Listen to an Archive of Recordings by Delia Derbyshire, the Electronic Music Pioneer & Composer of the Dr. Who Theme Song

Delia Der­byshire, com­pos­er of the Dr. Who theme song and musi­cal pio­neer, has not quite become a house­hold name, but read­ers of this site sure­ly know who she is, as well should every stu­dent of avant garde, elec­tron­ic, and exper­i­men­tal pop music. Along with oth­er often unsung female elec­tron­ic com­posers of the 60s and beyond—like fel­low BBC Radio­phon­ic Work­shop doyenne, Daphne Oram—Derbyshire brought the ear­ly elec­tron­ic tech­niques of musique con­crete and tape manip­u­la­tion to a wider audi­ence, who most­ly had no idea where the sounds they heard came from.

As part of the unit respon­si­ble for cre­at­ing the sounds of British tele­vi­sion, Derbyshire’s unusu­al instincts took her to places no com­pos­er had ever ven­tured before. In her sound work for a doc­u­men­tary called The World About Us, on the Tuareg peo­ple of the Sahara, she “used her voice for the sound of the [camels’] hooves,” writes her one­time col­league Bri­an Hodg­son at The Guardian, “cut up into an obbli­ga­to rhythm. And she added a thin, high elec­tron­ic sound using vir­tu­al­ly all the fil­ters and oscil­la­tors in the work­shop.” As Der­byshire recalls it:

My most beau­ti­ful sound at the time was a tat­ty BBC lamp­shade. It was the wrong colour, but it had a beau­ti­ful ring­ing sound to it. I hit the lamp­shade, record­ed that, fad­ed it up into the ring­ing part with­out the per­cus­sive start. I… recon­struct­ed the sound of the workshop’s famous 12 oscil­la­tors to give it a whoosh­ing sound. So the camels rode off into the sun­set with my voice in their hooves and a green lamp­shade on their backs.

What the col­or of the lamp­shade had to do with the sound, only Der­byshire could know for sure. But it clear­ly had a psy­cho­log­i­cal impact on the way she heard it. “I sup­pose in a way,” she said, “I was exper­i­ment­ing in psy­cho-acoustics.”

This was an immer­sive expe­ri­ence for her, and for every­one who heard the results, no mat­ter whether they could iden­ti­fy what it was they were hear­ing. Derbyshire’s sound design rev­o­lu­tion­ized the indus­try, but we can­not over­look her extracur­ric­u­lar work—experimental sound col­lages and musi­cal pieces made with sev­er­al close col­lab­o­ra­tors, includ­ing Hodg­son, which sound remark­ably ahead of their time.

In 1964, Der­byshire col­lab­o­rat­ed with poet and drama­tist Bar­ry Bermange on The Dreams, a work that showed her, Hodg­son writes, “at her ele­gant best.” The two put togeth­er a col­lage, with peo­ple describ­ing their dreams in snip­pets of cut-up mono­logues, backed by a puls­ing, throb­bing, buzzing, hum­ming omi­nous score. (Lis­ten to “Run­ning” fur­ther up.) In 1966, she worked with David Bowie’s favorite per­former Antho­ny New­ley on “Moogles Bloogles,” above, which Ubuweb calls “an unre­leased perv-pop clas­sic in the 1966 nov­el­ty vein.” She was not privy to what the song would become. “I’d writ­ten this beau­ti­ful inno­cent tune,” she said, “all sen­si­tive love and inno­cence, and he made it into a dirty old rain­coat song. But he was real­ly chuffed!”

In the late six­ties, Der­byshire joined Hodg­son and bass play­er David Vorhaus to form White Noise, an exper­i­men­tal elec­tron­ic pop project whose “Love With­out Sound” you can hear at the top of the post (behind scenes from Jean Cocteau’s Orphée.) In 1972, Der­byshire teamed with Hodg­son and Don Harp­er, all “moon­light­ing from day jobs” at the BBC, for an album called Elec­troson­ic, a “haunt­ing batch of spare elec­tron­ic tracks.” Just above, hear “Liq­uid Ener­gy (Bub­bling Rhythm)” from that col­lec­tion.

These tracks rep­re­sent just a frac­tion of the Der­byshire music avail­able at Ubuweb’s Delia Der­byshire library, includ­ing a com­pi­la­tion of Radio­phon­ic Work­shop sound­track pieces like “Envi­ron­men­tal Stud­ies,” above, from 1969, as well as an audio doc­u­men­tary on her work made in 2010. Soon after her ear­ly 70s musi­cal exper­i­ments, Der­byshire retired from music to work as a radio oper­a­tor and in an art gallery and book­shop, dis­gust­ed with the state of con­tem­po­rary sound. But in her last few years, she had the plea­sure of watch­ing a new gen­er­a­tion dis­cov­er her work. As Hodg­son writes in his touch­ing eulo­gy, “the tech­nol­o­gy she had left behind was final­ly catch­ing up to her vision.”

Hear more record­ing at Ubuweb’s Delia Der­byshire library.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Two Doc­u­men­taries Intro­duce Delia Der­byshire, the Pio­neer in Elec­tron­ic Music

The Fas­ci­nat­ing Sto­ry of How Delia Der­byshire Cre­at­ed the Orig­i­nal Doc­tor Who Theme

Meet Delia Der­byshire, the Dr. Who Com­pos­er Who Almost Turned The Bea­t­les’ “Yes­ter­day” Into Ear­ly Elec­tron­i­ca

Watch “Bells of Atlantis,” an Exper­i­men­tal Film with Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Music Fea­tur­ing Anaïs Nin (1952)

Meet Four Women Who Pio­neered Elec­tron­ic Music: Daphne Oram, Lau­rie Spiegel, Éliane Radigue & Pauline Oliv­eros

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

Aldous Huxley Tells Mike Wallace What Will Destroy Democracy: Overpopulation, Drugs & Insidious Technology (1958)

Over­pop­u­la­tion, manip­u­la­tive pol­i­tics, imbal­ances of soci­etal pow­er, addic­tive drugs, even more addic­tive tech­nolo­gies: these and oth­er devel­op­ments have pushed not just democ­ra­cy but civ­i­liza­tion itself to the brink. Or at least author Aldous Hux­ley saw it that way, and he told Amer­i­ca so when he appeared on The Mike Wal­lace Inter­view in 1958. (You can also read a tran­script here.) “There are a num­ber of imper­son­al forces which are push­ing in the direc­tion of less and less free­dom,” he told the new­ly famous news anchor, “and I also think that there are a num­ber of tech­no­log­i­cal devices which any­body who wish­es to use can use to accel­er­ate this process of going away from free­dom, of impos­ing con­trol.”

Hux­ley’s best-known nov­el Brave New World has remained rel­e­vant since its first pub­li­ca­tion in 1932. He appeared on Wal­lace’s show to pro­mote Brave New World Revis­it­ed (first pub­lished as Ene­mies of Free­dom), a col­lec­tion of essays on how much more rapid­ly than expect­ed the real world had come to resem­ble the dystopia he’d imag­ined a quar­ter-cen­tu­ry ear­li­er.

Some of the rea­sons behind his grim pre­dic­tions now seem over­stat­ed — he points out that “in the under­de­vel­oped coun­tries actu­al­ly the stan­dard of liv­ing is at present falling,” though the reverse has now been true for quite some time — but oth­ers, from the van­tage of the 21st cen­tu­ry, sound almost too mild.

“We must­n’t be caught by sur­prise by our own advanc­ing tech­nol­o­gy,” Hux­ley says in that time before smart­phones, before the inter­net, before per­son­al com­put­ers, before even cable tele­vi­sion. We also must­n’t be caught by sur­prise by those who seek indef­i­nite pow­er over us: to do that requires “con­sent of the ruled,” some­thing acquirable by addic­tive sub­stances — both phar­ma­co­log­i­cal and tech­no­log­i­cal — as well as “new tech­niques of pro­pa­gan­da.” All of this has the effect of “bypass­ing the sort of ratio­nal side of man and appeal­ing to his sub­con­scious and his deep­er emo­tions, and his phys­i­ol­o­gy even, and so, mak­ing him actu­al­ly love his slav­ery.”

Wal­lace’s ques­tions bring Hux­ley to a ques­tion of his own: “What does a democ­ra­cy depend on? A democ­ra­cy depends on the indi­vid­ual vot­er mak­ing an intel­li­gent and ratio­nal choice for what he regards as his enlight­ened self-inter­est, in any giv­en cir­cum­stance.” But democ­ra­cy-debil­i­tat­ing com­mer­cial and polit­i­cal pro­pa­gan­da appeals “direct­ly to these uncon­scious forces below the sur­faces so that you are, in a way, mak­ing non­sense of the whole demo­c­ra­t­ic pro­ce­dure, which is based on con­scious choice on ratio­nal ground.” Hence the impor­tance of teach­ing peo­ple “to be on their guard against the sort of ver­bal boo­by traps into which they are always being led.” The skill has arguably only grown in impor­tance since, as has his final thought in the broad­cast: “I still believe in democ­ra­cy, if we can make the best of the cre­ative activ­i­ties of the peo­ple on top plus those of the peo­ple on the bot­tom, so much the bet­ter.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aldous Hux­ley Reads Dra­ma­tized Ver­sion of Brave New World

Hux­ley to Orwell: My Hell­ish Vision of the Future is Bet­ter Than Yours (1949)

An Ani­mat­ed Aldous Hux­ley Iden­ti­fies the Dystopi­an Threats to Our Free­dom (1958)

Aldous Hux­ley Pre­dicts in 1950 What the World Will Look Like in the Year 2000

Aldous Hux­ley, Psy­che­delics Enthu­si­ast, Lec­tures About “the Vision­ary Expe­ri­ence” at MIT (1962)

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.

Watch a Marathon Streaming of All 856 Episodes of Mister Rogers Neighborhood, and the Moving Trailer for the New Documentary, Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

The bom­bast, arro­gance and bloviation–maybe you need a break from it all. You may need exact­ly the opposite–a lit­tle Fred Rogers. If so, we’ve got two things for you. First, head over to Twitch.TV where they’re cur­rent­ly livestream­ing all 856 episodes of Mis­ter Rogers Neigh­bor­hood (for a lim­it­ed time). It’s a grand way of cel­e­brat­ing what would have been Fred’s 90th birth­day this week. And then, above, watch the brand new trail­er for Won’t You Be My Neigh­bor?, the upcom­ing doc­u­men­tary by Oscar-win­ning direc­tor Mor­gan Neville (20 Feet from Star­dom). Due out in June, the film “takes us beyond the zip-up cardi­gans and the land of make-believe, and into the heart of a cre­ative genius who inspired gen­er­a­tions of chil­dren with com­pas­sion and lim­it­less imag­i­na­tion.” As you watch the trail­er, you’ll be remind­ed that Rogers worked his mag­ic dur­ing oth­er peri­ods of chaos and dis­con­tent, and how sore­ly his calm­ing pres­ence is miss­ing today.

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:

Mis­ter Rogers Turns Kids On to Jazz with Help of a Young Wyn­ton Marsalis and Oth­er Jazz Leg­ends (1986)

Watch Mr. Rogers Per­suade Con­gress to Stop Cut­ting PBS Bud­get in 1969 : Would It Stop Trump from Defund­ing PBS & NEA Today?

Mr. Rogers Intro­duces Kids to Exper­i­men­tal Elec­tron­ic Music by Bruce Haack & Esther Nel­son (1968)

All of the Songs Played on “WKRP in Cincinnati” in One Playlist: Stream 202 Classic Tracks

I don’t know how many peo­ple still watch WKRP in Cincin­nati , or how well the jokes have aged, but there is a small but ded­i­cat­ed fan base out there. Part of it might be nos­tal­gia not just for the sit­com itself, but for a time when radio sta­tions were idio­syn­crat­ic things, not just part of vast media con­glom­er­ates that have a song playlist you could fit onto a thumb dri­ve. Ask any boomer and they’ll recall their own favorite real-life ver­sions of rock DJ John­ny Fever (Howard Hes­se­man) and funk/soul DJ Venus Fly­trap (Tim Reid).

Recent­ly, one ded­i­cat­ed fan went through the first sea­son and iden­ti­fied every song played on the shows, and pro­duced this spread­sheet first men­tioned on Boing­Bo­ing. That then led to some­body wish­ing for a Spo­ti­fy playlist and of course the Inter­net has pro­vid­ed. Find the playlist and stream all 202 tracks below. Some­one also assem­bled a YouTube ver­sion that you can find at the bot­tom of the post.

What to make of the choic­es? DJ John­ny Fever starts off with Ted Nugent’s “Queen of the For­est” to announce the station’s switch from muzak to a rock/Top 40 for­mat in the first episode. A major­i­ty of the songs are major label selec­tions, with the Rolling Stones the favorite choice through the sea­son with five songs total. Oth­er bands are still sta­ples of clas­sic rock for­mat sta­tions to this day: Bob Seger, Boston, Styx, Van Mor­ri­son, For­eign­er, The Grate­ful Dead, Blondie, The Doors. Venus Flytrap’s selec­tions aren’t as com­mon, but they are also a famil­iar cross-sec­tion of the dis­co era: Chic, A Taste of Hon­ey, Eve­lyn Cham­pagne King, and Mar­vin Gaye.

One inter­est­ing appear­ance was Michael Des Bar­res, for­mer front­man of the rock band Detec­tive (who were signed to Led Zeppelin’s Swan Song label), and post-Robert Palmer front­man of Pow­er Sta­tion. He was cast as the lead singer of the punk band “Scum of the Earth” in one WKRP episode, where he sang three Detec­tive tunes. (The band actu­al­ly came dressed in busi­ness suits, so I’m not sure how “punk” they were). Now, the pro­duc­ers must have liked Michael Des Bar­res, because when the ill-fat­ed sequel The New WKRP in Cincin­nati pre­miered in 1991, he played one half of a morn­ing show team.

Cre­ator Hugh Wil­son explains in this video how cost­ly some of the orig­i­nal rights usages could be, where maybe “I could get 17 sec­onds of Pink Floyd for $3,000.” But as the show grew in pop­u­lar­i­ty, record com­pa­nies start­ed to treat the show “like a real sta­tion” and pro­vid­ing music and mer­chan­dise to dress the sets.

The use of actu­al radio hits (and not “sounda­likes”) became a prob­lem for the show in syn­di­ca­tion. When it was time to renew the rights, the var­i­ous media com­pa­nies want­ed 10 times as much. As Wil­son says, that was the end of WKRP in syn­di­ca­tion.

The Shout Fac­to­ry DVD box set was able to repro­duce most of Sea­son one with 80 per­cent of the orig­i­nal music intact, and it’s pos­si­bly why only one sea­son is out there.

That also may be why that $3,000 worth of Pink Floyd only exists as a very blur­ry YouTube video up at the top of the post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Only Instru­men­tal Ever Banned from the Radio: Link Wray’s Seduc­tive, Raunchy Song, “Rum­ble” (1958)

A His­to­ry of Rock ‘n’ Roll in 100 Riffs

Rick Wake­man Tells the Sto­ry of the Mel­lotron, the Odd­ball Pro­to-Syn­the­siz­er Pio­neered by the Bea­t­les

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

David Lynch Teaches Typing: A New Interactive Comedy Game

Typ­ing pro­grams demand some patience on the part of the stu­dent, and David Lynch Teach­es Typ­ing is no excep­tion.

You’ve got 90 sec­onds to get accli­mat­ed to the crud­dy flop­py disc-era graph­ics and the cacoph­o­nous voice of your instruc­tor, a dead ringer for FBI Deputy Direc­tor Gor­don Cole, the hard-of-hear­ing char­ac­ter direc­tor David Lynch played on his sem­i­nal ear­ly 90s series, Twin Peaks.

Things perk up about a minute and a half in, when stu­dents are instruct­ed to place their left ring fin­gers in an undu­lat­ing bug to the left of their key­boards.

That sec­ond “in”? Not a typo (though you’ll notice plen­ty of no doubt inten­tion­al boo-boos in the teacher’s pre-pro­grammed respons­es…)

The bug in ques­tion may well put you in mind of the mys­te­ri­ous baby in Lynch’s first fea­ture length film, 1977’s Eraser­head.

On the oth­er hand, it might not.

David Lynch Teach­es Typ­ing is actu­al­ly a short inter­ac­tive com­e­dy game, and many of the mil­len­ni­al review­ers cov­er­ing that beat have had to play catch-up in order to catch the many nods to the director’s work con­tained there­in.

One of our favorites is the Apple-esque name of the program’s retro com­put­er, and we’ll wager that fre­quent Lynch col­lab­o­ra­tor, actor Kyle MacLach­lan, would agree.

Anoth­er ref­er­ence that has thus far elud­ed online gam­ing enthu­si­asts in their 20s is Mavis Bea­con Teach­es Typ­ing. Take a peek below at what the vir­tu­al typ­ing tutor’s graph­ics looked like around the time the orig­i­nal Twin Peaks aired to dis­cov­er the cre­ators of David Lynch Teach­es Typ­ing’s oth­er inspi­ra­tion.

David Lynch Teach­es Typ­ing is avail­able for free down­load here. If you’re anx­ious that doing so might open you up to a tech­ni­cal bug of night­mar­ish pro­por­tions, stick with watch­ing the play through at the top of the page.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Big Lebows­ki Reimag­ined as a Clas­sic 8‑Bit Video Game

What Makes a David Lynch Film Lynchi­an: A Video Essay

“The Art of David Lynch”— How Rene Magritte, Edward Hop­per & Fran­cis Bacon Influ­enced David Lynch’s Cin­e­mat­ic Vision

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her March 20 in New York City for the sec­ond edi­tion of Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain, a low bud­get vari­ety show born of a 1920 man­u­al for Girl Scout Camp Direc­tors. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

HBO Drops a Teaser Trailer for Fahrenheit 451, Its New Adaptation of Ray Bradbury’s Classic Dystopian Novel

From HBO comes the lat­est teas­er trail­er for a new adap­ta­tion of Ray Brad­bury’s 1953 dystopi­an nov­el, Fahren­heit 451. Sched­uled to debut in May 2018, the new film will fea­ture Michael B. Jor­dan and Michael Shan­non.

Osten­si­bly Fahren­heit 451 is a sto­ry about gov­ern­ment cen­sor­ship. And some have con­sid­ered it a response to McCarthy­ism. But, when asked what the sto­ry is real­ly about, Ray Brad­bury said this: It’s about peo­ple “being turned into morons by TV.”  As a medi­um, tele­vi­sion “gives you the dates of Napoleon, but not who he was,” spread­ing “fac­toids” instead of knowl­edge. “They stuff you with so much use­less infor­ma­tion, you feel full.” Just some­thing to keep in mind before and after the new HBO film hits your TV sets this spring.

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:

Ray Brad­bury Reveals the True Mean­ing of Fahren­heit 451: It’s Not About Cen­sor­ship, But Peo­ple “Being Turned Into Morons by TV”

Hear Ray Bradbury’s Clas­sic Sci-Fi Sto­ry Fahren­heit 451 as a Radio Dra­ma

Father Writes a Great Let­ter About Cen­sor­ship When Son Brings Home Per­mis­sion Slip to Read Ray Bradbury’s Cen­sored Book, Fahren­heit 451

To Read This Exper­i­men­tal Edi­tion of Ray Bradbury’s Fahren­heit 451, You’ll Need to Add Heat to the Pages

When Archie Bunker’s Advice on Gun Control Becomes Mainstream GOP Policy (1972)

The more things change, the more the talk­ing points stay the same. Just swap teach­ers for air­plane pas­sen­gers, and watch a sil­ly sit­com punch­line morph into actu­al GOP pol­i­cy.

When Japan’s Top Animators Made a Thrilling Cyberpunk Commercial for Irish Beer: Watch Last Orders (1997)

When it came out in 1995, Mamoru Oshi­i’s Ghost in the Shell showed the world what the art of Japan­ese ani­ma­tion could do with the kind of grit­ty, tech-sat­u­rat­ed, glob­al­ized cyber­punk visions pop­u­lar­ized in the pre­vi­ous decade by William Gib­son and oth­er writ­ers. The film’s par­tic­u­lar­ly suc­cess­ful release in the Unit­ed King­dom got some cul­tur­al­ly savvy mar­keters in Ire­land think­ing: why not use this sort of thing to sell beer?

But rather than rip­ping it off and water­ing it down — all too par for the course in adver­tis­ing — they hired ani­ma­tors straight from Pro­duc­tion I.G., Ghost in the Shell’s stu­dio, to cre­ate a whole new ani­mat­ed cyber­punk real­i­ty, the one in which Last Ordersthe minute-long spot above, takes place. The 1997 com­mer­cial tells the sto­ry of six samu­rai rush­ing through a cityscape that has every­thing we’ve now come to expect from this genre: forests of high-ris­es, bustling streets, mys­te­ri­ous women, arti­fi­cial humanoids, the tech­no­log­i­cal every­where merged with the organ­ic, and neon signs aplen­ty.

The samu­rai con­verge on their des­ti­na­tion, a tav­ern, just in time to silent­ly but firm­ly sig­nal their demand for their drink of choice: Mur­phy’s Irish Stout, a Heineken-dis­trib­uted brew offered as a lighter, less bit­ter alter­na­tive to the mar­ket-dom­i­nat­ing Guin­ness. But no mat­ter of the steely deter­mi­na­tion of the samu­rai in Last Orders, the first ani­me-style com­mer­cial ever to air in the UK and Ire­land, it seems that one chal­lenges such an icon­ic brand at one’s per­il: Mur­phy’s cur­rent­ly has only a five-per­cent share of the Irish stout mar­ket, and that most­ly thanks to a 28-per­cent share in its native Cork.

The Japan­ese ani­ma­tors who worked on the com­mer­cial have fared rather bet­ter, going on to, among many oth­er respect­ed projects, Blood: The Last Vam­pire and Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade. Though I’ve nev­er encoun­tered Mur­phy’s on any tap, I’d glad­ly watch a movie or even an entire series set in its world. The stout mar­ket, the mighty Guin­ness includ­ed, may have been on the decline in recent years, but cyber­punk, in our own ever more glob­al­ized and tech-sat­u­rat­ed real­i­ty, seems about due for a come­back.

via Kotaku

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Phi­los­o­phy, Sto­ry­telling & Visu­al Cre­ativ­i­ty of Ghost in the Shell, the Acclaimed Ani­me Film, Explained in Video Essays

Watch the New Ani­me Pre­quel to Blade Run­ner 2049, by Famed Japan­ese Ani­ma­tor Shinichi­ro Watan­abe

Watch a New Star Wars Ani­ma­tion, Drawn in a Clas­sic 80s Japan­ese Ani­me Style

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

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.

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