Songs That Use “Word Painting”: The Art of Creating Music That Sounds Like the Lyrics

“There’s no love song fin­er, but how strange the change from major to minor, every­time we say good­bye.”

In the line above from Cole Porter’s “Every Time We Say Good­bye,” we’re moved from the hap­pi­ness of love to the sad­ness of part­ing, and so too do the chords change, from major to minor, thus sub­tly chang­ing the mood of the song. The tech­nique is a clever exam­ple of a song­writ­ing method called “word paint­ing,” or prosody, when lyrics are accom­pa­nied by a rhyth­mic, melod­ic, or har­mon­ic shift that com­ple­ments their mean­ing. We hear it in pop music all the time, draw­ing our atten­tion to sig­nif­i­cant moments, and shap­ing the emo­tion­al impact of words and phras­es.

The word “Stop,” for exam­ple, appears over and over in pop music, as the video above from David Ben­nett shows, accom­pa­nied by a full stop from the band. Span­ish-lan­guage hit “Despaci­to” (which means “slow­ly”) slows the tem­po while the tit­u­lar word is sung. There are innu­mer­able exam­ples of melodies ris­ing and falling to lyrics like “high, up, down” and “low.” A more sophis­ti­cat­ed exam­ple of word pain­ing comes from Leonard Cohen’s “Hal­lelu­jah,” which tells us exact­ly what the music’s doing — “It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift.”

As inge­nious as these moves are, Ben­nett goes on to show us how word paint­ing can be “even more nuanced” in clas­sics like The Doors’ “Rid­ers on the Storm.” As Ray Man­zarek him­self explains in an inter­view clip, his key­board part led to an ono­matopoeia effect: lyrics, melody, and sound effects all com­ing togeth­er to express the entire theme. Ben­nett shows in his sec­ond word paint­ing video, above, how stu­dio effects can also be used to sync music and lyrics, such as the murky eq effect applied to Bil­lie Eilish’s voice on the word “under­wa­ter” in her song “Every­thing I Want­ed.”

Exam­ples of effects like this date back at least to Jimi Hen­drix, who pio­neered the stu­dio as a song­writ­ing tool, but word paint­ing as a song­writ­ing method requires no spe­cial tech­nol­o­gy. The Jack­son Five’s “ABC,” for instance, lands on E♭ and C dur­ing the line “I before E except after C,” and the famous cho­rus is sung to the notes A♭, B♭m7, and C. Here, the notes them­selves tell the sto­ry, sim­ple but undoubt­ed­ly effec­tive. All of the exam­ples Ben­nett adduces may come from pop­u­lar music, but word paint­ing is as old as poet­ry, which was once insep­a­ra­ble from song. For as long as humans have com­mu­ni­cat­ed with lit­er­ary epics, funer­al rites, tragedies, come­dies, and love songs, we have used prosody to shape words with music, and music accord­ing to the mean­ing of our words.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Tom Pet­ty Takes You Inside His Song­writ­ing Craft

Naked­ly Exam­ined Music Pod­cast Explores Song­writ­ing with Crack­er, King Crim­son, Cut­ting Crew, Jill Sob­ule & More

How David Bowie Used William S. Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Method to Write His Unfor­get­table Lyrics

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

How Doctor Who First Started as a Family Educational TV Program (1963)


Those who grew up with the BBC sci-fi series Doc­tor Who watched from “behind the sofa,” a pop­u­lar phrase asso­ci­at­ed with the show for the rub­bery, bug-eyed mon­sters it held in store each week for loy­al view­ers. Although it may be hard for those who didn’t expe­ri­ence it in their for­ma­tive years to under­stand, Doc­tor Who has fre­quent­ly been vot­ed the scari­est TV show of all time, over gris­li­er, big-bud­get series like The Walk­ing Dead, and has done so with­out los­ing its sense of humor, a tes­ta­ment to the con­ceit of “regen­er­a­tion” keep­ing things fresh by updat­ing the Doc­tor and his com­pan­ions every few years.

Space mon­sters, Daleks, Cyber­men, and a revolv­ing cast, how­ev­er, were not part of Doc­tor Who’s orig­i­nal remit. The show began as an edu­ca­tion­al pro­gram on the BBC, and this explains many of its inte­gral parts, which have remained through­out its first run from 1963 to 1989 and its revival from 2005 to the present. These ele­ments include the TARDIS, com­pan­ions of var­i­ous ages, the Coal Hill School, and the Doc­tor him­self, a Time Lord from the plan­et Gal­lifrey with inter­stel­lar tech­nol­o­gy and a dodgy mem­o­ry.

We find the core premise in the show’s pilot episode and orig­i­nal 4‑part series, An Unearth­ly Child, which intro­duced William Hart­nell as the Doc­tor, Car­ole Ann Ford as his grand­daugh­ter, Susan Fore­man (orig­i­nal­ly named Bar­bara, or “Bid­dy”), and Jaque­line Hill and William Rus­sell as school teach­ers Bar­bara Wright and Ian Chester­ton. BBC dra­ma head Syd­ney New­man had tasked writ­ers with cre­at­ing a fam­i­ly edu­ca­tion­al show to meet the network’s pub­lic ser­vice man­date, and came up with the idea of a sci­ence fic­tion show as a way to have char­ac­ters vis­it his­tor­i­cal peri­ods and talk about sci­ence in an enter­tain­ing way.

Doc­tor Who’s ear­ly his­tor­i­cal sto­ries empha­size edu­ca­tion by down­play­ing the programme’s fan­ta­sy with min­i­mal sci­ence-fic­tion ele­ments,” writes Tom Stew­ard at Dele­tion. The idea of a time machine big­ger on the inside than the out­side came from New­man. Writer Antho­ny Coburn turned it into a police box after a note from New­man ask­ing for a “tan­gi­ble” sym­bol. New­man “instruct­ed writ­ers to ‘get across the basis of teach­ing of edu­ca­tion­al expe­ri­ence.’ ” When they came back with a sto­ry about Daleks, he balked: “No bug-eyed mon­sters,” he wrote, no alien bad­dies, no actors in rub­ber suits. This was to be a seri­ous show about seri­ous edu­ca­tion­al sub­jects. Script changes and tech­ni­cal chal­lenges meant months of set­back and delays.

It was dif­fi­cult for some crit­ics to take the result­ing four episode arc par­tic­u­lar­ly seri­ous­ly. The first episode showed Bar­bara and Ian dis­cov­er­ing the TARDIS in a Lon­don junk­yard. Then they are all trans­port­ed to the pre­his­toric past, where they observe (and escape) a pow­er strug­gle among pre­his­toric cave peo­ple. (Guardian crit­ic Mary Crozi­er lament­ed that the “wigs and fur­ry pelts and clubs were all ludi­crous.”) The show’s debut was also inaus­pi­cious: Novem­ber 23, 1963, the day after John F. Kennedy’s assas­si­na­tion. The BBC reran the first episode the next week and picked up anoth­er 2 mil­lion view­ers.

Still, it had become clear after the first series that in order to sur­vive, Doc­tor Who would have “to give the pub­lic what they want­ed,” Stew­ard writes, “rather than what was good for them.” Thus, the Daleks debuted in the sec­ond sea­son, and by the mid-60s, his­tor­i­cal sto­ries were replaced with “fan­tasies in his­tor­i­cal cos­tume fea­tur­ing anachro­nis­tic vil­lains or mon­sters.” The show became a week­ly crea­ture fea­ture and intro­duced ter­ri­fy­ing vil­lains like Davros, the Daleks’ cre­ator, a cross between a Strangelove-like Nazi sci­en­tist and Star Wars’ clone-hap­py Emper­or Pal­pa­tine (Davros came first).

The cos­tumes may look sil­ly in hind­sight, but as child­hood Who fan Char­lie Jane Anders writes at io9, “those of us who are adults now did­n’t have huge screen HD tele­vi­sions when we were kids.” (And those of us who remem­ber it, remem­ber being ter­ri­fied by equal­ly goofy cos­tum­ing in The Land of the Lost.) Look past the low-bud­get effects and Doc­tor Who becomes pure hor­ror, explor­ing very dark ter­ri­to­ry with only a son­ic screw­driv­er, a few friends, and a quirky sense of humor — or 13 quirky sens­es of humor, includ­ing Jodie Whit­tak­er’s as the cur­rent Doc­tor and first woman to fill the role.

As you can see from the clips of the first episode above, Doc­tor Who estab­lished its weird air of exis­ten­tial dread from the start with Delia Der­byshire’s oth­er­world­ly theme and some avant-garde cam­era effects in lieu of big­ger-bud­get spec­ta­cles. The show did not retain much from its edu­ca­tion­al begin­nings aside from the key char­ac­ters and the look and feel of the TARDIS. It was “seen to have failed as ped­a­gogy,” writes Stew­ard, but as a body of sci­ence fic­tion lore that con­tin­ues to stay rel­e­vant, it has all sorts of lessons to teach about courage, com­pan­ion­ship, and the val­ue of the right tool for the right job.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

30 Hours of Doc­tor Who Audio Dra­mas Now Free to Stream Online

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

A Detailed, Track-by-Track Analy­sis of the Doc­tor Who Theme Music

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

Make Body Language Your Superpower: A 15-Minute Primer on Body Language & Public Speaking from Stanford Business School

A few years ago, the idea of “pow­er pos­es” — that is, phys­i­cal stances that increase the dynamism of one’s per­son­al­i­ty — gained a great many adher­ents in a very short time, but not long there­after emerged doubts as to its sci­en­tif­ic sound­ness. Nev­er­the­less, while stand­ing with your hands on your hips may not change who you are, we can fair­ly claim that such a thing as body lan­guage does exist. And in that lan­guage, cer­tain bod­i­ly arrange­ments com­mu­ni­cate bet­ter mes­sages than oth­ers: accord­ing to the pre­sen­ters of the talk above, keep­ing your hands pow­er-poseish­ly on your hips is actu­al­ly a text­book bad pub­lic-speak­ing posi­tion, down there with shov­ing them in your pock­ets or clasp­ing them before you in the dread­ed “fig leaf.”

Now viewed well over 5.5 mil­lion times, “Make Body Lan­guage Your Super­pow­er” was orig­i­nal­ly deliv­ered as the final project of a team of grad­u­ate stu­dents at Stan­ford’s Grad­u­ate School of Busi­ness. That same insti­tu­tion gave us lec­tur­er Matt Abra­hams’ talk “Think Fast, Talk Smart,” which, with its 23 mil­lion views and count­ing, sug­gests its cam­pus pos­sess­es a lit­er­al fount of pub­lic-speak­ing wis­dom.

Work­ing as a team, these stu­dents keep it short and sim­ple, accom­pa­ny­ing their talk with take­away-announc­ing Pow­er­point slides (“1. Pos­ture breeds suc­cess, 2. Ges­tures strength­en our mes­sage, 3. The audi­ence’s body mat­ters too”) and even a video clip that vivid­ly illus­trates what not to do: in this case, with a fid­gety, rota­tion-heavy turn on stage by Armaged­don and Trans­form­ers auteur Michael Bay.

Though we can’t hear what Bay is say­ing, we could­n’t be blamed for assum­ing it’s not the truth. That owes not so much to the Hol­ly­wood pen­chant for dis­sim­u­la­tion and hyper­bole as it does to his par­tic­u­lar stances, ges­tures, and per­am­bu­la­tions, all of a kind that primes our sub­con­scious­ness to expect lies. “We all want to avoid our own Michael Bay moments when we com­mu­ni­cate,” says one of the pre­sen­ters, but even when we take pains to tell the truth, the whole truth, and noth­ing but the truth, the defen­sive pos­tures into which many of us instinc­tive­ly retreat can under­cut our efforts. “Decod­ing Decep­tive Body Lan­guage,” the talk just above, can help us learn both to iden­ti­fy the impres­sion of dis­hon­esty and to avoid giv­ing it our­selves. Not that it’s always easy: as the exam­ple of Bill Clin­ton under­scores in both these pre­sen­ta­tions, even mas­ter com­mu­ni­ca­tors have their slip-ups.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Get Over the Anx­i­ety of Pub­lic Speak­ing?: Watch the Stan­ford Video, “Think Fast, Talk Smart,” Viewed Already 15 Mil­lion Times

How to Speak: Watch the Lec­ture on Effec­tive Com­mu­ni­ca­tion That Became an MIT Tra­di­tion for Over 40 Years

Can You Spot Liars Through Their Body Lan­guage? A For­mer FBI Agent Breaks Down the Clues in Non-Ver­bal Com­mu­ni­ca­tion

How to Spot Bull­shit: A Primer by Prince­ton Philoso­pher Har­ry Frank­furt

How to Sound Smart in a TED Talk: A Fun­ny Primer by Sat­ur­day Night Live‘s Will Stephen

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.

Watch The Weight of the Nation Free Online: An Emmy-Nominated HBO Documentary Films Series on Obesity

The Emmy-nom­i­nat­ed HBO Doc­u­men­tary Films series on obe­si­ty, The Weight of the Nation, pre­miered in May 2012. And it’s now free to watch online.

Made in col­lab­o­ra­tion with the NIH, the four-part series — Con­se­quences, Choic­es, Chil­dren in Cri­sis, and Chal­lenges —explored Amer­i­ca’s obe­si­ty epidemic–its caus­es, symp­toms, treat­ments, and solu­tions. You can watch all four parts above and below. The doc­u­men­tary will be added to our list of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Part 2

Part 3

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Brian Eno Day: Hear 10 Hours of Radio Programming Featuring Brian Eno Talking About His Life & Career (1988)

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Bri­an Eno kept busy dur­ing last year’s pan­dem­ic, telling the L.A. Times this past Jan­u­ary about one of his lat­est ideas, an open source Zoom alter­na­tive, just one of any num­ber of projects he’s kick­ing around at any giv­en time. One of the most pro­lif­ic and influ­en­tial artists, musi­cians, pro­duc­ers, and thinkers of the past sev­er­al decades, Eno is such a cul­tur­al insti­tu­tion, he war­rants his own appre­ci­a­tion day. That’s just what he got on Feb­ru­ary 12, 1988 when KPFA (a radio sta­tion in Berke­ley, CA) turned over an entire day to host­ing Eno for wide-rang­ing inter­views, sto­ries about his col­lab­o­ra­tions, and con­ver­sa­tions about the musi­cal gen­res he invent­ed. He even takes ques­tions, and his replies are illu­mi­nat­ing and urbane.

Eno’s always been a gen­er­ous and wit­ty con­ver­sa­tion­al­ist. The Bri­an Eno Day broad­cast hits on near­ly all of the major high­lights of his career up to that point, with a com­pre­hen­sive overview of his work, ear­li­er inter­view record­ings, and loads of songs and excerpts from his exten­sive record­ed cor­pus. Much of this work is obscure and much of it is as well-known as the man him­self. One can­not tell the sto­ries of artists like U2, Talk­ing Heads, and David Bowie, for exam­ple, with­out talk­ing about Eno’s guid­ing hand as a pro­duc­er. Eno’s renowned for found­ing glam rock pio­neers Roxy Music, invent­ing ambi­ent music, and for his gen­er­a­tive approach­es to mak­ing art, whether on small paper cards or in soft­ware and apps.

Eno once said his first musi­cal instru­ment was a tape recorder, and he’s been obsessed with record­ing tech­nol­o­gy ever since, deliv­er­ing his influ­en­tial lec­ture “The Record­ing Stu­dio as a Com­po­si­tion­al Tool” in 1979 and demon­strat­ing its prin­ci­ples in all of the music he’s made. In these inter­views, Eno not only dis­cuss­es the major plot points, but also “reveals such tasty tid­bits as his dis­like for com­put­er key­boards; an admis­sion that even he does not know what his lyrics mean; a pref­er­ence for the music of Stock­hausen’s stu­dents rather than that of Stock­hausen him­self; and the dif­fer­ences between New Age, Min­i­mal, and Ambi­ent Music,” notes the descrip­tion on Inter­net Archive.

In the 33 years since this broad­cast, Eno has pro­duced enough music and visu­al art to fill anoth­er 10-hour day of inter­views and overviews. But his meth­ods have not changed: he has pur­sued his lat­er work with the same open­ness, curios­i­ty, and col­lab­o­ra­tive spir­it he devel­oped in his first few decades. Hear him in his ele­ment, rang­ing far afield in con­ver­sa­tions about archi­tec­ture, genet­ic evo­lu­tion, and his own video instal­la­tion pieces. Eno rarely gets per­son­al, pre­fer­ring to talk about his work, but it’s humil­i­ty, not secre­cy, that keeps him off the top­ic of him­self. As he recent­ly told a Guardian inter­view­er, “I’m not f*cking inter­est­ed at all in me. I want to talk about ideas.” Hear Eno do exact­ly that in 10 hours of record­ings just above.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Behold the Orig­i­nal Deck of Oblique Strate­gies Cards, Hand­writ­ten by Bri­an Eno Him­self

Bri­an Eno Presents a Crash Course on How the Record­ing Stu­dio Rad­i­cal­ly Changed Music: Hear His Influ­en­tial Lec­ture “The Record­ing Stu­dio as a Com­po­si­tion­al Tool” (1979)

Bri­an Eno Explains the Ori­gins of Ambi­ent Music

Hear Bri­an Eno Rein­vent Pachelbel’s Canon (1975)

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

The Beatles’ 8 Pioneering Innovations: A Video Essay Exploring How the Fab Four Changed Pop Music

In mod­ern soci­ety, some facts are sim­ply accept­ed: one plus one equals two, the Earth revolves around the Sun, and The Bea­t­les are the great­est band in his­to­ry. “So obvi­ous­ly daz­zling was The Bea­t­les’ achieve­ment that few have ques­tioned it,” writes Ian Mac­Don­ald in his study of the band Rev­o­lu­tion in the Head. “Agree­ment on them is all but uni­ver­sal: they were far and away the best-ever pop group and their music enriched the lives of mil­lions.” Today, just as half a cen­tu­ry ago, most Bea­t­les fans nev­er rig­or­ous­ly exam­ine the basis of the Fab Four’s stature in not just music but cul­ture more broad­ly. Suf­fice it to say that no band has ever been as influ­en­tial, and — more than like­ly — no band ever will be again.

To each new gen­er­a­tion of Bea­t­les fans, how­ev­er, this very influ­ence has made the band’s inno­va­tions more dif­fi­cult to sense. For decade after decade, prac­ti­cal­ly every major rock and pop band has per­formed in sports sta­dia and on inter­na­tion­al tele­vi­sion, made use in the stu­dio of gui­tar feed­back and auto­mat­i­cal­ly dou­ble-tracked vocals, and shot music videos.

But the Bea­t­les made all these now-com­mon moves first, and oth­ers besides, as recount­ed in the video essay above, “8 Things The Bea­t­les Pio­neered.” Its cre­ator David Ben­nett explains the musi­cal, tech­no­log­i­cal and cul­tur­al impor­tance of all these strate­gies, which have since become so com­mon that they’re sel­dom named among The Bea­t­les’ many sig­na­ture qual­i­ties.

Not absolute­ly every­one loves The Bea­t­les, of course. But even those who don’t par­tic­u­lar­ly enjoy their records must acknowl­edge their Shake­speare­an, even Bib­li­cal super-canon­i­cal sta­tus in pop­u­lar music today. This can actu­al­ly make it some­what intim­i­dat­ing to approach the music of The Bea­t­les, despite its very pop­u­lar­i­ty, and espe­cial­ly for those of us who weren’t drawn to it grow­ing up. I myself only recent­ly lis­tened through the Bea­t­les canon, at the age of 35, an expe­ri­ence I’d deferred for so long know­ing it would send me down an infi­nite­ly deep rab­bit hole of asso­ci­at­ed read­ing. If you, too, con­sid­er your­self a can­di­date for late-onset Beat­le­ma­nia, con­sid­er start­ing with the half-hour video just above, which tells the sto­ry of the band’s ori­gins — and thus the ori­gin, in a sense, of the pop cul­ture that still sur­rounds us.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” Con­tains “the Cra­zi­est Edit” in Bea­t­les His­to­ry

Hear the Beau­ti­ful Iso­lat­ed Vocal Har­monies from the Bea­t­les’ “Some­thing”

Is “Rain” the Per­fect Bea­t­les Song?: A New Video Explores the Rad­i­cal Inno­va­tions of the 1966 B‑Side

A Vir­tu­al Tour of Every Place Ref­er­enced in The Bea­t­les’ Lyrics: In 12 Min­utes, Trav­el 25,000 Miles Across Eng­land, France, Rus­sia, India & the US

A 17-Hour Chrono­log­i­cal Playlist of Bea­t­les Songs: 338 Tracks Let You Hear the Musi­cal Evo­lu­tion of the Icon­ic Band

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.

Banksy’s Great British Spraycation: The Artist Spray Paints England’s Favorite Summer-Holiday Destinations

“We’re all going on a sum­mer hol­i­day / no more work­ing for a week or two,” sings Cliff Richard in one of his most famous songs. “Fun and laugh­ter on a sum­mer hol­i­day / no more wor­ries for me or you.” Like The Bea­t­les’ ultra-north­ern “When I’m Six­ty-Four,” with its cot­tage rentals on the Isle of Wight (“if it’s not too dear”), Richard’s “Sum­mer Hol­i­day” dates from a time in Britain when tourism was, as a rule, domes­tic. And so it has become again over the past cou­ple of years, what with the coro­n­avirus pan­dem­ic and its severe cur­tail­ment of inter­na­tion­al trav­el. Ever tuned in to cur­rent events, the pseu­do­ny­mous graf­fi­ti artist Banksy has tak­en the oppor­tu­ni­ty to go on a “Great British Spray­ca­tion.”

This was a bus­man­’s hol­i­day for Banksy, who appears to have had a detailed plan of exact­ly which east-coast resort towns to vis­it, and exact­ly where in each of them to sur­rep­ti­tious­ly cre­ate anoth­er of his sig­na­ture pieces of high-con­trast satir­i­cal art.

“The sten­ciled pieces are often inte­grat­ed with repur­posed objects from the area, high­light­ing the pre-planned and per­fect­ly posi­tioned nature of the work,” writes Design­boom’s Kat Barandy. “In Low­est­oft, a mas­sive seag­ull dines on a box of ‘chips’ ren­dered by a dump­ster filled with insu­la­tion mate­r­i­al. Near­by a child is depict­ed build­ing a sand­cas­tle with a crow­bar, front­ed by a mound of sand on the pave­ment.”

That work, Arts Uni­ver­si­ty Bournemouth pro­fes­sor Paul Gough tells the BBC for its guide to the Great British Spray­ca­tion, may be a ref­er­ence to the 1968 Paris stu­dent upris­ing and its slo­gan “Sous les pavés, la plage!” You can see these and oth­er fresh works doc­u­ment­ed in the video at the top of the post, which also catch­es the reac­tions of pass­ing locals and tourists. “That looks all like mind­less van­dal­ism, that,” says one woman, artic­u­lat­ing a com­mon assess­ment of Banksy’s artis­tic state­ments. “It looks a lot bet­ter from far away than it does when you get this close,” says anoth­er. But the most telling com­ment, in a vari­ety of respects, comes from a man regard­ing Banksy’s addi­tion of a car­toon­ish tongue and ice cream cone to the stat­ue of 19th-cen­tu­ry may­or Fred­er­ick Sav­age in King’s Lynn: “Yeah, some­one’s done that, ain’t they?”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Dis­ma­land — The Offi­cial Unof­fi­cial Film, A Cin­e­mat­ic Jour­ney Through Banksy’s Apoc­a­lyp­tic Theme Park

Banksy Strikes Again in Lon­don & Urges Every­one to Wear Masks

The Joy of Paint­ing with Bob Ross & Banksy: Watch Banksy Paint a Mur­al on the Jail That Once Housed Oscar Wilde

Banksy Strikes Again in Venice

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.

Hear 45 Minutes of Funky Old Soundtracks from 1960s-70s Japanese Films & TV Shows

The life of a Japan­ese film com­pos­er in the 1960s and 70s was very dif­fer­ent from their Amer­i­can coun­ter­parts. “For Hol­ly­wood movies, there is a three-month peri­od to write the music after the film has been fin­ished,” says leg­endary film and tele­vi­sion com­pos­er Chumei Watan­abe. When Watan­abe first began work­ing for Shin­to­ho stu­dios, “at first, they gave us five days. Of course, it would usu­al­ly be short­ened…. One time, there was a Toei movie being filmed in Kyoto. The next day was the record­ing day for the music…. I had less than 24 hours to write the music!”

Despite the immense pres­sures on com­posers for films and TV shows, even those pri­mar­i­ly for chil­dren, “I kept in mind that I would not com­pose child­ish music,” says Watan­abe, who worked well into his 90s com­pos­ing for TV. “That’s why peo­ple in their 40s and 50s still lis­ten to my songs and sing them at karaoke.” His music is as wide­ly beloved as that of his pro­lif­ic con­tem­po­rary, Drag­on Ball Z com­pos­er Shun­suke Kikuchi, who passed away this year at 89.

“Over the course of his career,” writes Okay Play­er, “Kikuchi wrote the music for a num­ber of pop­u­lar ani­me series and live-action tele­vi­sion shows, includ­ing Abaren­bo Shogun (800 episodes over 30 years,) Dorae­mon (26 years on the air,) and Kamen Rid­er, Key Hunter, and G‑Men ’75.” So icon­ic was Kikuchi’s music that his “Ura­mi Bushi” — the theme for 1972 Japan­ese exploita­tion film Female Pris­on­er 701: Scor­pi­on — was giv­en pride of place in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill Vol. 2.f

If you aren’t famil­iar with the music of late-20th cen­tu­ry Japan­ese genre film and tele­vi­sion, you’ll be for­giv­en for think­ing the mix at the top of the post comes from Taran­ti­no’s films. Described by its YouTube poster Trip­mas­ter­monk as “45 min­utes of var­i­ous funky old japan­ese sound­track, sam­ples, breaks, and beats. (all killer, no filler),” it includes clas­sic com­po­si­tions from Watan­abe, Kikuchi, and many oth­er com­posers from the peri­od who worked as hard on ani­me series as they did on so-called “pink films” like the “Female Pris­on­er” series, a vehi­cle for Japan­ese star Meiko Kaji (of Lady Snow­blood fame), who sang “Ura­mi Bushi” and turned the song into a major hit.

Dig the funky music of Japan­ese action films from the 60s and 70s in the mix, full name: “Trip­mas­ter­monk — Knock­steady Zen­cast Vol. 2: Nin­ja Funk & Gang­ster Bal­lads: Ode to the Broth­er­land.” And find more of Tripmastermonk’s musi­cal con­coc­tions on Sound­cloud.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Dis­cov­er the Ambi­ent Music of Hiroshi Yoshimu­ra, the Pio­neer­ing Japan­ese Com­pos­er

Hear Enchant­i­ng Mix­es of Japan­ese Pop, Jazz, Funk, Dis­co, Soul, and R&B from the 70s and 80s

Son­ic Explo­rations of Japan­ese Jazz: Stream 8 Mix­es of Japan’s Jazz Tra­di­tion Free Online

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

Introduction to Ancient Greek History: A Free Online Course by Yale Historian Donald Kagan (RIP)

Ear­li­er this month, Yale his­to­ri­an Don­ald Kagan passed away at age 89 in Wash­ing­ton D.C. In their obit­u­ary, The New York Times writes:

Pro­fes­sor Kagan was con­sid­ered among the country’s lead­ing his­to­ri­ans. His four-vol­ume account of the Pelo­pon­nesian War, from 431 B.C. to 404 B.C., was hailed by the crit­ic George Stein­er as “the fore­most work of his­to­ry pro­duced in North Amer­i­ca in the 20th cen­tu­ry.”

He was equal­ly renowned for his class­room style, in which he pep­pered nuanced read­ings of ancient texts with ref­er­ences to his beloved New York Yan­kees and inven­tive, some­times com­ic exer­cis­es in class par­tic­i­pa­tion, like hav­ing stu­dents form a hoplite pha­lanx to demon­strate how Greek sol­diers marched into com­bat.

If you nev­er sat in Kagan’s class­room, you can still expe­ri­ence his teach­ing style online. Record­ed in 2007, Kagan’s course Intro­duc­tion to Ancient Greek His­to­ry traces “the devel­op­ment of Greek civ­i­liza­tion as man­i­fest­ed in polit­i­cal, intel­lec­tu­al, and cre­ative achieve­ments from the Bronze Age to the end of the clas­si­cal peri­od.” You can watch the 24 video lec­tures above, or find them on YouTube. The lec­tures also appear on iTunes in audio and video. Find the texts used in the course below. More infor­ma­tion about the course, includ­ing the syl­labus, can be found on this Yale web­site.

Intro­duc­tion to Ancient Greek His­to­ry will be added to our col­lec­tion of Free Online His­to­ry cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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

Learn Ancient Greek in 64 Free Lessons: A Free Online Course from Bran­deis & Har­vard

Roman Archi­tec­ture: A Free Online Course from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty

The Ancient Greeks: A Free Online Course from Wes­leyan Uni­ver­si­ty 

Inside MK-Ultra, the CIA’s Secret Program That Used LSD to Achieve Mind Control (1953–1973)

If the CIA ever wants to change its mot­to to some­thing hip and trendy that the kids’ll like, may I sug­gest “f*ck around and find out”? Because in this above mini-doc on the secret LSD mind-con­trol exper­i­ments known as MK-Ultra (1953–1973), they were cer­tain­ly doing a lot of the for­mer, and then they took a lot of the lat­ter and sent it down the old mem­o­ry hole.

Could the Sovi­ets be devel­op­ing mind-con­trol pro­grams? The CIA, as sev­er­al of these accounts tell us, became con­vinced they were. How­ev­er, it’s nev­er spec­i­fied why they were con­vinced. Could it be a bit of guilt for hir­ing some ex-Nazi (and/or Nazi sup­port­ing) Ger­man sci­en­tists through Oper­a­tion Paper­clip? Or was this all just a cov­er because the CIA real­ly want­ed to exper­i­ment with mind con­trol? I mean, it’s 70 years lat­er, you can admit it. There were all these new drugs being devel­oped that altered the mind, so why not start there?

Top among the cor­nu­copia of phar­ma­co­log­i­ca was lyser­gic acid diethy­lamide, and the man who knew LSD the best was Dr. Sid­ney Got­tlieb, the “Poi­son­er in Chief” as his biog­ra­ph­er Stephen Kinz­er calls him. (See his book: Poi­son­er in Chief: Sid­ney Got­tlieb and the CIA Search for Mind Con­trol.) Raised in the Bronx, Got­tlieb’s love of chem­istry and sci­ence earned him a pres­ti­gious place at Cal­Tech. By the end of the 1940s he had been recruit­ed by the CIA.

Gottlieb’s para­dox was his love of LSD. He took it more than 200 times. He tend­ed towards Bud­dhism, not sur­pris­ing for those whose mind has been expand­ed by psy­che­delics. And he lived like a pro­to-hip­pie, grow­ing his own veg­eta­bles and liv­ing “off the grid” for a while with his fam­i­ly. Yet at the same time, he had no prob­lems with absolute dev­il­ish behav­ior. Once he con­vinced the CIA to buy up the world’s sup­ply of LSD, he set to work. He’d dose col­leagues with mas­sive amounts and only tell them after­wards. He’d con­duct exper­i­ments on sex work­ers, pris­on­ers, or peo­ple with ter­mi­nal ill­ness. Many didn’t know what they were sign­ing up for. The LSD in heavy dos­es were meant to anni­hi­late the mind, and allow a new mind to be put in place. That didn’t work out that well, but Got­tlieb and asso­ciates kept try­ing, under the aegis of then-CIA direc­tor Allen Dulles and Chief of Oper­a­tions Richard Helms. In real­i­ty, Dulles and oth­ers high up in the CIA had a hands-off approach. Bet­ter not to know what Got­tlieb was up to, espe­cial­ly when it went against the Nurem­berg Code of exper­i­ment­ing on peo­ple against their will–the very things the Nazis did.

There were many vic­tims too, corpses that were the cost of doing busi­ness in the Cold War, and so many we will not know about. The high­est pro­file death—and what pulled MK-Ultra out of obscurity—was gov­ern­ment sci­en­tist Frank Olsen. His jump from a NYC hotel room was ruled a sui­cide by the gov­ern­ment, a result of work stress. (The whole Olsen affair forms the back­bone of Errol Mor­ris’ 2017 doc­u­men­tary series Worm­wood.) The uncov­er­ing of the truth helped expose the his­to­ry of MK-Ultra to a mid-‘70s Amer­i­ca that had lost faith in its gov­ern­ment and was ripe for con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries to take hold.

Yes, MK-Ultra was an actu­al thing. But because Got­tlieb and his boss­es had destroyed most of the records, con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries filled in the gaps. Were Lee Har­vey Oswald and Sirhan Sirhan MK-Ultra exper­i­ments gone wrong? What about Charles Man­son, who author Tim O’Neill dis­cov­ered was a “lab rat” for CIA exper­i­ments? Mob­ster Whitey Bul­ger was part of a LSD exper­i­ment and the FBI let him con­tin­ue to com­mit crimes. The future Unabomber Ted Kaczyn­s­ki had tak­en part in “bru­tal” psy­cho­log­i­cal exper­i­ments while at Har­vard.

On the oth­er hand, the MK-Ultra exper­i­ments also affect­ed cul­ture in a good way. Allen Gins­berg tried his first dose in North­ern Cal­i­for­nia, as did Ken Kesey, who came out of it a pro­po­nent of LSD and formed the nascent hip­pie move­ment.

Got­tlieb retired in 1972, and MK-Ultra’s results were lack­ing in any prac­ti­cal results. In 1999, Got­tlieb passed away from unknown caus­es. Pos­si­bly a heart attack…but who knows, right?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hofmann’s Potion: 2002 Doc­u­men­tary Revis­its the His­to­ry of LSD

Ken Kesey’s First LSD Trip Ani­mat­ed

Artist Draws 9 Por­traits While on LSD: Inside the 1950s Exper­i­ments to Turn LSD into a “Cre­ativ­i­ty Pill”

When Michel Fou­cault Tripped on Acid in Death Val­ley and Called It “The Great­est Expe­ri­ence of My Life” (1975)

Ken Kesey Talks About the Mean­ing of the Acid Tests

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.

Listen to Plato Invent the Myth of Atlantis (360 B.C)

Myths emerge from the murky depths of human pre­his­to­ry, leav­ing their sources shroud­ed in mys­tery. But on rare occa­sions, we can trace them to a sin­gle point of ori­gin. The myth of Atlantis, for exam­ple, the ancient civ­i­liza­tion that sup­pos­ed­ly sank into the sea, has one and only one source — Pla­to — who told the sto­ry in both the Timaeus and Critias, some­time around 360 BC, as an alle­go­ry for cor­rup­tion and civ­i­liza­tion­al decay.

Pla­to puts the tale of Atlantis nesos, the “island of Atlas,” in the mouth of the aged Critias, a char­ac­ter in both dia­logues, who says he heard the sto­ry sec­ond-hand from Solon — “not only the wis­est of men, but also the noblest of poets” — who in turn brought it from Egypt, where he sup­pos­ed­ly heard it from a priest in a city called Sais.

As you can hear in the dia­logue that bears his name, read above in the Voic­es of the Past video, Critias gives a lengthy descrip­tion of the island’s size (in Timaeus it is “larg­er than Libya and Asia put togeth­er”), its loca­tion (“the Pil­lars of Her­a­cles”), and its geog­ra­phy, cities, peo­ples, and so forth. In Timaeus, Socrates declares that this tale (unlike his imag­i­nary republics) “has the very great advan­tage of being fact not fic­tion.”

But there was nev­er such a place in the ancient world. While islands have dis­ap­peared after earth­quakes or vol­ca­noes, “I don’t think there’s any ques­tion,” says geol­o­gist Patrick Nunn, “that the sto­ry of Atlantis is a myth.” Pla­to made up the lost civ­i­liza­tion and for­mi­da­ble rival to Athens, who sound­ly defeat­ed the Atlanteans, as a dra­mat­ic foil. “It’s a sto­ry that cap­tures the imag­i­na­tion,” says Bard Col­lege pro­fes­sor of clas­sics James Romm. Its pur­pose is illus­tra­tive, not his­tor­i­cal.

[Pla­to] was deal­ing with a num­ber of issues, themes that run through­out his work. His ideas about divine ver­sus human nature, ide­al soci­eties, the grad­ual cor­rup­tion of human soci­ety — these ideas are all found in many of his works. Atlantis was a dif­fer­ent vehi­cle to get at some of his favorite themes.

Why has there been so much desire to find Plato’s account cred­i­ble? Ear­ly mod­ern Euro­pean read­ers of Pla­to like Fran­cis Bacon and Thomas More — authors of The New Atlantis and Utopia, respec­tive­ly — treat­ed Atlantis as philo­soph­i­cal alle­go­ry, a fic­tion like their own invent­ed soci­eties. But lat­er inter­preters believed it, from ama­teur schol­ars to colo­nial adven­tur­ers, explor­ers, and trea­sure hunters. Atlantis, wher­ev­er it is, some thought, must be full of sunken gold.

Nation­al Geo­graph­ic quotes Charles Ors­er, cura­tor of his­to­ry at the New York State Muse­um in Albany, who says, “Pick a spot on the map, and some­one has said that Atlantis was there. Every place you can imag­ine.” Yet what­ev­er sim­i­lar­i­ties it may have had to a real place, Pla­to’s yarn was strict­ly para­ble: Its inhab­i­tants were once divine. “Sired and ruled over by Posei­don, and thus half-gods and half-mor­tals,” writes Aeon, they “despised every­thing but virtue.”

But Atlantis grew cor­rupt in time, Critias tells us, “when the divine por­tion began to fade away, and became dilut­ed too often and too much with the mor­tal admix­ture, and the human nature got the upper hand, they then, being unable to bear their for­tune, behaved unseem­ly, and to him who had an eye to see grew vis­i­bly debased, for they were los­ing the fairest of their pre­cious gifts; but to those who had no eye to see the true hap­pi­ness, they appeared glo­ri­ous and blessed at the very time when they were full of avarice and unright­eous pow­er.”

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Mythos: An Ani­ma­tion Retells Time­less Greek Myths with Abstract Mod­ern Designs

Ancient Phi­los­o­phy: Free Online Course from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia

Orson Welles Nar­rates Ani­ma­tions of Plato’s Cave and Kafka’s “Before the Law,” Two Para­bles of the Human Con­di­tion

What is the Good Life? Pla­to, Aris­to­tle, Niet­zsche, & Kant’s Ideas in 4 Ani­mat­ed Videos

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


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