Footage of Cities Around the World in the 1890s: London, Tokyo, New York, Venice, Moscow & More

It is called the Belle Époque, a phrase which brings to mind styl­ish graph­ic adver­tis­ing posters, the baroque Art Nou­veau style of Alphonse Mucha, the Beaux Arts archi­tec­tur­al mon­u­ments of Paris, Chica­go, and New­port. These images seem sta­t­ic, back­ward-look­ing. Despite their pop­u­lar­i­ty on the poster mar­ket, they can­not cap­ture (how could they?) the full expres­sion of what cul­tur­al his­to­ri­ans also call the fin de siè­cle. The term is French for “end of the cen­tu­ry,” but it describes a peri­od of rad­i­cal change in glob­al cul­ture in ways that will be with us for anoth­er hun­dred years or more..

In oth­er words, there was a lot hap­pen­ing in the 1890s. As one descrip­tion of the peri­od puts it, “change became the nature of things, and peo­ple believed that fur­ther improve­ment was not only pos­si­ble but inevitable.” So much of this change man­i­fest­ed in the arts. In France, for exam­ple, Impres­sion­ism began receiv­ing its due in art world cir­cles, lead­ing to two Impres­sion­ist works on dis­play at the 1900 World’s Fair, which also saw the open­ing of the Eif­fel Tow­er. In 1895, Paul Ver­laine pub­lished Arthur Rim­baud’s com­plete works, posthu­mous­ly, and Sym­bol­ist poet­ry broke Vic­to­ri­an lit­er­ary tra­di­tions irrev­o­ca­bly.

In Eng­lish, pop­u­lar genre fic­tion explod­ed, as the Goth­ic nov­el reached its apoth­e­o­sis in Bram Stoker’s Drac­u­la and the rise of detec­tive fic­tion began with Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sher­lock Holmes sto­ries. These works par­al­leled a ris­ing inter­est in the occult and the ear­ly stir­rings of New Age spir­i­tu­al­i­ty. Mean­while, Russ­ian Mod­ernism took shape in the rad­i­cal work of Vladimir Mayakovsky; the Argen­tine Tan­go began to express its “world­view of con­flict­ing nation­al dis­lo­ca­tions”; Mei­ji era Japan began rapid­ly indus­tri­al­iz­ing and import­ing “jazz, cin­e­ma… auto­mo­biles, air­planes, and avant-gardes, from futur­ism to sur­re­al­ism,” writes Christo­pher Bush, even as the West devoured all things Japan­ese; African art began to trans­form the work of painters like Picas­so.…

The rev­o­lu­tions of fin de siè­cle Vien­na were so world-chang­ing as to war­rant a major study of the peri­od titled Fin-De-Siè­cle Vien­na. Even in the still quite-provin­cial U.S., where rob­ber barons built Beaux Arts palaces, mod­ernist rev­o­lu­tions ges­tat­ed in the Arts & Crafts move­ment. The world was chang­ing too quick­ly for some, not quick­ly enough for oth­ers. For mil­lions more, life went on more or less as it had a half-cen­tu­ry ear­li­er. It would be decades before many peo­ple around the world expe­ri­enced either the mate­r­i­al improve­ments or the rad­i­cal cul­tur­al dis­lo­ca­tions of the era.

You can see the faces, smil­ing, scowl­ing, going about their busi­ness, of a few thou­sand city-dwellers around the world from the peri­od in a mon­tage of film footage above. Most of the passers­by cap­tured on film could not have known they lived in a time of unprece­dent­ed change — the all-impor­tant fin de siè­cle of cul­tur­al his­to­ry. How could they? But they did live in a time of unprece­dent­ed anx­i­ety about change, a time in which many keen­ly felt “the dis­crep­an­cy between mate­r­i­al advance and spir­i­tu­al dejec­tion,” notes Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty Press. “For most peo­ple the peri­od was far from ele­gant.”

Only time will tell what crit­i­cal his­to­ri­ans of the future make of our era. But even as we expe­ri­ence incred­i­ble lev­els of anx­i­ety about change, per­haps few of us are tru­ly aware of just how rad­i­cal the changes of our time will turn out to be a cen­tu­ry or so from now.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Down­load 200+ Belle Époque Art Posters: An Archive of Mas­ter­pieces from the “Gold­en Age of the Poster” (1880–1918)

Watch Scenes from Belle Époque Paris Vivid­ly Restored with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence (Cir­ca 1890)

Pris­tine Footage Lets You Revis­it Life in Paris in the 1890s: Watch Footage Shot by the Lumière Broth­ers

The Old­est Known Footage of Lon­don (1890–1920) Fea­tures the City’s Great Land­marks

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

When Mahatma Gandhi Met Charlie Chaplin (1931)

Mahat­ma Gand­hi and Char­lie Chap­lin were both forged in the 19th cen­tu­ry, and both went on to become icons of the 20th. His­to­ry has remem­bered one as a tire­less lib­er­a­tor and the oth­er as a tire­less enter­tain­er; decades after their deaths, both con­tin­ue to com­mand the respect of many in the 21st cen­tu­ry. It’s under­stand­able then, that a meet­ing between Gand­hi and Chap­lin at the peak of their fame would cause some­thing of a fuss. “East-Enders, in the thou­sands, turn out to greet the two famous lit­tle men,” announces the title card of the British Pathé news­reel clip above. Cries of “Good old Char­lie!” and “Good old Gand­hi!” were heard.

The occa­sion for this encounter was the Round Table Con­fer­ences, a series of meet­ings between the British gov­ern­ment and polit­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tives of India held with an eye toward con­sti­tu­tion­al reform. “The buzz was that Mahat­ma Gand­hi would be com­ing to Britain for the first time since he joined the Free­dom move­ment,” writes blog­ger Vijaya­mad­hav. The buzz proved cor­rect, but more his­toric than the results of that par­tic­u­lar con­fer­ence ses­sion was what tran­spired there­after. “Gand­hi was prepar­ing for his depar­ture when a telegram reached him. A cer­tain Charles Chap­lin, who was in Britain at that time, had request­ed per­mis­sion to be grant­ed an audi­ence with him.”

Gand­hi, said to have seen only two films in his life (one of them in Hin­di), “did not know who this gen­tle­man was,” and so “replied that it would be hard for him to find time and asked his aides to send a reply declin­ing the request.” But it seems that Gand­hi’s cir­cle con­tained Chap­lin fans, or at least advi­sors aware of the polit­i­cal val­ue of a pho­to oppor­tu­ni­ty with the most beloved Eng­lish­man alive, who pre­vailed upon him to take the meet­ing. And so, on Sep­tem­ber 22, 1931, “hun­dreds of peo­ple crowd­ed around the house” — the char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly hum­ble lodg­ings off East India Dock Road — “to catch a glimpse of the famous vis­i­tors.” Some “even clam­bered over gar­den fences to look through the win­dows.”

Chap­lin opened with a ques­tion to Gand­hi about his “abhor­rence of machin­ery.” Gand­hi’s reply, as record­ed in The Print: “Machin­ery in the past has made us depen­dent on Eng­land, and the only way we can rid our­selves of that depen­den­cy is to boy­cott all goods made by machin­ery,” espe­cial­ly those machines he saw as rob­bing Indi­ans of their liveli­hoods. Chap­lin lat­er wrote of hav­ing received in this con­ver­sa­tion “a lucid object les­son in tac­ti­cal maneu­ver­ing in India’s fight for free­dom, inspired, para­dox­i­cal­ly, by a real­is­tic, vir­ile-mind­ed vision­ary with a will of iron to car­ry it out.” He might also have got the idea for 1935’s Mod­ern Times, a comedic cri­tique of indus­tri­al­ized moder­ni­ty that now ranks among Chap­lin’s most acclaimed works. The abstemious Gand­hi nev­er saw it, of course, and whether it would have made him laugh is an open ques­tion. But apart, per­haps, from its glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of drug use, he could hard­ly have dis­agreed with it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Char­lie Chap­lin Archive Opens, Putting Online 30,000 Pho­tos & Doc­u­ments from the Life of the Icon­ic Film Star

Watch Gand­hi Talk in His First Filmed Inter­view (1947)

Char­lie Chap­lin Gets Strapped into a Dystopi­an “Rube Gold­berg Machine,” a Fright­ful Com­men­tary on Mod­ern Cap­i­tal­ism

Mahat­ma Gandhi’s List of the 7 Social Sins; or Tips on How to Avoid Liv­ing the Bad Life

Char­lie Chap­lin Does Cocaine and Saves the Day in Mod­ern Times (1936)

Watch 85,000 His­toric News­reel Films from British Pathé Free Online (1910–2008)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

Is the Viral “Red Dress” Music Video a Sociological Experiment? Performance Art? Or Something Else?

Before it set itself on fire, HBO’s Game of Thrones res­onat­ed deeply with con­tem­po­rary moral­i­ty, becom­ing the most meme-wor­thy of shows, for good or ill, online. Few scenes in the show’s run — per­haps not even the Red Wed­ding or the nau­se­at­ing finale — elicit­ed as much gut-lev­el reac­tion as Cer­sei Lannister’s naked walk of shame in the Sea­son 5 finale, a scene all the more res­o­nant as it hap­pened to be based on real events.

In 1483, one of King Edward IV’s many mis­tress­es, Jane Shore, was marched through London’s streets by his broth­er Richard III, “while crowds of peo­ple watched, yelling and sham­ing her. She wasn’t total­ly naked,” notes Men­tal Floss, “but by the stan­dards of the day, she might as well have been,” wear­ing noth­ing but a kir­tle, a “thin shift of linen meant to be worn only as an under­gar­ment.”

What are the stan­dards of our day? And what is the pun­ish­ment for vio­lat­ing them? Sarah Brand seemed to be ask­ing these ques­tions when she post­ed “Red Dress,” a music video show­cas­ing her less than stel­lar singing tal­ents inside Oxford’s North Gate Church. In less than a month, the video has gar­nered well over half a mil­lion views, “impres­sive for a musi­cian with hard­ly any social media foot­print or fan base,” Kate Fowler writes at Newsweek.

“It takes only a few sec­onds,” Fowler gen­er­ous­ly remarks, “to real­ize that Brand may not have the voice of an angel.” Or, as one clever com­menter put it, “She is actu­al­ly hit­ting all the notes… only of oth­er songs. And at ran­dom.” Is she ludi­crous­ly un-self-aware, an heiress with delu­sions of grandeur, a sad casu­al­ty of celebri­ty cul­ture, forc­ing her­self into a role that doesn’t fit? Or does she know exact­ly what she’s doing…

The judg­ments of medieval mobs have noth­ing on the inter­net, Brand sug­gests. “Red Dress” presents what she calls “a cin­e­mat­ic, holis­tic por­tray­al of judg­ment,” one that includes inter­net sham­ing in its cal­cu­la­tions. Giv­en the amount of online ran­cor and ridicule her video pro­voked, it “did what it set out to do,” she tells the BBC. And giv­en that Brand is cur­rent­ly com­plet­ing a master’s degree in soci­ol­o­gy at Oxford Uni­ver­si­ty, many won­der if the project is a soci­o­log­i­cal exper­i­ment for cred­it. She isn’t say­ing.

Jane Shore’s walk end­ed with years locked in prison. Brand offered her­self up for the scorn and hatred of the mobs. No one is point­ing a pike at her back. She paid for the priv­i­lege of hav­ing peo­ple laugh at her, and she’s espe­cial­ly enjoy­ing “some very, very wit­ty com­ments” (like those above). She’s also very much aware that she is “no pro­fes­sion­al singer.”

The style in which I sing the song was impor­tant because it reflect­ed the sto­ry. The vocals don’t seem to quite fit, they seem out of place and they make peo­ple uncom­fort­able… and the video is this out­sider doing things dif­fer­ent­ly and caus­ing dis­com­fort and elic­it­ing all this judge­ment.

All of this is vol­un­tary per­for­mance art, in a sense, though Brand has shown pre­vi­ous aspi­ra­tions on social media to become a singer, and per­haps faced sim­i­lar ridicule invol­un­tar­i­ly. “Part of what this project deals with,” she says, is judg­ment “over­all as a cen­tral theme.” She cred­its her­self as the direc­tor, pro­duc­er, chore­o­g­ra­ph­er, and edi­tor and made every cre­ative deci­sion, to the bemuse­ment of the actors, crew, and stu­dio musi­cians. Yet choos­ing to endure the gaunt­let does not make the gaunt­let less real, she sug­gests.

The shame rained down on Shore was part misog­y­ny, part pent-up rage over injus­tice direct­ed at a hat­ed bet­ter. When any­one can pre­tend (or pre­tend to pre­tend) to be a celebri­ty with a few hun­dred bucks for cin­e­matog­ra­phy and audio pro­duc­tion, the bound­aries between our “bet­ters” and our­selves get fuzzy. When young women are expect­ed to become brands, to live up to celebri­ty lev­els of online pol­ish for social recog­ni­tion, self-expres­sion, or employ­ment, the lines between choice and com­pul­sion blur. With whom do we iden­ti­fy in scenes of pub­lic sham­ing?

Brand is coy in her sum­ma­tion. “Judg­men­tal behav­ior does hurt the world,” she says, “and that is what I’m try­ing to bring to light with this project.” Judge for your­self in the video above and the … inter­est­ing… lyrics to “Red Dress” below.

 

Came to church to praise all love
Sit­ting, com­ing for some­one else
It didn’t stew well for me
But I said it was a lover’s deed

Didn’t trust my own feels
Let some­one else behind my wheel
Said it was love dri­ving me
But the only one who should steer is me

Cuz what they saw

They see me in a red dress
Hop­ping on the dev­il fest
Think­ing of lust
As they judge in dis­gust
What are you doing here?

They see me in a red dress
Hop­ping on the dev­il fest
Think­ing of lust
As I judge in dis­gust
What am I doing here?

Let­tin’ some­one else steer

I saw a love, pre­cious and fine
Thought I should do any­thing for time 
Time to change the hearts and minds
Of peo­ple not like me in break or stride

Shouldn’t be me, try­ing to change
Thought I’d be some­thing if I remained 
It just ain’t me singing of sins
Watch­ing exclu­sion get­ting its wins

Cuz what they saw

They see me in a red dress
Hop­ping on the dev­il fest
Think­ing of lust
As they judge in dis­gust
What are you doing here?

They see me in a red dress
Hop­ping on the dev­il fest
Think­ing of lust
As I judge in dis­gust
What am I doing here?

Let­tin’ some­one else steer

Came to church 
To praise love
Com­ing for
Some­one else

But all the eyes
Judg­ing in dis­guise
They don’t see me
Just the lies

They see me in a red dress
No dif­fer­ent from the rest
Start­ing to trust
As they join in a rush
What are we doing here?

They see me in a red dress
No dif­fer­ent from the rest
Start­ing to trust
As I lose my dis­gust
What am I doing here?

Strik­ing the fear

They see me in a red dress

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Hear the Exper­i­men­tal Music of the Dada Move­ment: Avant-Garde Sounds from a Cen­tu­ry Ago

The 15 Worst Cov­ers of Bea­t­les Songs: William Shat­ner, Bill Cos­by, Tiny Tim, Sean Con­nery & Your Excel­lent Picks

Bri­an Eno Explains the Loss of Human­i­ty in Mod­ern Music

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

Carl Jung Offers an Introduction to His Psychological Thought in a 3‑Hour Interview (1957)

In the 1950s, it was fash­ion­able to drop Freud’s name — often as not in pseu­do-intel­lec­tu­al sex jokes. Freud’s pre­oc­cu­pa­tions had as much to do with his fame as the actu­al prac­tice of psy­chother­a­py, and it was assumed — and still is to a great degree — that Freud had “won” the debate with his for­mer stu­dent and friend Carl Jung, who saw reli­gion, psy­che­del­ic drugs, occult prac­tices, etc. as valid forms of indi­vid­u­al­iz­ing and inte­grat­ing human selves — selves that were after all, he thought, con­nect­ed by far more than bio­log­i­cal dri­ves for sex and death.

Now Jung’s insights per­me­ate the cul­ture, in increas­ing­ly pop­u­lar fields like transper­son­al psy­chol­o­gy, for exam­ple, that see humans as “rad­i­cal­ly inter­con­nect­ed, not just iso­lat­ed indi­vid­u­als,” psy­chol­o­gist Har­ris L. Fried­man argues. Move­ments like these grew out of the “coun­ter­cul­ture move­ments of the 1960s,” psy­chol­o­gy lec­tur­er and author Steve Tay­lor explains, “and the wave of psy­cho-exper­i­men­ta­tion it involved, through psy­che­del­ic sub­stances, med­i­ta­tion and oth­er con­scious­ness chang­ing prac­tices” — the very prac­tices Jung explored in his work.

Indeed, Jung was the first “to legit­imize a spir­i­tu­al approach to the prac­tice of depth psy­chol­o­gy,” Mark Kasprow and Bruce Scot­ton point out, and “sug­gest­ed that psy­cho­log­i­cal devel­op­ment extends to include high­er states of con­scious­ness and can con­tin­ue through­out life, rather than stop with the attain­ment of adult ego mat­u­ra­tion.” Against Freud, who thought tran­scen­dence was regres­sion, Jung “pro­posed that tran­scen­dent expe­ri­ence lies with­in and is acces­si­ble to every­one, and that the heal­ing and growth stim­u­lat­ed by such expe­ri­ence often make use of the lan­guages of sym­bol­ic imagery and non­ver­bal expe­ri­ence.”

Jung’s work became increas­ing­ly impor­tant after his death in 1961, lead­ing to the pub­li­ca­tion of his col­lect­ed works in 1969. These intro­duced read­ers to all of his  “key con­cepts and ideas, from arche­typ­al sym­bols to ana­lyt­i­cal psy­chol­o­gy to UFOs,” notes a com­pan­ion guide. Near the end of his life, Jung him­self pro­vid­ed a ver­bal sur­vey of his life’s work in the form of four one-hour inter­views con­duct­ed in 1957 by Uni­ver­si­ty of Houston’s Dr. Richard Evans at the Eidgenos­sis­che Tech­nis­che Hoschschule (Fed­er­al Insti­tute of Tech­nol­o­gy) in Zurich.

“The con­ver­sa­tions were filmed as part of an edu­ca­tion­al project designed for stu­dents of the psy­chol­o­gy depart­ment. Evans is a poor inter­view­er, but Jung com­pen­sates well,” the Gnos­tic Soci­ety Library writes. The edit­ed inter­views begin with a ques­tion about Jung’s con­cept of per­sona (also, inci­den­tal­ly, the theme and title of Ing­mar Bergman’s 1966 mas­ter­piece). In response, Jung describes the per­sona in plain terms and with every­day exam­ples as a fic­tion­al self “par­tial­ly dic­tat­ed by soci­ety and par­tial­ly dic­tat­ed by the expec­ta­tions or the wish­es one nurs­es one­self.”

The less we’re con­scious­ly aware of our pub­lic selves as per­for­mances in these terms, the more we’re prone, Jung says, to neu­roses, as the pres­sure of our “shad­ow,” exerts itself. Jung and Evans’ dis­cus­sion of per­sona only grazes the sur­face of their wide-rang­ing con­ver­sa­tion about the uncon­scious and the many ways to access it. Through­out, Jung’s exam­ples are clear and his expla­na­tions lucid. Above, you can see a tran­scribed video of the same inter­views. Read a pub­lished tran­script in the col­lec­tion C.G. Jung Speak­ing, and see more Jung inter­views and doc­u­men­taries at the Gnos­tic Soci­ety Library.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Zen Mas­ter Alan Watts Explains What Made Carl Jung Such an Influ­en­tial Thinker

The Vision­ary Mys­ti­cal Art of Carl Jung: See Illus­trat­ed Pages from The Red Book

How Carl Jung Inspired the Cre­ation of Alco­holics Anony­mous

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

Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast — Season One Wrap: What Have We Learned? (#102)

After 101 episodes and a bit over two years, Open­Cul­ture’s first pod­cast offer­ing is mov­ing into a new phase. Here your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an hirt reflect on what we’ve learned and set a course for the future.

Our over­ar­ch­ing con­cern with this pod­cast has been how and why we con­sume. We may not have learned a great deal about this issue in a gen­er­al sense, but we’ve cer­tain­ly been shown the appeal of many forms that we might not have con­sid­ered before, and we’ve the­o­rized about why peo­ple like dra­ma or hor­ror, or what makes for com­pelling sci-fi or gam­ing, etc.

We’ve stretched over these episodes into some unex­pect­ed areas for a pop cul­ture pod­cast, like the phi­los­o­phy of pho­tog­ra­phy and why peo­ple obsess over con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries. The cur­rent dis­cus­sion takes this on through a re-con­sid­er­a­tion of what pop cul­ture is. Of course, the title of the pod­cast has “pret­ty much” in it, which allows a cer­tain amount of lee­way, but the source of that ambi­gu­i­ty is not just that I want the free­dom to bring in any top­ic that inter­ests me, but because of two points cov­ered in this episode:

  • Func­tion­al­ly, indi­vid­u­als enter­tain them­selves with a vari­ety of things; they are our cul­tur­al food, and can include many obses­sions that have noth­ing to do with man­u­fac­tured media at all. If such fas­ci­na­tions are also used by mul­ti­ple peo­ple to bond over, then that’s cul­ture, and inso­far as bond­ing over that object is com­mon, then it’s pop cul­ture.
  • There’s a con­tin­u­um between cre­ation and spec­tat­ing. Cre­ators are first of all con­sumers and cre­ate large­ly through imi­tat­ing and tweak­ing past works. Though this pod­cast focus­es large­ly on the con­sumer side of the equa­tion, some of audi­ence appre­ci­a­tion is a mat­ter of respect for the craft, which increas­es through under­stand­ing and (at least vic­ar­i­ous) par­tic­i­pa­tion in the activ­i­ty. Though it’s not always the case that we get enjoy­ment through sym­pa­thy with the artis­tic choic­es a cre­ator makes (some­times we just mar­vel uncom­pre­hend­ing­ly), this is a sig­nif­i­cant dynam­ic in fan­dom. View­ers who liked Game of Thrones had many ideas about how it should have end­ed even if they had no oppor­tu­ni­ty or even tal­ent to real­ly pro­vide an alter­na­tive.

It all comes down to the dimen­sions of mime­sis, which means reflec­tion. We enjoy sto­ry­telling large­ly because it reflects us, either how we are, how we might like to be, or how we fear we could be. We get some of our ideas about who we are from these media reflec­tions. Mar­keters guess at who they think we are (again, in part based on media) and cre­ate prod­ucts to mar­ket at us. Artists cre­ate works reflect­ed from oth­er works which attempt to reflect us (or dis­tort us based on knowl­edge of a reflec­tion). Who we are as a cul­ture may be very much sto­ry­telling all the way down. So polit­i­cal myths are an essen­tial part of this, as are sex­u­al mores, ideas about what leisure activ­i­ties (and jobs, for that mat­ter) are respectable, man­ners tak­en more gen­er­al­ly, how we deal with our lega­cies of racism and sex­ism, what we find fun­ny and how that changes over time, and much much more.

Thanks, all, for lis­ten­ing. We’ll be back in a few weeks.

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop.

This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

How West Magazine Created a Southern-California Pop-Culture Aesthetic with the Help of Milton Glaser, Gahan Wilson, and Others (1967–1972)


In the late 1960s, a coun­ter­cul­ture-mind­ed media pro­fes­sion­al could sure­ly have imag­ined more appeal­ing places to work than the Los Ange­les Times. Wide­ly derid­ed as the offi­cial organ of the South­ern Cal­i­for­nia Bab­bitt, the paper also put out a bland Sun­day sup­ple­ment called West mag­a­zine. But West had the poten­tial to evolve into some­thing more vital — or so seemed to think its edi­tor, Jim Bel­lows. The cre­ator of “the orig­i­nal New York mag­a­zine in the ear­ly 1960s,” writes Design Observer’s Steven Heller, Bel­lows con­vinced a young adman named Mike Sal­is­bury, “who worked for Car­son Roberts Adver­tis­ing in L.A. (where Ed Ruscha and Ter­ry Gilliam worked), to accept the job as art direc­tor.”

Sal­is­bury inject­ed West “with such an abun­dance of pop cul­ture visu­al rich­ness that it was more like a minia­ture muse­um than week­ly gazette.” Its week­ly issues “cov­ered a wide range of themes — most­ly reflect­ing Salisbury’s insa­tiable curiosi­ties — from a fea­ture on bas­ket­ball that illus­trat­ed the tremen­dous size of cen­ter for­wards by show­ing a life-size pho­to­graph of Wilt Chamberlin’s Con­verse sneak­er, to a pic­to­r­i­al his­to­ry of movie star pin­ups with a bevy of gor­geous sil­hou­ettes fan­ning on the page, to an array of souped-up VW Bee­tles in all shapes and sizes.”

On any giv­en Sun­day, sub­scribers might find them­selves treat­ed to “the his­to­ry of Mick­ey Mouse, Coca-Cola art (the first time it was pub­lished as ‘art’), the visu­al his­to­ry of Levis, Hol­ly­wood gar­den apart­ments, Ray­mond Chan­dler loca­tions, and Kus­tom Kars.”

“I was the writer on the Coca-Cola ‘art’ piece as well as the first ‘pro­gram­mat­ic’ archi­tec­ture arti­cle to see print,” says a com­menter under the Design Observ­er ret­ro­spec­tive named Lar­ry Dietz. He also claims to have writ­ten the fea­ture on Ray­mond Chan­dler’s Los Ange­les; much lat­er, he adds, Chi­na­town screen­writer “Robert Towne said that he was inspired to learn about L.A. his­to­ry from that piece, but that the writ­ing was crap­py.” But then, the main impact of Sal­is­bury’s West was nev­er meant to be tex­tu­al. Heller quotes Sal­is­bury as say­ing that “design was not my sole objec­tive: cin­e­ma-graph­ic infor­ma­tion is a bet­ter def­i­n­i­tion.” Of all the cov­ers he designed, he remem­bers the one just above, pro­mot­ing an exposé on hero­in, as hav­ing been the most con­tro­ver­sial: “Don’t give me too much real­i­ty over Sun­day break­fast,” he heard read­ers grum­bling.

 

Oth­er mem­o­rable West cov­ers include the mag­a­zine’s trib­ute to the just-can­celed Ed Sul­li­van show in 1971, as well as con­tri­bu­tions by artists and design­ers like Vic­tor Moscoso, Gahan Wil­son, John Van Hamersveld, and Mil­ton Glaser, all fig­ures who did a great deal to craft the Amer­i­can zeit­geist of the 1960s and 70s. The mag­a­zine as a whole con­sol­i­dat­ed the South­ern Cal­i­forn­ian pop-cul­tur­al aes­thet­ic of its peri­od, as dis­tinct from what Sal­is­bury calls the “qua­si-Vic­to­ri­an” look and feel of San Fran­cis­co to the north and the “Roco­co or Baroque” New York to the east. Los Ange­les, to his mind, was “stream­line,” emblema­tized by the cul­ture and indus­try of motor­cy­cle cus­tomiza­tion and its “belief in Futur­ism.”

West was a prod­uct of the Los Ange­les Times under Otis Chan­dler, pub­lish­er from 1960 to 1980, who ded­i­cat­ed his career to expand­ing the scope and ambi­tion of the news­pa­per his great-grand­fa­ther had once run. His labors paid off in ret­ro­spect, espe­cial­ly from read­ers as astute as Joan Did­ion, who praised Chan­dler’s Times to the skies. But by 1972, West seemed to have become too much of an extrav­a­gance even for him. After the mag­a­zine’s can­cel­la­tion, Sal­is­bury moved on to Rolling Stone, then in the process of con­vert­ing from a news­pa­per to a mag­a­zine for­mat. No small part of that mag­a­zine’s pop-cul­tur­al pow­er in the 70s must have owed to his art direc­tion.

Lat­er in the decade, both Sal­is­bury and Glaser would bring their tal­ents to the just-launched New West mag­a­zine. It had no direct con­nec­tion with West or the Los Ange­les Times, but was con­ceived as the sis­ter pub­li­ca­tion of New York Mag­a­zine, which itself had been re-invent­ed by Glaser and pub­lish­er Clay Felk­er in the mid-1960s. Its debut cov­er, just above, fea­tured Glaser’s art­work; three years lat­er, in 1979, Sal­is­bury designed a cov­er on Cal­i­for­ni­a’s water cri­sis that the Amer­i­can Insti­tute of Graph­ic Arts’ Steven Brow­er calls “pre­scient.” At that same time, he notes, Sal­is­bury “worked with Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la on the set design for Apoc­a­lypse Now; he designed Michael Jackson’s break­through album, Off the Wall,” and he even col­lab­o­rat­ed with George Har­ri­son on his epony­mous album.” But when “vet­er­an mag­a­zine art direc­tors” get togeth­er and “rem­i­nisce about the glo­ry years,” writes Heller, it’s West they inevitably talk about.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Dig­i­tal Dri­ve Along Ed Ruscha’s Sun­set Boule­vard, the Famous Strip That the Artist Pho­tographed from 1965 to 2007

Mil­ton Glaser’s Styl­ish Album Cov­ers for The Band, Nina Simone, John Cage & Many More

Down­load the Com­plete Archive of Oz, “the Most Con­tro­ver­sial Mag­a­zine of the 60s,” Fea­tur­ing R. Crumb, Ger­maine Greer & More

A Com­plete Dig­i­ti­za­tion of the 1960s Mag­a­zine Avant Garde: From John Lennon’s Erot­ic Lith­o­graphs to Mar­i­lyn Monroe’s Last Pho­tos

Down­load 50+ Issues of Leg­endary West Coast Punk Music Zines from the 1970–80s: Dam­age, Slash & No Mag

Flair Mag­a­zine: The Short-Lived, High­ly-Influ­en­tial Mag­a­zine That Still Inspires Design­ers Today (1950)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

How Steven Van Zandt Organized the Sun City Boycott and Helped Catalyze the Anti-Apartheid Movement (1985)

Actor and musi­cian Steven Van Zandt — known to Spring­steen fans as E Street Band gui­tarist Lit­tle Steven — played the steady voice of rea­son Sil­vio Dante on The Sopra­nos. With­out his guid­ing hand and sense of style, Tony would not have made it as far as he did. How much of Steven Van Zandt was in Sil­vio? Maybe a lot. As Van Zandt told Vice in a 2019 inter­view, he invent­ed the char­ac­ter and gave it to David Chase, who turned his vision of “big bands, cho­rus girls, Jew­ish Catskills comics” into the Bada Bing, a “strip club for the fam­i­ly.”

It’s not hard to imag­ine Sil­vio in his shiny suits get­ting onstage with the Boss, but he would nev­er have played Van Zandt’s role as an anti-racist activist. After leav­ing the E Street Band in 1984, Van Zandt start­ed orga­niz­ing musi­cians against apartheid for what would become an unprece­dent­ed action against Sun City, “a ritzy, whites only resort in South Africa,” Josh Haskell writes at ABC News, “that Van Zandt and his group Artists Unit­ed Against Apartheid decid­ed to boy­cott.”

Van Zandt and leg­endary hip hop pro­duc­er Arthur Bak­er brought togeth­er what rock crit­ic Dave Marsh calls “the most diverse line up of pop­u­lar musi­cians ever assem­bled for a sin­gle ses­sion” to record “Sun City,” a song that “raised aware­ness about apartheid,” says Haskell, “dur­ing a time in the 1980s when many Amer­i­cans weren’t aware of what was hap­pen­ing.” It wasn’t dif­fi­cult to bury the news pre-inter­net. Since the South African gov­ern­ment received tac­it sup­port from U.S. cor­po­ra­tions and the Rea­gan admin­is­tra­tion, there was hard­ly a rush to char­ac­ter­ize the coun­try too neg­a­tive­ly in the media.

Van Zandt him­self remem­bered being “shocked to find real­ly slav­ery going on and this very bril­liant but evil strat­e­gy called apartheid,” he said in 2013. “At the time, it was quite coura­geous for the artists to be on this record. We crossed a line from social con­cerns to polit­i­cal con­cerns.” The list of famous artists involved in the record­ing ses­sions and video is too long to repro­duce, but it notably includ­ed hip-hop and rock roy­al­ty like Bruce Spring­steen, DJ Kool Herc, Bob Dylan, Pat Benatar, Ringo Starr, Lou Reed, Run D.M.C., Peter Gabriel, Kur­tis Blow, Bono, Kei­th Richards, Bon­nie Raitt, Joey Ramone, Gil Scott-Heron, and Bob Geld­of.

As with oth­er occa­sion­al super­groups assem­bled at the time (by Geld­of) to raise funds and/or aware­ness for glob­al caus­es, there’s a too-many-cooks feel to the results, but the music is sec­ondary to the mes­sage. Even so, “Sun City” turned out to be a pio­neer­ing crossover track: “too black for white radio and too white for black radio,” says Van Zandt. Instead, it hit its stride on tele­vi­sion in the ear­ly days of MTV and BET: “They real­ly embraced it and played it a lot. Con­gress­men and sen­a­tors’ chil­dren were com­ing up to them and telling them about apartheid and what they saw hap­pen­ing in South Africa. That put us over the edge.”

When pop, punk, rock, and hip-hop artists linked arms, it “re-ener­gized the whole anti-apartheid move­ment, says Van Zandt, which had kind of hit a wall at that point and was not get­ting much trac­tion.” Unlike oth­er super­group protest songs, “Sun City” also gave its lis­ten­ers an inci­sive polit­i­cal edu­ca­tion, sum­ming up the sit­u­a­tion in the lyrics. You can see a 1985 doc­u­men­tary on the mak­ing of the song just above. “The refrain of ‘I ain’t gonna play Sun City’ is a sim­ple one,” notes the Zinn Edu­ca­tion Project, “but the issues raised in the song and film are not.” See the lyrics (along with the artists who sang the lines) here, and learn more about the his­to­ry of South African apartheid at the Zinn Ed Project.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When South Africa Banned Pink Floyd’s The Wall After Stu­dents Chant­ed “We Don’t Need No Edu­ca­tion” to Protest the Apartheid School Sys­tem (1980)

Peter Gabriel Re-Records “Biko,” His Anti-Apartheid Protest Song, with Musi­cians Around the World

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Robben Island Where Nel­son Man­dela and Oth­er Apartheid Oppo­nents Were Jailed

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

What Made Marcel Duchamp’s Famous Urinal Art–and an Inventive Prank

To our way of think­ing, the ques­tion is not whether Mar­cel Duchamp con­ceived of Foun­tain, history’s most famous uri­nal, as art or prank.

Nor is it the ongo­ing con­tro­ver­sy as to whether the piece should be attrib­uted to Duchamp or his friend, avant-garde poet and artist Baroness Elsa von Frey­tag-Lor­ing­hoven.

The ques­tion is why more civil­ians don’t head for the men’s room armed with black paint pens (or alter­na­tive­ly, die-cut stick­ers) to enhance every uri­nal they encounter with the sig­na­ture of the non-exis­tent “R. Mutt.”

The art world bias that was being test­ed in 1917, when the signed uri­nal was unsuc­cess­ful­ly sub­mit­ted to an unjuried exhi­bi­tion at the Soci­ety of Inde­pen­dent Artists, has not van­ished entire­ly, but as cura­tor Sarah Urist Green explains in the above episode of The Art Assign­ment, the past hun­dred years has wit­nessed a lot of con­cep­tu­al art afford­ed space in even the most staid insti­tu­tions.

Foun­tain was a pre­med­i­tat­ed piece, but some­times, these art­works, or pranks, if you pre­fer — Green favors let­ting each view­er reach their own con­clu­sions — are more spon­ta­neous in nature.

She ref­er­ences the case of two teenaged boys who, under­whelmed by a Mike Kel­ley stuffed ani­mal instal­la­tion at the San Fran­cis­co Muse­um of Mod­ern Art, posi­tioned a pair of eye­glass­es in such a way that oth­er vis­i­tors assumed they, too, were part of an exhib­it.

One of the boys told The New York Times that “when art is more abstract, it is more dif­fi­cult to inter­pret,” caus­ing him to lose inter­est.

“We had a good laugh about it,” the oth­er added.

And that, for us, gets to the heart of Foun­tain’s endur­ing pow­er.

Plen­ty of art world stunts, whether their inten­tion was to shock, cri­tique, or screw with the gate­keep­ers have been lost to the ages.

Foun­tain, at heart, is a par­tic­u­lar­ly mem­o­rable kind of fun­ny…

Fun­ny in the same way poet Rus­sell Edson’s “With Sin­cer­est Regrets” is fun­ny:

WITH SINCEREST REGRETS

for Charles Sim­ic

Like a white snail the toi­let slides into the liv­ing room, demand­ing to be loved. It is impos­si­ble, and we ten­der our sin­cer­est regrets.In the book of the heart there is no men­tion made of plumb­ing.

And though we have spent our inti­ma­cy many times with you, you belong to a rather unfor­tu­nate ref­er­ence, which we would rather not embrace…

The toi­let slides out of the liv­ing room like a white snail, flush­ing with grief…

More recent art world con­tro­ver­sies — Chris Ofili’s “The Holy Vir­gin Mary” and Andres Serrano’s Piss Christ — arose from the jux­ta­po­si­tion of seri­ous reli­gious sub­ject mat­ter with bod­i­ly flu­ids.

By con­trast, Foun­tain took the piss out of a sec­u­lar high church — the estab­lished art world.

And it did so with a fac­to­ry-fresh uri­nal, no more gross than a porce­lain din­ner plate.

No won­der peo­ple could­n’t stop talk­ing about it!

We still are.

Green recounts how per­for­mance artists Cai Yuan and Jian Jun Xi attempt­ed to “cel­e­brate the spir­it of mod­ern art” by uri­nat­ing on the Tate Modern’s Foun­tain repli­ca in 2000.

That per­for­mance, titled “Two artists piss on Ducham­p’s Uri­nal” was “intend­ed to make peo­ple re-eval­u­ate what con­sti­tut­ed art itself and how an act could be art.”

Their action might have made a more ele­gant — and fun­nier — state­ment had the Foun­tain repli­ca not been dis­played inside a vit­rine.

Still, draw­ing atten­tion to their inabil­i­ty to hit the tar­get might, as Green sug­gests, high­light how muse­um cul­ture “fetishizes and pro­tects the objects” it, or his­to­ry, deems wor­thy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When Bri­an Eno & Oth­er Artists Peed in Mar­cel Duchamp’s Famous Uri­nal

The Icon­ic Uri­nal & Work of Art, “Foun­tain,” Wasn’t Cre­at­ed by Mar­cel Duchamp But by the Pio­neer­ing Dada Artist Elsa von Frey­tag-Lor­ing­hoven

Watch Mar­cel Duchamp’s Hyp­not­ic Rotore­liefs: Spin­ning Discs Cre­at­ing Opti­cal Illu­sions on a Turntable (1935)

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

Watch Beautiful Footage of the Rarely Seen Glass Octopus

First things first: the plur­al of octo­pus is not “octopi,” it’s octo­pus­es.

Now, drop every­thing and watch the video above. It’s an extreme­ly rare sight­ing of a glass octo­pus, “a near­ly trans­par­ent species, whose only vis­i­ble fea­tures are its optic nerve, eye­balls and diges­tive tract” notes the Schmidt Ocean Insti­tute. “Before this expe­di­tion, there has been lim­it­ed live footage of the glass octo­pus, forc­ing sci­en­tists to learn about the ani­mal by study­ing spec­i­mens found in the gut con­tents of preda­tors.”

Lim­it­ed sight­ings did not stop the poet Mar­i­anne Moore from see­ing some­thing like this won­drous crea­ture in her mind’s eye:

it lies “in grandeur and in mass”
beneath a sea of shift­ing snow-dunes;
dots of cycla­men-red and maroon on its clear­ly defined
pseu­do-podia
made of glass that will bend‑a much need­ed inven­tion-
com­pris­ing twen­ty-eight ice-fields from fifty to five hun­dred
feet thick,
of unimag­ined del­i­ca­cy.

Glass octo­pus­es have green dots and do not live under “snow-dunes” but in the warm Pacif­ic waters beneath the Phoenix Islands Pro­tect­ed Area (PIPA) near Samoa, and else­where Schmidt Ocean Insti­tute sci­en­tists cap­tured rare footage and “iden­ti­fied new marine organ­isms,” writes Colos­sal, while record­ing “the sought-after whale shark swim­ming through the Pacif­ic Ocean.”

We must admit, Moore got the sense of awe just right….

Marine sci­en­tists from around the world embarked on the 34-day expe­di­tion on the ship Falkor. Using “high-res­o­lu­tion map­ping tools,” Ocean Con­ser­van­cy writes, they sur­veyed “more than 11,500 square miles of sea floor” and observed “not one but two glass octo­pus­es,” with a remote oper­at­ed vehi­cle (ROV) called SuB­as­t­ian.

See sev­er­al views of the glass octo­pus­es — the stars of the show — and dozens more rare and beau­ti­ful crea­tures (such as peren­ni­al inter­net favorite the Dum­bo octo­pus, below, from a 2020 expe­di­tion) at the Schmidt Ocean Institute’s Insta­gram. “We’re at the begin­ning of the UN Decade of Ocean Sci­ence for Sus­tain­able Devel­op­ment,” remarked chief sci­en­tist of the Falkor expe­di­tion Dr. Ran­di Rot­jan of Boston Uni­ver­si­ty. “[N]ow is the time to think about con­ser­va­tion broad­ly across all ocean­scapes, and the maps, footage, and data we have col­lect­ed will hope­ful­ly help to inform pol­i­cy and man­age­ment in deci­sion mak­ing around new high seas pro­tect­ed areas.” Learn more at the Schmidt Ocean Insti­tute here.

via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

A Rad­i­cal Map Puts the Oceans–Not Land–at the Cen­ter of Plan­et Earth (1942)

The Bio­di­ver­si­ty Her­itage Library Makes 150,000 High-Res Illus­tra­tions of the Nat­ur­al World Free to Down­load

When an Octo­pus Caused the Great Stat­en Island Fer­ry Dis­as­ter (Novem­ber 22, 1963)

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

1960s Schoolchildren Imagine Life in the Year 2000: Overpopulation, Mass Unemployment, Robot Courts, Rising Seas & Beyond

West­ern­ers today enter­tain noth­ing but grim, dystopi­an visions of the future. This in stark con­trast to the post­war decades when, as every­one knows, all was opti­mism. “In the year 2000, I think I’ll prob­a­bly be in a space­ship to the moon, dic­tat­ing to robots,” says an Eng­lish school­boy in the 1966 footage above. “Or else I may be in charge of a robot court, judg­ing some robots, or I may be at the funer­al of a com­put­er. Or if some­thing’s gone wrong with the nuclear bombs, I may be back from hunt­ing, in a cave.” Grant­ed, this was the mid­dle of the Cold War, when human­i­ty felt itself per­pet­u­al­ly at the brink of self-destruc­tion. How did oth­er chil­dren imag­ine the turn of the mil­len­ni­um? “I don’t like the idea of get­ting up and find­ing you’ve got a cab­bage pill to eat for break­fast.”

Inter­viewed for the BBC tele­vi­sion series Tomor­row’s World, these ado­les­cents paint a series of bleak pic­tures of the year 2000, some more vivid than oth­ers. “All these atom­ic bombs will be drop­ping around the place,” pre­dicts anoth­er boy. One will get near the cen­ter, because it will make a huge, great big crater, and the whole world will just melt.”

One girl sounds more resigned: “There’s noth­ing you can do to stop it. The more peo­ple get bombs — some­body’s going to use it one day.” But not all these kids envi­sion a nuclear holo­caust: “I don’t think there is going to be atom­ic war­fare,” says one boy, “but I think there is going to be all this automa­tion. Peo­ple are going to be out of work, and a great pop­u­la­tion, and I think some­thing has to be done about it.”

The idea that “com­put­ers are tak­ing over” now has great cur­ren­cy among pun­dits, but it seems school­girls were mak­ing the same point more than half a cen­tu­ry ago. “In the year 2000, there just won’t be enough jobs to go around,” says one of them. “The only jobs there will be, will be for peo­ple with high IQ who can work com­put­ers and such things.” Anoth­er con­tribut­ing fac­tor, as oth­er kids see it, is an over­pop­u­la­tion so extreme that “either every­one will be liv­ing in big domes in the Sahara, or they’ll be under­sea.” And there’ll be plen­ty of sea to live under, as one boy fig­ures it, when it ris­es to cov­er every­thing but “the high­lands in Scot­land, and some of the big hills in Eng­land and Wales.” Less dra­mat­i­cal­ly but more chill­ing­ly, some of these young stu­dents fear a ter­mi­nal bore­dom at the end of his­to­ry: “Every­thing will be the same. Peo­ple will be the same; things will be the same.”

Not all of them fore­see a whol­ly dehu­man­ized future. “Black peo­ple won’t be sep­a­rate, they’ll be all mixed in with the white peo­ple,” says one girl. “There will be poor and rich, but they won’t look down on each oth­er.” Her pre­dic­tion may not quite have come to pass even in 2021, but nor have most of her cohort’s more har­row­ing fan­tasies. If any­thing has col­lapsed since then, it’s stan­dards of ado­les­cent artic­u­la­cy. As Roger Ebert wrote of Michael Apt­ed’s Up series, which doc­u­ments the same gen­er­a­tion of Eng­lish chil­dren, these clips make one pon­der “the inar­tic­u­late murk­i­ness, self-help clichés, sports metaphors, and man­age­ment tru­isms that clut­ter Amer­i­can speech,” a con­di­tion that now afflicts even the Eng­lish. But then, not even the most imag­i­na­tive child could have known that the dystopia to come would be lin­guis­tic.

Relat­ed Con­tent

Duck and Cov­er: The 1950s Film That Taught Mil­lions of School­child­ren How to Sur­vive a Nuclear Bomb

Jean Cocteau Deliv­ers a Speech to the Year 2000 in 1962: “I Hope You Have Not Become Robots”

For­eign Exchange Stu­dents Debate Whether Amer­i­can Teenagers Have Too Much Free­dom (1954)

The Sum­mer­hill School, the Rad­i­cal Edu­ca­tion­al Exper­i­ment That Let Stu­dents Learn What, When, and How They Want (1966)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Chill­ing­ly Pre­dicts the Future, Telling Studs Terkel About the Com­ing Revenge of the Eco­nom­i­cal­ly & Tech­no­log­i­cal­ly “Obso­lete” (1967)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

The Cramps Legendary Concert at a California Psychiatric Hospital Gets Revisited in the New Documentary, We Were There to Be There: Watch It Online

“Some­body told me you peo­ple are crazy, but I’m  not so sure about that. You seem to be all right to me.” — Lux Inte­ri­or

In the late 1970s and ear­ly 1980s, “San Fran­cis­co was a much more con­ser­v­a­tive place,” says Colum­bia University’s Lin­coln Mitchell in the doc­u­men­tary above, We Were There to Be There. The new film chron­i­cles the leg­endary 1978 appear­ance of psy­chobil­ly punks The Cramps and SF-based art-rock­ers The Mutants at the Napa State Hos­pi­tal, an his­toric psy­chi­atric facil­i­ty in the famous wine-grow­ing area. At the time, Cal­i­for­ni­a’s for­mer gov­er­nor Ronald Rea­gan was con­tend­ing for the pres­i­den­cy after slash­ing social ser­vices at the state lev­el.

There were few polit­i­cal sym­pa­thies in the area for those con­fined to Napa State, as the new doc­u­men­tary above by Mike Plante and Jason Willis shows. Pro­duced by Field of Vision, the film “explores the events that led to CBGB main­stays the Cramps dri­ving over 3,000 miles to per­form,” notes Rolling Stone’s Claire Shaf­fer. We Were There to Be There begins with this cru­cial socio-polit­i­cal con­text, remem­ber­ing the show as “both a land­mark moment for punk rock and for the per­cep­tion of men­tal health care with­in U.S. pop­u­lar cul­ture.”

The doc also explores how the per­for­mances could have made such an impact, when they were “seen by almost no one,” as Phil Bar­ber writes at Vice: “about a dozen devot­ed punkers who drove up with the bands from San Fran­cis­co, and per­haps 100 or 200 patients.” Indeed, the show’s mem­o­ry only sur­vived thanks to “about 20 min­utes of footage of The Cramps’ set shot by a small oper­a­tion called Tar­get Video,” a col­lec­tive formed the pre­vi­ous year by video artist Joe Rees and col­lab­o­ra­tors Jill Hoff­man, Jack­ie Sharp, and Sam Edwards.

The show came about through Howie Klein, a fix­ture of the San Fran­cis­co punk scene who wrote for local zines and booked the club Mabuhay Gar­dens before becom­ing pres­i­dent of Reprise Records. Napa State’s new direc­tor Bart Swain had been stag­ing con­certs for the res­i­dents. Klein promised to send an ear­ly new wave band but sent The Mutants and The Cramps instead, to Swain’s ini­tial dis­may. (He was sure he would be fired after the show.)

Released in 1984, the edit­ed Tar­get release opens with a shot of an atom­ic blast and doesn’t let up. “Maybe you’ve seen the video. If so, you haven’t for­got­ten it,” writes Bar­ber: “The black-and-white images are dis­tort­ed and poor­ly lit. The audio is rough. It’s a trans­fix­ing spec­ta­cle. The Cramps make no attempt to paci­fy their men­tal­ly ill admir­ers. Nor do they wink at some inside joke. They just rip.”

Tar­get Video toured the U.S. and Europe, screen­ing its polit­i­cal­ly-charged punk con­cert films for eager young kids in the Reagan/Thatcher era, who saw a very dif­fer­ent approach to treat­ing peo­ple suf­fer­ing from men­tal ill­ness in the footage from Napa State. The doc­u­men­tary includes inter­views with the Mutants, whose per­for­mance did­n’t make it on film, and fix­tures of the San Fran­cis­co scene like Vicky Vale, pub­lish­er of RE/Search, who pro­vide crit­i­cal com­men­tary on the event.

Despite its rep­u­ta­tion as a bizarre nov­el­ty gig, the show came off as con­trolled chaos — just like any oth­er Cramps gig. “It was a beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful thing,” says Jill Hoff­man-Kow­al of Tar­get Video. “What we did for those peo­ple, it was lib­er­at­ing. They had so much fun. They pre­tend­ed they were singing, they were jump­ing on stage. It was a cou­ple hours of total free­dom. They did­n’t judge the band, and the band did­n’t judge them.”

We Were There to Be There will be added to our col­lec­tion of Free Online Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Cramps Play a Men­tal Hos­pi­tal in Napa, Cal­i­for­nia in 1978: The Punk­est of Punk Con­certs

Down­load 50+ Issues of Leg­endary West Coast Punk Music Zines from the 1970–80s: Dam­age, Slash & No Mag

Sun Ra Plays a Music Ther­a­py Gig at a Men­tal Hos­pi­tal; Inspires Patient to Talk for the First Time in Years

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


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