put­er Music: Researchers Restore Three Melodies Pro­grammed on Alan Turing’s Com­put­er (1951)

The His­to­ry of Elec­tron­ic Music, 1800–2015: Free Web Project Cat­a­logues the Theremin, Fairlight & Oth­er Instru­ments That Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Music

Hear Paul McCartney’s Exper­i­men­tal Christ­mas Mix­tape: A Rare & For­got­ten Record­ing from 1965

Stream 22 Hours of Funky, Rock­ing & Swing­ing Christ­mas Albums: From James Brown and John­ny Cash to Christo­pher Lee & The Ven­tures

The Enig­ma Machine: How Alan Tur­ing Helped Break the Unbreak­able Nazi Code

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

What the Entire Internet Looked Like in 1973: An Old Map Gets Found in a Pile of Research Papers


In 1923, Edwin Hub­ble dis­cov­ered the universe—or rather, he dis­cov­ered a star, and humans learned that the Milky Way wasn’t the whole of the cos­mos. Less than 100 years lat­er, thanks to the tele­scope named after him, NASA sci­en­tists esti­mate the uni­verse con­tains at least 100 bil­lion galax­ies, and who-knows-what beyond that. The expo­nen­tial growth of astro­nom­i­cal data col­lect­ed since Hubble’s time is absolute­ly stag­ger­ing, and it devel­oped in tan­dem with the rev­o­lu­tion­ary increase in com­put­ing pow­er over an even short­er span, which enabled the birth and mutant growth of the inter­net.

Mod­ern “maps” of the inter­net can indeed look like sprawl­ing clus­ters of star sys­tems, puls­ing with light and col­or. But the “weird com­bi­na­tion of phys­i­cal and con­cep­tu­al things,” Bet­sy Mason remarks at Wired, results in such an abstract enti­ty that it can be visu­al­ly illus­trat­ed with an almost unlim­it­ed num­ber of graph­ic tech­niques to rep­re­sent its hun­dreds of mil­lions of users. When the inter­net began as ARPANET in the late six­ties, it includ­ed a total of four loca­tions, all with­in a few hun­dred miles of each oth­er on the West Coast of the Unit­ed States. (See a sketch of the first four “nodes” from 1969 here.)

By 1973, the num­ber of nodes had grown from U.C.L.A, the Stan­ford Research Insti­tute, U.C. San­ta Bar­bara, and the Uni­ver­si­ty of Utah to include loca­tions all over the Mid­west and East Coast, from Har­vard to Case West­ern Reserve Uni­ver­si­ty to the Carnegie Mel­lon School of Com­put­er Sci­ence in Pitts­burgh, where David Newbury’s father worked (and still works). Among his father’s papers, New­bury found the map above from May of ’73, show­ing what seemed like tremen­dous growth in only a few short years.

The map is not geo­graph­i­cal but schemat­ic, with 36 square “nodes”—early routers—and 42 oval com­put­er hosts (one pop­u­lar main­frame, the mas­sive PDP-10, is sprin­kled through­out), and only nam­ing a few key loca­tions. Sig­nif­i­cant­ly, Hawaii appears as a node, linked to the main­land by satel­lite. Just above, you can see an update from just a few months lat­er, now rep­re­sent­ing 40 nodes and 45 com­put­ers. “The net­work,” writes Seli­na Chang, “became inter­na­tion­al: a satel­lite link con­nect­ed ARPANET to nodes in Nor­way and Lon­don, send­ing 2.9 mil­lion pack­ets of infor­ma­tion every day.”

These ear­ly net­works of glob­al inter­con­nec­tiv­i­ty, cre­at­ed by the Defense Depart­ment and used most­ly by sci­en­tists, pre­date Tim Bern­ers-Lee and CERN’s devel­op­ment of the World Wide Web in 1991, which opened up the enor­mous, expand­ing alter­nate uni­verse we know as the inter­net today (and was, coin­ci­den­tal­ly, invent­ed around the same time as the Hub­ble Tele­scope). Though maps aren’t ter­ri­to­ries (a 1977 ARPANET “log­i­cal map” dis­claims total accu­ra­cy in a note at the bot­tom), these ear­ly rep­re­sen­ta­tions of the inter­net resem­ble medieval maps of the cos­mos next to the beau­ti­ful com­plex­i­ty of glow­ing col­ors we see in 21st cen­tu­ry info­graph­ics like the author­i­ta­tive­ly-named “The Inter­net Map.”

via Vice

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of the Inter­net in 8 Min­utes

What Hap­pens on the Inter­net in 60 Sec­onds

The Inter­net Imag­ined in 1969

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

The Van Gogh of Microsoft Excel: How a Japanese Retiree Makes Intricate Landscape Paintings with Spreadsheet Software

Just when you thought you’ve mas­tered Microsoft Excel–creating piv­ot tables, VLOOKUPs and the rest–you dis­cov­er the fea­ture you nev­er knew was there. The one that lets you cre­ate Japan­ese land­scape paint­ings. When Tat­suo Hori­uchi retired, he found that fea­ture and leaned on it, hard. Now 77 years old, he has enough land­scape paint­ings to stage an exhibition–all made with the point and click of a mouse.

So what’s the moral of this sto­ry? Maybe it’s you’re nev­er too old to make art. Or maybe it’s nev­er too late to mas­ter those hid­den fea­tures and push tech­nol­o­gy to the bleed­ing edge. In Tat­suo’s case, he’s doing both.

via Swiss Miss

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Hand-Drawn Japan­ese Ani­me: A Deep Study of How Kat­suhi­ro Otomo’s Aki­ra Uses Light

A Hyp­not­ic Look at How Japan­ese Samu­rai Swords Are Made

Down­load 2,500 Beau­ti­ful Wood­block Prints and Draw­ings by Japan­ese Mas­ters (1600–1915)

The Art of the Japan­ese Teapot: Watch a Mas­ter Crafts­man at Work, from the Begin­ning Until the Star­tling End

Enter a Dig­i­tal Archive of 213,000+ Beau­ti­ful Japan­ese Wood­block Prints

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast