Tasting History: A Hit YouTube Series Shows How to Cook the Foods of Ancient Greece & Rome, Medieval Europe, and Other Places & Periods

The food of our ances­tors has come back into fash­ion, no mat­ter from where your own ances­tors in par­tic­u­lar hap­pened to hail. Whether moti­vat­ed by a desire to avoid the sup­pos­ed­ly unhealthy ingre­di­ents and process­es intro­duced in moder­ni­ty, a curios­i­ty about the prac­tices of a cul­ture, or sim­ply a spir­it of culi­nary adven­ture, the con­sump­tion of tra­di­tion­al foods has attained a rel­a­tive­ly high pro­file of late. So, indeed, has their prepa­ra­tion: few of us could think of a more tra­di­tion­al food than bread, the home-bak­ing of which became a sweep­ing fad in the Unit­ed States and else­where short­ly after the onset of the COVID-19 pan­dem­ic.

Max Miller, for exam­ple, has baked more than his own share of bread at home. Like no few media-savvy culi­nary hob­by­ists, he’s put the results on Youtube; like those hob­by­ists who devel­op an unquench­able thirst for ever-greater depth and breadth (no pun intend­ed) of knowl­edge about the field, he’s gone well beyond the rudi­ments.

18th-cen­tu­ry Saly Lunn bunsmedieval trencherPom­pei­ian panis quad­ra­tus, even the bread of ancient Egypt: he’s gone a long way indeed beyond sim­ple sour­dough. But in so doing, he’s learned — and taught — a great deal about the vari­ety of civ­i­liza­tions, all of them hearti­ly food-eat­ing, that led up to ours.

“His show, Tast­ing His­to­ry with Max Miller, start­ed in late Feb­ru­ary,” writes Devan Sauer in a pro­file last year for the Phoenix New Times. “Since then, Tast­ing His­to­ry has drawn more than 470,000 sub­scribers and 14 mil­lion views.” Each of its episodes “has a spe­cial seg­ment where Miller explains the his­to­ry of either the ingre­di­ents or the dish’s time peri­od.” These peri­ods come orga­nized into playlists like “Ancient Greek, Roman, & Mesopotami­an Recipes,” “The Best of Medieval & Renais­sance Recipes,” and “18th/19th Cen­tu­ry Recipes.” In his clear­ly exten­sive research, “Miller looks to pri­ma­ry accounts, or anec­do­tal records from the peo­ple them­selves, rather than his­to­ri­ans. He does this so he can get a bet­ter glimpse into what life was like dur­ing a cer­tain time.”

If past, as L.P. Hart­ley put it, is a for­eign coun­try, then Miller’s his­tor­i­cal cook­ery is a form of not just time trav­el, but reg­u­lar trav­el — exact­ly what so few of us have been able to do over the past year and a half. And though most of the recipes fea­tured on Tast­ing His­to­ry have come from West­ern, and specif­i­cal­ly Euro­pean cul­tures, its chan­nel also has a playlist ded­i­cat­ed to non-Euro­pean foods such as Aztec choco­late; the king­ly Indi­an dessert of payasam; and hwa­jeon, the Kore­an “flower pan­cakes” served in 17th-cen­tu­ry snack bars, or eumshik dabang. He’s also pre­pared the snails served at the ther­mopoli­um, the equiv­a­lent estab­lish­ment of the first-cen­tu­ry Roman Empire recent­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture. But how­ev­er impres­sive Miller’s knowl­edge, enthu­si­asm, and skill in the kitchen, he com­mands just as much respect for hav­ing mas­tered Youtube, the true Forum of ear­ly 21st-cen­tu­ry civ­i­liza­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Did Peo­ple Eat in Medieval Times? A Video Series and New Cook­book Explain

Cook Real Recipes from Ancient Rome: Ostrich Ragoût, Roast Wild Boar, Nut Tarts & More

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dat­ing Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

Watch a 4000-Year Old Baby­lon­ian Recipe for Stew, Found on a Cuneiform Tablet, Get Cooked by Researchers from Yale & Har­vard

Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty Pro­fes­sor Cooks 4000-Year-Old Recipes from Ancient Mesopotamia, and Lets You See How They Turned Out

How to Make the Old­est Recipe in the World: A Recipe for Net­tle Pud­ding Dat­ing Back 6,000 BC

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.

What Happened During the 1921 Tulsa Massacre, One of the Worst Episodes of Racial Violence in U.S. History

In Feb­ru­ary 1915, Thomas Dixon, author of pop­u­lar nov­el The Clans­man, and D.W. Grif­fith, the direc­tor who adapt­ed the book into the film Birth of a Nation, lob­bied then-pres­i­dent Woodrow Wil­son for a screen­ing at the White House. The two were sure their sto­ry would get a warm recep­tion from the “well doc­u­ment­ed racist” and one­time schol­ar who pro­duced a five-vol­ume His­to­ry of the Amer­i­can Peo­ple, in which he por­trayed the South as “over­run by ex-slaves who were unde­serv­ing of free­dom,” as Boston Uni­ver­si­ty jour­nal­ism pro­fes­sor Dick Lehr remarks.

Whether or not Wil­son actu­al­ly uttered the words attrib­uted to him after­ward (“It’s like writ­ing his­to­ry with light­ning”), he approved the film’s mes­sage and rebuffed Black lead­ers who were “appalled and out­raged,” says Lehr. The moment was piv­otal for the birth of the Civ­il Rights move­ment, he argues in a recent book. Fol­low­ing the country’s entry into World War I, it also lit the fires of what nov­el­ist, com­pos­er and exec­u­tive direc­tor of the NAACP James Wel­don John­son called “Red Sum­mer”… a sum­mer of lynch­ings, loot­ings, burn­ings, shoot­ings and oth­er vio­lence.

Mass lynch­ings — ignored or mis­con­strued as “race riots” for decades, though now prop­er­ly referred to as mas­sacres — took place all over the coun­try between 1917 and 1923 under var­i­ous pre­texts, “in at least 26 cities,” Deneen Brown writes at Nation­al Geo­graph­ic, “includ­ing Wash­ing­ton, D.C.; Chica­go, Illi­nois; Oma­ha, Nebras­ka; Elaine, Arkansas; Charleston, South Car­oli­na; Colum­bia, Ten­nessee; Hous­ton, Texas,” and — the blood­i­est and most destruc­tive of them all — Tul­sa, Okla­homa, an event many learned about for the first time when the cur­rent pres­i­dent pro­claimed its 100th anniver­sary, May 31st, a “Day of Remem­brance.”

On May 31 and June 1, 1921, the mob who ram­paged through the Tul­sa neigh­bor­hood of Green­wood, a pros­per­ous black com­mu­ni­ty just a gen­er­a­tion removed from slav­ery, killed over 300 Black res­i­dents, “dump­ing their bod­ies into the Arkansas Riv­er or bury­ing them in mass graves. More than a hun­dred busi­ness­es were destroyed, as well as a school, a hos­pi­tal, a library, and dozens of church­es. More than 1,200 Black-owned hous­es burned.” The attack­ers rained death from above: a report by a state-appoint­ed com­mis­sion found “Tul­sa was like­ly the first city” in the coun­try “to be bombed from the air.”

“The eco­nom­ic loss­es in the Black com­mu­ni­ty amount­ed to more than $1 mil­lion,” Brown notes, a fig­ure that can­not account for per­son­al loss­es that res­onat­ed through gen­er­a­tions, like those described by the massacre’s old­est liv­ing sur­vivor, who tes­ti­fied recent­ly before a House sub­com­mit­tee. Son­ali Kol­hatkar writes:

107-year-old Vio­la Fletch­er tes­ti­fied to Con­gress a few weeks ahead of the 100th anniver­sary and recalled grow­ing up as a child in Green­wood in “a beau­ti­ful home” with “great neigh­bors and… friends to play with.” “I had every­thing a child could need. I had a bright future ahead of me,” she said. A few weeks after Fletch­er turned sev­en, the armed men struck on May 31, 1921. After recount­ing the “vio­lence of the white mob,” and her mem­o­ries of see­ing “Black bod­ies lying in the street” and “Black busi­ness­es being burned,” she went on to describe the grind­ing pover­ty she was thrown into as a result of the mas­sacre.

Fletch­er nev­er made it past the fourth grade in school. The promis­ing future that her fam­i­ly had worked hard to give her was oblit­er­at­ed in the ash­es of the Tul­sa Race Mas­sacre. “Most of my life I was a domes­tic work­er serv­ing white fam­i­lies. I nev­er made much mon­ey. To this day I can bare­ly afford my every­day needs,” she told law­mak­ers dur­ing her tes­ti­mo­ny.

That the anniver­sary now falls on Memo­r­i­al Day (then cel­e­brat­ed on May 30th) seems a bit­ter irony giv­en that much of the back­lash toward Black com­mu­ni­ties came from fear of those return­ing Black sol­diers who stood up against the every­day vio­lence of Jim Crow when they returned from over­seas. Birth of a Nation inspired a reborn Ku Klux Klan and its sup­port­ers to turn that fear into a cru­sade, a kind of pre-emp­tive col­lec­tive retal­i­a­tion.

“Dur­ing the mas­sacres, they mur­dered and maimed peo­ple indis­crim­i­nate­ly, unpro­voked,” says Alice M. Thomas, a Carnegie schol­ar and a pro­fes­sor in the School of Law at Howard Uni­ver­si­ty. “They went into homes, stole per­son­al belong­ings, and burned down homes. They used the mas­sacres as a cov­er to mur­der with­out sanc­tion, maim with­out sanc­tion, and steal with­out sanc­tion. No one, to this day, has been held account­able.”

Red Sum­mer was pri­mar­i­ly dri­ven by what now gets cod­ed as “eco­nom­ic anx­i­ety.” Kar­los K. Hill, pro­fes­sor of African and African Amer­i­can Stud­ies at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Okla­homa, explains that “the Green­wood Dis­trict [of Tul­sa] was per­haps the wealth­i­est Black com­mu­ni­ty in the coun­try… a sym­bol of what was pos­si­ble even in Jim Crow Amer­i­ca.” Referred to as “Black Wall Street” — the moniker giv­en to many oth­er such com­mu­ni­ties — Green­wood posed a threat: “The fear was, if Black peo­ple could have eco­nom­ic and polit­i­cal equal­i­ty, then social equal­i­ty would fol­low right behind.”

Rather than face the fright­en­ing prospect of an actu­al democ­ra­cy, thou­sands of white Amer­i­cans lashed out in Red Sum­mer, burn­ing Black Wall Streets to the ground nation­wide. After a cen­tu­ry of denial, the U.S. is only begin­ning to reck­on with the mas­sacres, and specif­i­cal­ly, with Tul­sa. The president’s procla­ma­tion marks a his­toric step in the right direc­tion. In the Vox video above, learn more about a sto­ry “you won’t find in most his­to­ry books.”

As NPR notes, you can also watch anoth­er doc­u­men­tary on the Tul­sa mas­sacre on PBS.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When White Suprema­cists Over­threw a Gov­ern­ment (1898): The Hid­den His­to­ry of an Amer­i­can Coup

Take The Near Impos­si­ble Lit­er­a­cy Test Louisiana Used to Sup­press the Black Vote (1964)

Hear the Voic­es of Amer­i­cans Born in Slav­ery: The Library of Con­gress Fea­tures 23 Audio Inter­views with For­mer­ly Enslaved Peo­ple (1932–75)

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

The Art of Creating a Bonsai: One Year Condensed Condensed Into 22 Mesmerizing Minutes

To be a good writer, one must be a good read­er. This is made true by the need to absorb and assess the work of oth­er writ­ers, but even more so by the need to eval­u­ate one’s own. Writ­ing is re-writ­ing, to coin a phrase, and effec­tive re-writ­ing can only fol­low astute re-read­ing. This con­di­tion applies to oth­er arts and crafts as well: take bon­sai, the regard­ing of which con­sti­tutes a skill in and of itself. To craft an aes­thet­i­cal­ly pleas­ing minia­ture tree, one must first be able to see an aes­thet­i­cal­ly pleas­ing minia­ture tree — or per­haps to feel one. “Bon­sai trees (and inspir­ing art in gen­er­al) give me a ‘feel­ing’ that is hard to describe,” as prac­ti­tion­er Bucky Barnes puts it in the video above. “I’m not get­ting it from this tree yet, so I know I need to con­tin­ue tweak­ing.”

That tree is a Japan­ese larch bon­sai, Barnes’ year of work on which the video com­press­es into a mere 22 min­utes. The work is more than a mat­ter of water and sun­light: aspects that must be con­sid­ered and aggres­sive­ly mod­i­fied, include the plan­t’s view­ing and pot­ting angle, the num­ber and direc­tion of its branch­es, and even the struc­ture of roots spread­ing through the soil below.

Barnes breaks out a range of clip­pers, knives, pastes, brush­es, and wires — part of a suite of tools that, at least for the mas­ters back in bon­sai’s home­land of Japan, can get expen­sive indeed. To us lay­men, the tree that results from this year of work looks pret­ty respectable, but by bon­sai stan­dards its exis­tence has only just begun. Over the com­ing decades — or even the com­ing cen­turies — it could take on oth­er qual­i­ties alto­geth­er. When well main­tained, bon­sai only improve with age.

As demon­strat­ed in the video just above, how­ev­er, not every bon­sai receives such main­te­nance. A prod­uct of the same Youtube chan­nel, Bon­sai Releaf, “Restor­ing a Neglect­ed Chi­nese Juniper Bon­sai” begins with a tree that, to many of its near­ly four mil­lion view­ers so far, prob­a­bly does­n’t look too bad. Barnes sees things dif­fer­ent­ly: begin­ning by sketch­ing the tree, appar­ent­ly a stan­dard stage of his pro­fes­sion­al bon­sai-view­ing process, he sets about cor­rect­ing a host of defi­cien­cies like “low­er branch­es com­pet­ing for light,” exces­sive upward or down­ward growth (as well as some­thing called “weak crotch growth”), and dead tis­sue not delin­eat­ed from liv­ing. This labo­ri­ous oper­a­tion requires an even wider tool set, encom­pass­ing Dremels and even flames. But by the video’s end, any­one can see the dif­fer­ence in the tree itself — and more impor­tant­ly, feel it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art & Phi­los­o­phy of Bon­sai

This 392-Year-Old Bon­sai Tree Sur­vived the Hiroshi­ma Atom­ic Blast & Still Flour­ish­es Today: The Pow­er of Resilience

A Dig­i­tal Ani­ma­tion Com­pares the Size of Trees: From the 3‑Inch Bon­sai, to the 300-Foot Sequoia

What Makes the Art of Bon­sai So Expen­sive?: $1 Mil­lion for a Bon­sai Tree, and $32,000 for Bon­sai Scis­sors

Daisu­gi, the 600-Year-Old Japan­ese Tech­nique of Grow­ing Trees Out of Oth­er Trees, Cre­at­ing Per­fect­ly Straight Lum­ber

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 Mistake Waltz: Watch the Hilarious Ballet by Legendary Choreographer Jerome Robbins

So often mis­takes are the most mem­o­rable part of live per­for­mance.

In Jerome Rob­bins’ The Con­cert (or The Per­ils of Every­body)they’re built in.

The por­tion set to Chopin’s Waltz in E Minor, above, has earned the nick­name The Mis­take Waltz. It’s an anthol­o­gy of screw ups that will be famil­iar to any­one who’s attend­ed a few ama­teur bal­let pro­duc­tions and school recitals.

When the entire ensem­ble is meant to be trav­el­ing in the same direc­tion or syn­chro­niz­ing swan­like ges­tures, the one who’s egre­gious­ly out of step is a guar­an­teed stand­out… if not the audience’s flat out favorite.

Rob­bins gen­er­ous­ly spreads the clown­ing between all six mem­bers of the corps, get­ting extra mileage from the telegraphed irri­ta­tion in every indis­creet­ly attempt­ed cor­rec­tion.

Per­formed well, the silli­ness seems almost impro­vi­sa­tion­al, but as with all of this leg­endary choreographer’s work, the spon­ta­neous beats are very, very spe­cif­ic.

It only works if the dancers have the tech­ni­cal prowess and the com­ic chops to pull it off. Les Bal­lets Trock­adero de Monte Car­lo aside, this can present a siz­able cast­ing chal­lenge.

Rob­bins also felt that The Con­cert should be pre­sent­ed spar­ing­ly, to keep the jokes from becom­ing stale.

Indi­vid­ual com­pa­nies have some agency over their cos­tumes, but oth­er than that, it is exe­cut­ed just as it was in its 1956 debut with the New York City Ballet.

For­mer NYCB lead dancer Peter Boal, who was 10 when he played Cupid in Rob­bins’ Moth­er Goose, has made The Con­cert part of Pacif­ic North­west Bal­let’s reper­toire. He revealed anoth­er side of the exact­ing Rob­bins in a per­son­al essay in Dance Mag­a­zine:

He had the unique abil­i­ty to become kid-like in the stu­dio, gig­gling with oth­ers and often laugh­ing robust­ly at his own jokes. He was cer­tain­ly his own best audi­ence for The Con­cert. How many times had he seen those gags and yet fresh, spon­ta­neous laugh­ter erupt­ed from him as if it was a first telling.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Bal­let Dancers Do Their Hard­est Moves in Slow Motion

Radio­head Bal­lets: Watch Bal­lets Chore­o­graphed Cre­ative­ly to the Music of Radio­head

The Dance The­atre of Harlem Dances Through the Streets of NYC: A Sight to Behold

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain: The Peri­od­i­cal Cica­da, a free vir­tu­al vari­ety show hon­or­ing the 17-Year Cicadas of Brood X. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

 

When Was the Pinnacle of Saturday Night Live? A YouTuber Watches One Episode from Each Season & Reports Back

How do we eval­u­ate a show like Sat­ur­day Night Live? And to what, exact­ly, can it be com­pared? Before its “lack­lus­ter” debut on Octo­ber 11,1975, noth­ing quite like it exist­ed on tele­vi­sion, and since that debut, every­thing resem­bling SNL exists because of SNL. The show has launched a few dozen careers, but it has also been a ver­i­ta­ble com­e­dy grave­yard. Co-founders Lorne Michaels and Dick Eber­sol both quit at dif­fer­ent times, both after beg­ging NBC to move to pre-record­ed con­tent because SNL’s pro­duc­tion sched­ule is so gru­el­ing. Whether or not its for­mu­la works dur­ing any giv­en episode, it’s tru­ly unlike any oth­er show on tele­vi­sion.

Giv­en its unique, and in recent decades, social­ly vaunt­ed, place in pop­u­lar cul­ture, we gen­er­al­ly judge Sat­ur­day Night Live by com­par­ing it to itself — or to ear­li­er iter­a­tions of itself, when it was fun­ner, edgi­er, less for­mu­la­ic, pan­der­ing, or what­ev­er the cur­rent crit­i­cism hap­pens to be. Is this a fair stan­dard? Are expec­ta­tions for the show’s polit­i­cal rel­e­vance or com­ic con­sis­ten­cy too high? The lack of any seri­ous com­pe­ti­tion for the time slot means that SNL exists in a league of its own. The stan­dards we apply to it are nec­es­sar­i­ly sub­jec­tive, and sub­ject to change giv­en chang­ing social cli­mate and the show’s increas­ing top­i­cal­i­ty.

“So much of what Sat­ur­day Night Live want­ed to be, or what I want­ed it to be when it began, was cool,” says Eber­sol. Try stay­ing cool for 45 years. So why do we still care? Maybe because every­one born in the last few decades has nos­tal­gic mem­o­ries of a gold­en age of SNL that just hap­pened to coin­cide with their ado­les­cence. But nos­tal­gia, says YouTu­ber Drew Good­en above, “is a drug that caus­es us to mis­con­strue our mem­o­ries.” We want Sat­ur­day Night Live to be “good again,” by which we mean fun­ny in ways it was. But mea­sur­ing its good­ness inde­pen­dent­ly of mem­o­ry proves dif­fi­cult.

Rather than assum­ing, as so many view­ers do, that the show peaked in the past (say the ear­ly 80s) and has steeply declined since then, Good­en hypoth­e­sizes that an accu­rate graph of its qual­i­ty might just as well look like a jagged line full of peaks and val­leys over the decades. Sat­ur­day Night Live, that is to say, has always been con­sis­tent­ly full of great moments and ter­ri­ble ones — with­in the same sea­son and often the same episode. It’s in the very nature of live TV that some ideas work and oth­ers don’t on the day, and the sketch­es and char­ac­ters we remem­ber from our youth may not hold up well ten, twen­ty, thir­ty, even forty years lat­er.

Good­en decid­ed to with­hold judg­ment on the over­all qual­i­ty curve of Sat­ur­day Night Live, his favorite show, before putting in the time and effort to watch at least one episode from every year in its run. See how the show comes out in his esti­ma­tion after the exper­i­ment. He may not change anyone’s mind about the best, and worst, sea­sons, episodes, cast mem­bers, and hosts. But he does demon­strate an admirable will­ing­ness to dig into SNL’s his­to­ry and give years of com­e­dy pos­i­tive­ly anti­quat­ed by 21st cen­tu­ry stan­dards a fair shake.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Sat­ur­day Night Live’s Very First Sketch: Watch John Belushi Launch SNL in Octo­ber, 1975

Cre­at­ing Sat­ur­day Night Live: Behind-the Scenes Videos Reveal How the Icon­ic Com­e­dy Show Gets Made

Clas­sic Punk Rock Sketch­es from Sat­ur­day Night Live, Cour­tesy of Fred Armisen

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

The Psychology of Video Game Engagement — Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #94 with Jamie Madigan

Why do peo­ple play video games, and what keeps them play­ing? Do we want to have to think through inno­v­a­tive puz­zles or just lose our­selves in mind­less reac­tiv­i­ty? Your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt are joined by Dr. Jamie Madi­gan, an orga­ni­za­tion­al psy­chol­o­gist who runs the Psy­chol­o­gy of Video Games pod­cast, to dis­cuss what sort of a thing this is to research, the evo­lu­tion of games, play­er types, moti­va­tion vs. engage­ment, incen­tives and feed­back, as well as the gam­i­fi­ca­tion of work or school envi­ron­ments. Some games we touch on include Don­key Kong, Dark Souls, It Takes Two, Retur­nal, Hades, Sub­nau­ti­ca, Fort­nite, and Age of Z.

Some of the episodes of Jamie’s pod­cast rel­e­vant for our dis­cus­sion are:

Check out his books and arti­cles too. Here are a cou­ple of addi­tion­al sources about engage­ment:

The site Eri­ca men­tions about dis­abled modes in gam­ing is caniplaythat.com.

Hear more of this pod­cast at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that 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.

What Is Contemporary Art?: A Free Online Course from The Museum of Modern Art

What is con­tem­po­rary art? In this course from the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art, you’ll explore this ques­tion through more than 70 works of art made from 1980 to the present, with a focus on art of the last decade. You’ll hear direct­ly from artists, archi­tects, and design­ers from around the globe about their cre­ative process­es, mate­ri­als, and inspi­ra­tion.

3D print­ed glass and sculp­tures made of fiber. Dance per­formed in the fac­to­ry and the muse­um. Hack­ing into tele­vi­sion and video games. Por­traits made with paint or arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence. Inti­mate explo­rations of the body and col­lec­tive actions.

In this course, you’ll learn about art­works in both tra­di­tion­al and sur­pris­ing medi­ums, all drawn from the col­lec­tion of MoMA. Each week stu­dents will look at con­tem­po­rary art from a dif­fer­ent theme: Media from Tele­vi­sion to the Inter­net, Ter­ri­to­ries & Tran­sit, Mate­ri­als & Mak­ing, Agency, and Pow­er.

You can take What Is Con­tem­po­rary Art? for free by select­ing the audit option upon enroll­ment. If you want to take the course for a cer­tifi­cate, you will need to pay a fee.

What Is Con­tem­po­rary Art? will be added to our list of Free Art & Art His­to­ry Cours­es, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

For a com­plete list of online cours­es, please vis­it our com­plete col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

For a list of online cer­tifi­cate pro­grams, vis­it 200 Online Cer­tifi­cate & Micro­cre­den­tial Pro­grams from Lead­ing Uni­ver­si­ties & Com­pa­nies, which fea­tures pro­grams from our part­ners Cours­era, Udac­i­ty, Future­Learn and edX.

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When Neil Young & Rick “Super Freak” James Formed the 60’s Motown Band, The Mynah Birds

At the height of Motown’s pow­ers in the 1960s they were set­ting trends, not chas­ing them, but even that record com­pa­ny fell under the spell of the British Inva­sion. Sure, the juke­box R’n’B sin­gles that made their way across the Atlantic were in the DNA of The Bea­t­les, Rolling Stones, and the Who, but in the mid’60’s the label decid­ed they need­ed a beat group of their own. That’s how one of the weird­est tales of pop music unfold­ed, and would have stayed a tiny foot­note if it weren’t for the future fame of two of the Mynah Birds’ mem­bers: funk over­lord Rick James and folk-rock­er-noise­mak­er Neil Young.

Yes, for a brief peri­od of time they were in the same band togeth­er in Toron­to, Cana­da, part of an explod­ing beat group scene that was most­ly all white. “I was an authen­tic R&B singer liv­ing in a city where white musi­cians were striv­ing to play authen­tic R&B,” Rick James wrote in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy quot­ed in Bandsplaining’s above video. “That added to my sta­tus. It also got me laid.”

James Ambrose John­son Jr., had been in Cana­da for two years already, hav­ing escaped the Viet­nam draft by flee­ing north in 1964. Saved from a bar brawl by future mem­bers of The Band, Lev­on Helm and Garth Hud­son, he entered the music scene and adopt­ed the name Ricky Matthews, as a way to hide his iden­ti­ty. The Mynah Birds began in 1964 and even put out a sin­gle on Colum­bia that went nowhere. They tried (and failed) again in 1965, with an ever-chang­ing line-up. Ricky Matthews though, remained the dynam­ic lead singer.

Enter Neil Young. As Rick James tells it, he was look­ing to change their sound and he saw Neil Young play­ing in a cof­fee­house and asked him to join. (James’ rec­ol­lec­tion is in the above video.) How­ev­er, Kevin Plum­mer in the Toron­toist has a dif­fer­ent ver­sion:

One day—most like­ly in the fall of 1965, but some say in ear­ly 1966—Young was walk­ing down Yorkville Avenue with an amp on his shoul­der. As he passed, Palmer struck up a con­ver­sa­tion. The Mynah Birds were, once again, with­out a lead gui­tarist, so he asked Young to join—despite the fact that Young only owned the twelve-string acoustic. “I had to eat,” Young is quot­ed in John Einarson’s Neil Young: Don’t Be Denied (Quar­ry Press, 1992). “I need­ed a job and it seemed like a good thing to do. I still liked play­ing and I liked Bruce so I went along. There was no pres­sure on me. It was the first time that I was in a band where I wasn’t call­ing the shots.”

As Young and James were soon to share a base­ment apart­ment and a whole lot of drugs, the par­tic­i­pants can be for­giv­en for their hazy mem­o­ries.

The video also con­flates their sven­gali (John Craig Eaton, a depart­ment store heir who bankrolled the band and gave them rehearsal space) with their man­ag­er (folk singer and fan Mor­ley Shel­man). Whether it was Eaton, Shel­man, or just luck, with­in two months of hav­ing Young in the band, and a rep­u­ta­tion for wild, amphet­a­mine-dri­ven concerts—the band had signed a sev­en-year con­tract with Motown, the first most­ly-white act to do so.

Neil Young remem­bered the first album ses­sions in an inter­view with Cameron Crowe:

We went in and record­ed five or six nights, and if we need­ed some­thing, or if they thought we weren’t strong enough, a cou­ple of Motown singers would just walk right in. And they’d Motown us! A cou­ple of ’em would be right there, and they’d sing the part. They’d just appear and we’d all do it togeth­er. If some­body wasn’t con­fi­dent or didn’t have it, they didn’t say, ‘Well, let’s work on this.’ Some guy would just come in who had it. Then every­body was groov­ing. And an amaz­ing thing happened—we sound­ed hot. And all of a sud­den it was Motown. That’s why all those records sound­ed like that.

Rick James was wor­ried about enter­ing the States and being arrest­ed for avoid­ing the draft. But in Detroit he was safe. It was when he returned that the trou­ble began—he dis­cov­ered that Shel­man had appar­ent­ly spent their advance on a fan­cy new motor­bike and a not-so-fan­cy hero­in habit. A fight broke out and Shel­man retal­i­at­ed by rat­ting James out. James turned him­self in to the Amer­i­can author­i­ties and the Mynah Birds’ career—at least the James/Young version—ended. Only four of the tracks record­ed for the album were ever released, two at the time as a sin­gle, the oth­er two in 2006 as part of a Rhi­no Records Motown ret­ro­spec­tive. More are rumored to exist but they remain hid­den away in a vault at best, destroyed at worst.

Young would move to Cal­i­for­nia soon after and join Buf­fa­lo Spring­field. James, once out of jail, would make his way back into the record­ing indus­try, iron­i­cal­ly return­ing to Motown. Band mem­bers Goldy McJohn and Nick St. Nicholas would form Step­pen­wolf. And through it all, James and Young remained friends.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Visu­al­iz­ing the Bass Play­ing Style of Motown’s Icon­ic Bassist James Jamer­son: “Ain’t No Moun­tain High Enough,” “For Once in My Life” & More

Catch Ste­vie Won­der, Ages 12–16, in His Ear­li­est TV Per­for­mances

Neil Young Releas­es a Nev­er-Before-Heard Ver­sion of His 1979 Clas­sic, “Pow­derfin­ger”: Stream It Online

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

The Origin of the Rooftop Concert: Before the Beatles Came Jefferson Airplane, and Before Them, Brazilian Singer Roberto Carlos (1967)

When did the first rooftop con­cert hap­pen? Prob­a­bly not long after con­struc­tion of the first rooftop. How could ear­ly humans resist such an oppor­tu­ni­ty to project sound over the heads of a crowd? But if we’re talk­ing about a Rooftop Con­cert, we’re talk­ing about a spe­cial genre of gig defined by The Bea­t­les’ farewell rooftop show in Lon­don on Jan­u­ary 30, 1969. Since that his­toric moment, each time musi­cians take to a rooftop, they inevitably face com­par­isons with the Fab Four, even if their rooftop con­cert hap­pened first.

Before Paul McCart­ney sang “You’ve been play­ing on the roofs again” in an impro­vised “Get Back” in Lon­don, Jef­fer­son Air­plane “per­formed on a New York City rooftop in 1968,” writes Rajesh Kumar Jha at The Cit­i­zen.

“The con­text for the con­cert was pro­vid­ed by events like the assas­si­na­tion of Robert Kennedy and Mar­tin Luther King, and the accel­er­at­ing Viet­nam War.” The affair was orga­nized by Jean-Luc Godard, who “want­ed to film the rad­i­cal mood of the times under his 1 AM. Project, for which the Air­plane were best suit­ed.”

Grace Slick opened “The House at Pooneil Cor­ners” by shout­ing from the roof, “Hel­lo, New York! Wake up, you fuc&ers! Free music! Nice songs! Free love!” They made it 7 min­utes into a set before the police broke it up and made arrests. Godard end­ed up aban­don­ing the film, leav­ing it to D.A. Pen­nebak­er to fin­ish and release it as 1 P.M. Can we cred­it Godard for the rooftop con­cert as a thing? Or did he steal it from an even ear­li­er antecedent, Brazil­ian singer Rober­to Car­los, nick­named “the Elvis Pres­ley of Brazil”? Car­los staged a rooftop con­cert liv­ing room set below for his song “Quan­do” in 1967.

Who­ev­er invent­ed the rooftop con­cert, by the time U2 did it on an L.A. rooftop — legal­ly — play­ing “Where the Streets Have No Name” to kick off the Joshua Tree tour, the trick had become old hat. Acknowl­edg­ing their debt, Bono joked in an inter­view, “it’s not the first time we’ve ripped off the Bea­t­les.” Lit­tle did he know, per­haps, that they were also rip­ping off Jef­fer­son Air­plane, who them­selves were only imi­ta­tions, when it came to rooftop con­certs, of “the Frank Sina­tra of Latin Amer­i­ca.” Rober­to Car­los might be lip synch­ing, and seem­ing­ly sans audi­ence in his appear­ance on a São Paulo rooftop, but we must admit he set a styl­ish stan­dard for the genre of the rooftop con­cert all his own, two years before the Bea­t­les made it theirs.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Watch The Bea­t­les Per­form Their Famous Rooftop Con­cert: It Hap­pened 50 Years Ago Today (Jan­u­ary 30, 1969)

Jef­fer­son Air­plane Plays on a New York Rooftop; Jean-Luc Godard Cap­tures It (1968)

Dick Clark Intro­duces Jef­fer­son Air­plane & the Sounds of Psy­che­del­ic San Fran­cis­co to Amer­i­ca: Yes Par­ents, You Should Be Afraid (1967)

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

Download 1,000+ Beautiful Woodblock Prints by Hiroshige, the Last Great Master of the Japanese Woodblock Print Tradition

For 200 years, begin­ning in the 1630s, Japan closed itself off from the world. In its cap­i­tal of Edo the coun­try boast­ed the largest city in exis­tence, and among its pop­u­la­tion of more than a mil­lion not a sin­gle one was for­eign-born. “Prac­ti­cal­ly the only Euro­peans to have vis­it­ed it were a hand­ful of Dutch­men,” writes pro­fes­sor of Japan­ese his­to­ry Jor­dan Sand in a new Lon­don Review of Books piece, “and so it would remain until the mid-19th cen­tu­ry. No for­eign­ers were per­mit­ted to live or trade on Japan­ese soil except the Dutch and Chi­nese, who were con­fined to enclaves in the port of Nagasa­ki, 750 miles from Edo. No Japan­ese were per­mit­ted to leave: those who dis­obeyed did so on pain of death.”

These cen­turies of iso­la­tion in the Japan­ese cap­i­tal — known today as Tokyo — thus pro­duced next to noth­ing in the way of West­ern­er-com­posed accounts. But “the peo­ple of Edo them­selves left a rich archive,” Sand notes, giv­en the pres­ence among them of no few indi­vid­u­als high­ly skilled in the lit­er­ary and visu­al arts.

Such notable Edo chron­i­clers include Andō Hiroshige, the samu­rai-descend­ed son of a fire­man who grew up to become Uta­gawa Hiroshige, or sim­ply Hiroshige, one of the last mas­ters of the ukiyo‑e wood­block-print­ing tra­di­tion.

Hiroshige’s late “pic­tures of the float­ing world” are among the most vivid images of life in Japan just before it reopened, works that Sand quotes art his­to­ri­an Tim­on Screech as claim­ing “attest to a new sense of Edo’s place in the world.” For the his­to­ri­o­graph­i­cal view of the sakoku (or “closed coun­try”) pol­i­cy has long since come in for revi­sion. The Japan of the mid-17th to late 19th cen­tu­ry may not actu­al­ly have been as closed as all that, or at least not as free of for­eign influ­ence as pre­vi­ous­ly assumed. The evi­dence for this propo­si­tion includes Hiroshige’s ukiyo‑e prints, espe­cial­ly his late series of mas­ter­works One Hun­dred Famous Views of Edo.

Now, thanks to the Min­neapo­lis Insti­tute of Art’s dig­i­tal col­lec­tion, you can take as long and as close a look as you’d like at — and even down­load — more than 1,000 of his works. That’s an impres­sive num­ber for a sin­gle insti­tu­tion, but bear in mind that Hiroshige pro­duced about 8,000 pieces in his life­time, cap­tur­ing not just the attrac­tions of Edo but views from all over his home­land as he knew it, which had already begun to van­ish in the last years of his life. More than a cen­tu­ry and a half on, the coro­n­avirus pan­dem­ic has prompt­ed Japan to put in place entry restric­tions that, for many if not most for­eign­ers around the world, have effec­tive­ly re-closed the coun­try. Japan itself has changed a great deal since the mid-19th cen­tu­ry, but to much of the world it has once again become a land of won­ders acces­si­ble only through its art. Explore 1,000+ wood­block prints by Hiroshige here.

via Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Hun­dreds of 19th-Cen­tu­ry Japan­ese Wood­block Prints by Mas­ters of the Tra­di­tion

The Met Puts 650+ Japan­ese Illus­trat­ed Books Online: Mar­vel at Hokusai’s One Hun­dred Views of Mount Fuji and More

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

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

The Real Loca­tions of Ukiyo‑e, His­toric Japan­ese Wood­block Prints, Plot­ted on a Google Map

1,000+ His­toric Japan­ese Illus­trat­ed Books Dig­i­tized & Put Online by the Smith­son­ian: From the Edo & Meji Eras (1600–1912)

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.

Who Designed the 1980s Aesthetic?: Meet the Memphis Group, the Designers Who Created the 80s Iconic Look

For those who remem­ber the 1980s, it can feel like they nev­er left, so deeply ingrained have their designs become in the 21st cen­tu­ry. But where did those designs them­selves orig­i­nate? Vibrant, clash­ing col­ors and pat­terns, bub­bly shapes; “the geo­met­ric fig­ures of Art Deco,” writes Sara Barnes at My Mod­ern Met, “the col­or palette of Pop Art, and the 1950s kitsch” that inspired design­ers of all kinds came from a move­ment of artists who called them­selves the Mem­phis Group, after Bob Dylan’s “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Mem­phis Blues Again,” a song “played on repeat dur­ing their first meet­ing” in a tiny Milan apart­ment. “I think you’d be hard-pressed to think of any oth­er design phe­nom­e­non that can be locat­ed as specif­i­cal­ly to a group of peo­ple,” says Yale Cen­ter of British Art’s Glenn Adam­son in the Vox explain­er above,

Found­ed in Decem­ber 1980 by design­er Ettore Sottsass — known for his red Olivet­ti Valen­tine type­writer — and sev­er­al like-mind­ed col­leagues, the move­ment made a delib­er­ate attempt to dis­rupt the aus­tere, clean lines of the 70s with work they described as “rad­i­cal, fun­ny, and out­ra­geous.” They flaunt­ed what had been con­sid­ered “good taste” with aban­don. Mem­phis design shows Bauhaus influ­ences — though it reject­ed the “strict, straight lines of mod­ernism,” notes Curbed. It taps the anar­chic spir­it of Dada, with­out the edgy, anar­chist pol­i­tics that drove that move­ment. It is main­ly char­ac­ter­ized by its use of lam­i­nate floor­ing mate­ri­als on tables and lamps and the “Bac­te­rio print,” the squig­gle design which Sottsass cre­at­ed in 1978 and which became “Memphis’s trade­mark pat­tern.”

Mem­phis design shared with mod­ernism anoth­er qual­i­ty ear­ly mod­ernists them­selves ful­ly embraced: “Noth­ing was com­mer­cial­ly suc­cess­ful at the time,” says Bar­bara Radice, Sottsass’s wid­ow and Mem­phis group his­to­ri­an. But David Bowie and Karl Lager­field were ear­ly adopters, and the group’s 80s work even­tu­al­ly made them stars. “We came from being nobod­ies,” says design­er Mar­tine Bedin. By 1984, they were cel­e­brat­ed by the city of Mem­phis, Ten­nessee and giv­en the key to the city. “They were wait­ing for us at the air­port with a band,” Bedin remem­bers. “It was com­plete­ly crazy.” The Mem­phis Group had offi­cial­ly changed the world of art, archi­tec­ture, and design. The fol­low­ing year, Sottsass left the group, and it for­mal­ly dis­band­ed in 1987, hav­ing left its mark for decades to come.

By the end of the 80s, Mem­phis’ look had become pop cul­ture wall­pa­per, inform­ing the sets, titles, and fash­ions of TV sta­ples like Saved by the Bell, which debuted in 1989. “Although their designs didn’t end up in people’s homes,” notes Vox — or at least not right away — “they inspired many design­ers work­ing in dif­fer­ent medi­ums.” Find out above how “every­thing from fash­ion to music videos became influ­enced” by the loud, play­ful visu­al vocab­u­lary of the Mem­phis Group artists, and learn more about the design­ers of “David Bowie’s favorite fur­ni­ture” here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Meet the Mem­phis Group, the Bob Dylan-Inspired Design­ers of David Bowie’s Favorite Fur­ni­ture

The Ulti­mate 80s Med­ley: A Nos­tal­gia-Induc­ing Per­for­mance of A‑Ha, Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, Peter Gabriel, Van Halen & More

Watch Bri­an Eno’s “Video Paint­ings,” Where 1980s TV Tech­nol­o­gy Meets Visu­al Art

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


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