Salvador Dalí Explains Why He Was a “Bad Painter” and Contributed “Nothing” to Art (1986)

Not so very long ago, Sal­vador Dalí was the most famous liv­ing painter in the world. When the BBC’s Are­na came to shoot an episode about him in 1986, they asked him what that exalt­ed state felt like. “I don’t know if I am the most famous painter in the world,” Dalí responds, “because lots of the peo­ple who ask for my auto­graph in the street don’t know if I’m a singer, a film star, a mad­man, a writer — they don’t know what I am.” He was, in one sense or anoth­er, most of those things and oth­ers besides. But we can safe­ly say, more than thir­ty years after his death, that Dalí will be remem­bered first for his visu­al art, with its vast seas and skies, its impos­si­ble beasts, its melt­ing clocks. And what did Dalí him­self believe he had con­tributed to art?

“Noth­ing,” he says. “Absolute­ly noth­ing, because, as I’ve always said, I’m a very bad painter. Because I’m too intel­li­gent to be a good painter. To be a good painter you’ve got to be a bit stu­pid, with the excep­tion of Velázquez, who is a genius, whose tal­ent sur­pass­es the art of paint­ing.” In oth­er words, when Dalí’s ever-present detrac­tors said he was no Velázquez, Dalí’s whole­heart­ed­ly agreed.

Over the past few decades, appre­ci­a­tion of the dis­tinc­tive com­bi­na­tion of vision and tech­nique on dis­play in Dalí’s paint­ings has won him more offi­cial respect (as well as a lav­ish new col­lec­tion pub­lished in book form by Taschen), but the debate about to what extent he was a true artist and to what extent a cal­cu­lat­ed­ly eccen­tric self-pro­mot­er will nev­er ful­ly sim­mer down.

Dalí also claimed to owe his life to paint­ing bad­ly. “The day Dalí paints a pic­ture as good as Velázquez, Ver­meer, or Raphael, or music like Mozart,” he says, “the next week he’ll die. So I pre­fer to paint bad pic­tures and live longer.” That he had already entered his ninth decade by the time Are­na came call­ing sug­gests that this strat­e­gy might have been effec­tive, though he was­n’t with­out his health trou­bles. In his first pub­lic appear­ance after hav­ing had a pace­mak­er implant­ed that same year, he declared that “When you are a genius, you do not have the right to die, because we are nec­es­sary for the progress of human­i­ty.” Dalí’s kept his askew arro­gance to the end, even through the con­tro­ver­sial final years that saw him sign off on the large-scale pro­duc­tion of shod­dy lith­o­graphs of his paint­ings. About the peo­ple who made them and the peo­ple who bought them, Dalí had only this to say: “They deserve each oth­er.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Q: Sal­vador Dalí, Are You a Crack­pot? A: No, I’m Just Almost Crazy (1969)

Sal­vador Dalí Strolls onto The Dick Cavett Show with an Anteater, Then Talks About Dreams & Sur­re­al­ism, the Gold­en Ratio & More (1970)

When Sal­vador Dali Met Sig­mund Freud, and Changed Freud’s Mind About Sur­re­al­ism (1938)

When The Sur­re­al­ists Expelled Sal­vador Dalí for “the Glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of Hit­ler­ian Fas­cism” (1934)

A Soft Self-Por­trait of Sal­vador Dali, Nar­rat­ed by the Great Orson Welles

The Most Com­plete Col­lec­tion of Sal­vador Dalí’s Paint­ings Pub­lished in a Beau­ti­ful New Book by Taschen: Includes Nev­er-Seen-Before Works

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

Ennio Morricone (RIP) and Sergio Leone Pose Together in Their Primary School Year Book, 1937

Lit­tle did they know where life would take them–and how their futures would be inter­twined.

A great find by @ddoniolvalcroze.…

The Film Music of Ennio Morricone (RIP) Beautifully Performed by the Danish National Symphony Orchestra Play: “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” & Much More

What we think of as “film music” today is a cre­ation of only a few inven­tive and orig­i­nal com­posers, one few­er of whom walks the Earth as of yes­ter­day. Though Ennio Mor­ri­cone will be remem­bered first for his asso­ci­a­tion with spaghet­ti west­ern mas­ter Ser­gio Leone, his career in film scores spanned half a cen­tu­ry and encom­passed work for some of the most acclaimed direc­tors of that peri­od: his coun­try­men like Michelan­ge­lo Anto­nioni, Bernar­do Bertoluc­ci, Pier Pao­lo Pasoli­ni, but also such com­mand­ing Hol­ly­wood film­mak­ers as John Hus­ton, Ter­rence Mal­ick, and Quentin Taran­ti­no. Mor­ri­cone did­n’t just write music to add to their films; he became a col­lab­o­ra­tor, with­out whose work their films would be dif­fi­cult to imag­ine.

The result, in pic­tures from L’Avven­tu­ra to Salò to Days of Heav­en to The Untouch­ables to The Hate­ful Eight, is a union of the arts that tran­scends indi­vid­ual cul­tures. It does­n’t mat­ter what coun­try you come from, what gen­er­a­tion you belong to, whether you enjoy West­erns or indeed cin­e­ma itself: you know the theme music Mor­ri­cone wrote for Leone’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly the moment you hear it. 

Whether or not you’ve seen the movie, you’ll appre­ci­ate the espe­cial­ly rich per­for­mance by the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra at the top of the post, part of a 2018 con­cert called The Mor­ri­cone Duel, a cel­e­bra­tion of “a wide range of west­ern movies and mafia movies reflect­ing dif­fer­ent per­spec­tives on an Ital­ian-Amer­i­can movie and film music style.”

The Mor­ri­cone Duel’s Youtube playlist includes the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra’s ren­di­tions of pieces from oth­er Mor­ri­cone-Leone col­lab­o­ra­tions like A Fist­ful of Dol­lars, For a Few Dol­lars MoreOnce Upon a Time in the West, and Once Upon a Time in Amer­i­ca. Though the evening also includ­ed pieces from The Untouch­ables and Hen­ri Verneuil’s The Sicil­ian Clan, many in the audi­ence must have thrilled most when the musi­cians launched into the over­ture from The Hate­ful Eight. They could hardy be more ardent Mor­ri­cone fans than Taran­ti­no him­self, who used pieces from Mor­ri­cone’s exist­ing Spaghet­ti-west­ern sound­tracks in Kill Bill and Inglou­ri­ous Bas­ter­ds before mak­ing a west­ern of his own, which would­n’t have been com­plete with­out orig­i­nal Mor­ri­cone music. The Hate­ful Eight turned out to be Mor­ri­cone’s penul­ti­mate film score, but his influ­ence will res­onate through gen­er­a­tions of cin­e­ma to come — and out­last, no doubt, the west­ern and gang­ster gen­res them­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 5 Hours of Ennio Morricone’s Scores for Clas­sic West­ern Films: From Ser­gio Leone’s Spaghet­ti West­erns to Tarantino’s The Hate­ful Eight

How Ser­gio Leone Made Music an Actor in His Spaghet­ti West­erns, Cre­at­ing a Per­fect Har­mo­ny of Sound & Image

Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic Song, “The Ecsta­sy of Gold,” Spell­bind­ing­ly Arranged for Theremin & Voice

Ukulele Orches­tra Per­forms Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic West­ern Theme Song, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.” And It’s Pret­ty Bril­liant

The Music in Quentin Tarantino’s Films: Hear a 5‑Hour, 100-Song Playlist

Why Mar­vel and Oth­er Hol­ly­wood Films Have Such Bland Music: Every Frame a Paint­ing Explains the Per­ils of the “Temp Score”

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

Vintage Science Face Masks: Conquer the Pandemic with Science, Courtesy of Maria Popova’s BrainPickings

If you don’t floss or brush your teeth, they will rot and fall out. If you don’t eat fruits and veg­eta­bles, you will get scurvy or some oth­er hor­ri­ble dis­ease. If you don’t use pro­tec­tion… well, you know the rest. These are facts of life we most­ly accept if we care about our­selves and oth­ers because they are beyond dis­put­ing. But the idea of wear­ing a cloth mask when in pub­lic dur­ing a viral pan­dem­ic spread through droplets from the nose and mouth—a prac­tice endorsed by the CDC, the World Health Orga­ni­za­tion, sci­en­tists at Stan­ford, Johns Hop­kins, and pret­ty much every oth­er research uni­ver­si­ty—has become some kind of bizarre cul­ture war.

Maybe some walk around mask-less because they’ve inter­nal­ized the idea that the coro­n­avirus is “over,” despite the fact it’s spread­ing at around 50,000 new cas­es per day in the US, and poten­tial­ly head­ing toward dou­ble that num­ber. Maybe some feel it won’t affect them because they aren’t elder­ly or immuno­com­pro­mised, nev­er mind that virus­es mutate, and that the nov­el (mean­ing “new”) coro­n­avirus has already demon­strat­ed that it is far less dis­crim­i­nat­ing (in pure­ly bio­log­i­cal terms) than pre­vi­ous­ly thought. (In Flori­da, the medi­an age for COVID-19 has dropped from 65 to 37 years old.) Nev­er mind that spread­ing the virus, even if one is not per­son­al­ly at high risk, com­pro­mis­es every­body else.

Are masks uncom­fort­able, espe­cial­ly in hot, humid weath­er? Do they muf­fle speech and make it hard to have sat­is­fy­ing face-to-face inter­ac­tions? Well, yes. But con­sid­er your hour­long masked trip to the gro­cery store against the 12 or 24 or 48 or what­ev­er hour-long shifts med­ical per­son­nel are pulling in emer­gency depart­ments across the coun­try.

It real­ly is the least we can do. And we can do it in style—masks went from scarce, with armies of home­bound neigh­bors sewing home­ly stacks of them, to tru­ly over­abun­dant and fash­ion­able, on the rack of every gro­cery, phar­ma­cy, and con­ve­nience store. It couldn’t be eas­i­er.

If you’re con­cerned about look­ing like every oth­er masked weirdo out there, con­sid­er these masks cre­at­ed by Maria Popo­va of Brain Pick­ings, which she intro­duces with ref­er­ences to Rebec­ca Elson’s poem, “Anti­dotes to Fear of Death.” The sci­ence of pub­lic health may demand that we are grim­ly prac­ti­cal at the moment, but Popo­va wants to remind us that sci­en­tif­ic think­ing is equal­ly invest­ed in the expe­ri­ence of awe and the love of life. By wear­ing these masks, we can com­mu­ni­cate to oth­ers, those who may be feel­ing despon­dent over the sea of masked faces in pub­lic places, that there is beau­ty in the world and we can ful­ly expe­ri­ence if we get through this. Popova’s masks, print­ed and sold by Society6, illus­trate the won­ders of sci­en­tif­ic curios­i­ty with “won­drous cen­turies-old astro­nom­i­cal art and nat­ur­al his­to­ry illus­tra­tions.”

These include “trea­sures like the Solar Sys­tem quilt Ella Hard­ing Bak­er spent sev­en years craft­ing… gor­geous 18th-cen­tu­ry illus­tra­tions from the world’s first ency­clo­pe­dia of med­i­c­i­nal plantsaston­ish­ing draw­ings of celes­tial objects and phe­nom­e­na…trail­blaz­ing 18th-cen­tu­ry artist Sarah Stone’s stun­ning illus­tra­tions of exot­ic, endan­gered, and now-extinct ani­mals; some graph­i­cal­ly spec­tac­u­lar depic­tions of how nature works from a 19th-cen­tu­ry French physics text­book; Ernst Haeckel’s heart­break-foment­ed draw­ings of the oth­er­world­ly beau­ty of jel­ly­fish…William Sav­ille Kent’s pio­neer­ing artis­tic-sci­en­tif­ic effort to bring the world’s aware­ness and awe to the crea­tures of the Great Bar­ri­er Reef; and art from the Ger­man marine biol­o­gist Carl Chun’s epoch-mak­ing Cephalo­pod Atlas — the world’s first ency­clo­pe­dia of crea­tures of the deep.”

Society6 is donat­ing a por­tion of its pro­ceeds to World Cen­ter Kitchen, and Popo­va is donat­ing to The Nature Con­ser­van­cy. You can pur­chase your own vin­tage sci­ence illus­tra­tion mask here and see some of these illus­tra­tions in their orig­i­nal con­text at the links fur­ther down.

Anti­dotes to Fear of Death

Some­times as an anti­dote
To fear of death,
I eat the stars.

Those nights, lying on my back,
I suck them from the quench­ing dark
Til they are all, all inside me,
Pep­per hot and sharp.

Some­times, instead, I stir myself
Into a uni­verse still young,
Still warm as blood:

No out­er space, just space,
The light of all the not yet stars
Drift­ing like a bright mist,
And all of us, and every­thing
Already there
But uncon­strained by form.

And some­time it’s enough
To lie down here on earth
Beside our long ances­tral bones:

To walk across the cob­ble fields
Of our dis­card­ed skulls,
Each like a trea­sure, like a chrysalis,
Think­ing: what­ev­er left these husks
Flew off on bright wings.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Solar Sys­tem Quilt: In 1876, a Teacher Cre­ates a Hand­craft­ed Quilt to Use as a Teach­ing Aid in Her Astron­o­my Class

Ernst Haeckel’s Sub­lime Draw­ings of Flo­ra and Fau­na: The Beau­ti­ful Sci­en­tif­ic Draw­ings That Influ­enced Europe’s Art Nou­veau Move­ment (1889)

The Phe­nom­e­na of Physics Illus­trat­ed with Psy­che­del­ic Art in an Influ­en­tial 19th-Cen­tu­ry Text­book

The Bril­liant Col­ors of the Great Bar­ri­er Revealed in a His­toric Illus­trat­ed Book from 1893

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

The Ayn Rand Institute Takes a Loan from Paycheck Protection Program: Like Rand Herself, Her Followers Don’t Walk the Talk

ayn-rand-social-security

Image via YouTube, 1959 inter­view with Mike Wal­lace

Final­ly bow­ing to pub­lic pres­sure, the Trump admin­is­tra­tion has revealed which com­pa­nies received loans from the Pay­check Pro­tec­tion Pro­gram (PPP) cre­at­ed to sup­port small busi­ness­es dur­ing COVID-19. To no one’s sur­prise, the pub­lished list report­ed­ly includes a host of priv­i­leged enti­ties: the ship­ping busi­ness owned by Mitch McConnel­l’s wife Trans­porta­tion Sec­re­tary Elaine Chao; busi­ness­es asso­ci­at­ed with mem­bers of Con­gress (from both par­ties); the law firm of David Boies; elite pri­vate schools like Sid­well Friends and Saint Ann’s; Grover Norquist’s Anti-Tax Group; the law firm run by Trump’s long­time per­son­al lawyer, Marc E. Kasowitz; bil­lion­aire Kanye West’s com­pa­ny, Yeezy; the fine art stu­dio for mil­lion­aire sculp­tor Jeff Koons, a ven­ture that rais­es mon­ey for Trump’s cam­paign and the RNC, etc.

Add to the list the Ayn Rand Insti­tute–an orga­ni­za­tion named after Ayn Rand, the Russ­ian writer who exalt­ed the self-reliant indi­vid­ual and crit­i­cized social wel­fare pro­grams that sup­port the vul­ner­a­ble. As she wrote in The Virtue of Self­ish­ness, “The right to life means that a man has the right to sup­port his life by his own work (on any eco­nom­ic lev­el, as high as his abil­i­ty will car­ry him); it does not mean that oth­ers must pro­vide him with the neces­si­ties of life.” In short, if you can’t make it, you’re on your own.

Rand’s polit­i­cal the­o­ry col­laps­es when it con­fronts every­day real­i­ty. At the end of her own life, Rand, suf­fer­ing from lung can­cer, had to grudg­ing­ly rely on social secu­ri­ty and medicare to make ends meet. Now, reports Reuters, the insti­tute bear­ing her name has request­ed (and appar­ent­ly received) “a Pay­check Pro­tec­tion Pro­gram (PPP) loan of up to $1 mil­lion.” All while show­ing no grat­i­tude to the Amer­i­can tax­pay­er. The Ayn Rand Insti­tute deemed the loan “par­tial resti­tu­tion for gov­ern­ment-inflict­ed loss­es.” (Also see their lat­est jus­ti­fi­ca­tion here.) Some will con­sid­er that spin–a way to jus­ti­fy accept­ing gov­ern­ment largesse.

Watch­ing Ayn Rand talk below, it seems like a prin­ci­pled Ran­di­an would have gone, hat in hand, to a pri­vate char­i­ty instead.

via Lithub

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When Ayn Rand Col­lect­ed Social Secu­ri­ty & Medicare, After Years of Oppos­ing Ben­e­fit Pro­grams

Christo­pher Hitchens Dis­miss­es the Cult of Ayn Rand: There’s No “Need to Have Essays Advo­cat­ing Self­ish­ness Among Human Beings; It Requires No Rein­force­ment”

The Simp­sons Take on Ayn Rand: See the Show’s Satire of The Foun­tain­head and Objec­tivist Phi­los­o­phy

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Ella Fitzgerald’s Lost Interview about Racism & Segregation: Recorded in 1963, It’s Never Been Heard Until Now

When Ella Fitzger­ald took the stage for the first time at the Apol­lo The­ater in Harlem, “we heard a sound so per­fect” that the entire the­ater went silent, says dancer and chore­o­g­ra­ph­er Nor­ma Miller. “You could hear a rat piss on cot­ton.” Fitzger­ald was 17 years old, and she had already faced severe racial dis­crim­i­na­tion. “Every­thing was race,” says Miller, describ­ing the de facto seg­re­ga­tion in Harlem in the 20s and 30s. “You couldn’t go out of your zone… slav­ery is over, but you don’t have jobs. So the con­fine­ment meant you had to do for your­self.”

In 1917, a 2 year old Fitzger­ald had trav­eled with her moth­er and step­fa­ther from New­port News, Vir­ginia, where she was born, to Yonkers, New York. They were part of the Great Migra­tion that brought blues and jazz to North­ern cities. Fitzger­ald grew up sneak­ing into Harlem’s ball­rooms to hear Duke Elling­ton and Louis Arm­strong. Then at age 13, her moth­er died. Fitzger­ald was dev­as­tat­ed. She began skip­ping school and the police arrest­ed her for tru­an­cy and sent her to a reform school.

Black girls at the school, writes Nina Bern­stein in The New York Times, “were seg­re­gat­ed in the two most crowd­ed and dilap­i­dat­ed of the reformatory’s 17 ‘cot­tages,’ and were rou­tine­ly beat­en by male staff. There was a fine music pro­gram at the school, but Ella Fitzger­ald was not in the choir: it was all white.” Fitzger­ald escaped and made her way back to Harlem, where she slept on the streets. She stepped onstage at the Apollo’s ama­teur night as part of a dare and had orig­i­nal­ly planned to do a dance rou­tine.

The year after her Apol­lo debut, Fitzger­ald per­formed at Yale Uni­ver­si­ty with Chick Webb’s orches­tra. She released her first sin­gle, one of the biggest records of the decade, in 1938. In 1939, she took over as band­leader and carved out a career in the fol­low­ing years that includ­ed tours in Japan, Europe, and Aus­tralia, where she became a huge sen­sa­tion in 1954. In the states, how­ev­er, she was still treat­ed like a crim­i­nal. She missed her first two shows in Syd­ney because she and her pianist, assis­tant, and man­ag­er Nor­man Granz were thrown off the plane in Hon­olu­lu with­out expla­na­tion or recourse. (Fitzger­ald lat­er sued and won, as she explains in a 1970 CBC inter­view clip above.)

In 1955, Fitzgerald’s career received a major boost when Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe pres­sured the own­er of Sun­set Strip’s famed Mocam­bo to book the singer. “After that, I nev­er had to play a small jazz club again,” Fitzger­ald lat­er recalled. That same year, reports USA Today, “she was arrest­ed in her dress­ing room at an inte­grat­ed show in Hous­ton. When she arrived at the police sta­tion, an offi­cer asked for her auto­graph, Fitzger­ald recalls.” She rose above the ugli­ness with poise and grace and most­ly pre­ferred not to talk about it, though it sure­ly took its toll. “She lived, she sur­vived,” says cul­tur­al crit­ic Mar­go Jef­fer­son. “She became famous and she kept on keep­ing on—at what inner price, we don’t know.”

We do, how­ev­er, have a slight­ly bet­ter sense of how she felt thanks to clips from a 1963 inter­view with New York radio host Fred Rob­bins that have emerged after going unheard for decades (begin­ning at :30 in the video at the top). Dis­cussing her frus­tra­tion with seg­re­ga­tion in the South, she says:

Maybe I’m step­ping out (of line), but I have to say it, because it’s in my heart. It makes you feel so bad to think we can’t go down through cer­tain parts of the South and give a con­cert like we do over­seas, and have every­body just come to hear the music and enjoy the music because of the prej­u­dice thing that’s going on.

I used to always clam up because you (hear peo­ple) say, ‘Oh, gee, show peo­ple should stay out of pol­i­tics.’ But we have trav­eled so much and been embar­rassed so much. (Fans) can’t under­stand why you don’t play in Alaba­ma, or (ask), ‘Why can’t you have a con­cert? Music is music.’

The sit­u­a­tion was tru­ly “embar­rass­ing,” as she put it, for the coun­try and for her and her fel­low musi­cians. Fitzger­ald had seen enough in her life at that point to under­stand how deeply entrenched racism could become. Hope­ful about the future, she also rec­og­nized that there were some minds that would nev­er change. “The die-hards, they’re just going to die hard,” she says. “They’re not going to give in. You’ve got to try and con­vince the younger ones, they’re the ones who’ve got to make the future and those are the ones we’ve got to wor­ry about. Not those die-hards.”

Rob­bins had promised Fitzger­ald that the inter­view would air “all over the world.” Instead, for rea­sons unknown, it was shelved and for­got­ten until author Reg­gie Nadel­son dis­cov­ered the record­ing in 2018 at the Paley Cen­ter for Media. Despite her ret­i­cence to speak out, Fitzger­ald was grate­ful for the oppor­tu­ni­ty, even if it might end up cost­ing her. “I real­ly ran my mouth,” she says, wor­ry­ing, “Is it going down South? You think they’re going to break my records up when they hear it? This is unusu­al for me.” Nonethe­less, she says, “I’m so hap­py that you had me, because instead of singing, for a change I got a chance to get a few things off my chest. I just a human being.”

The clip at the top comes from a new doc­u­men­tary titled Ella Fitzger­ald: Just One of Those Things. Watch the trail­er for the film above.

via Ted Gioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe Helped Break Ella Fitzger­ald Into the Big Time (1955)

Ella Fitzger­ald Sings ‘Sum­mer­time’ by George Gersh­win, Berlin 1968

Miles Davis is Attacked, Beat­en & Arrest­ed by the NYPD Out­side Bird­land, Eight Days After the Release of Kind of Blue (1959)

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

 

Watch Vintage Footage of Tokyo, Circa 1910, Get Brought to Life with Artificial Intelligence

For more than 200 years, the rulers of Japan kept the coun­try all but closed to the out­side world. In 1854, the “Black Ships” of Amer­i­can com­man­der Matthew Per­ry arrived to demand an end to Japan­ese iso­la­tion — and a com­mence­ment of Japan­ese world trade. With­in decades, many fash­ion-for­ward Euro­peans and even Amer­i­cans could­n’t get enough things Japan­ese, espe­cial­ly the art, crafts, and cloth­ing that exem­pli­fied kinds of beau­ty they’d nev­er known before. (Vin­cent van Gogh was a par­tic­u­lar­ly avid fan.) But if Japan changed the West, the West trans­formed Japan, a process ful­ly in effect in the footage above, shot on the streets of Tokyo between 1913 and 1915.

These scenes may look famil­iar to ded­i­cat­ed Open Cul­ture read­ers, and indeed, we pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured anoth­er ver­sion of this film back in 2018. With its speed cor­rect­ed to remove the herky-jerk­i­ness com­mon to old films and with back­ground noise added, these glimpses of the men, women, and many chil­dren of the Japan­ese cap­i­tal, all of them liv­ing between the inward-look­ing tra­di­tion of their coun­try as it had been and the onrush of moder­ni­ty from with­out, already felt real­is­tic.

But now you may feel you’ve been per­son­al­ly trans­port­ed to this cul­tur­al­ly and eco­nom­i­cal­ly heady time in the Land of the Ris­ing Sun thanks to the work of Denis Shiryaev, a Youtu­ber who spe­cial­izes in enlarg­ing and restor­ing vin­tage film clips with arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence.

Shi­rayev is also respon­si­ble for the enhanced ver­sions of scenes from Belle Époque Paris, czarist Moscow, Vic­to­ri­an Eng­land, New York City in 1911, and even the Lumière Broth­ers’ ear­ly motion pic­ture The Arrival of a Train at La Cio­tat Sta­tion. At the begin­ning of this video he reveals the stages of the process that brought this cen­tu­ry-old footage of Tokyo to greater vivid­ness: de-nois­ing and dam­age removal, col­oriza­tion, facial restora­tion, and upscal­ing to 4K res­o­lu­tion at 60 frames per sec­ond — all assist­ed by neur­al net­works that, “trained” on rel­e­vant visu­al mate­ri­als new and old, crisp and weath­ered, to deter­mine the best ways to make it all look more con­vinc­ing. The results may make you won­der what else will soon be pos­si­ble — sure­ly not a feel­ing unknown to  these ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Toky­oites.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Life on the Streets of Tokyo in Footage Record­ed in 1913: Caught Between the Tra­di­tion­al and the Mod­ern

A Trip Through New York City in 1911: Vin­tage Video of NYC Gets Col­orized & Revived with Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence

Time Trav­el Back to Tokyo After World War II, and See the City in Remark­ably High-Qual­i­ty 1940s Video

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

1850s Japan Comes to Life in 3D, Col­or Pho­tos: See the Stereo­scop­ic Pho­tog­ra­phy of T. Ena­mi

The Entire His­to­ry of Japan in 9 Quirky Min­utes

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

Did the CIA Write the Scorpions’ “Wind of Change,” One of the Bestselling Songs of All Time?

By the time the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, it seemed the fate of the Sovi­et Union was all but sealed. It would be two more years before the USSR offi­cial­ly dis­solved, and flew the Sovi­et flag over the Krem­lin for the last time, but the age of Cold War bel­liger­ence offi­cial­ly end­ed with the 1980s, so it seemed. Soft pow­er and sua­sion would fin­ish the job. And what bet­ter way to announce this tran­si­tion than with the soft-rock stylings of a pow­er bal­lad like the Scor­pi­ons’ “Wind of Change”? The sen­ti­men­tal song from Ger­man met­al and hard rock favorites was sud­den­ly inescapable in 1990, and it was not at all sub­tle about its mes­sage.

The song became a mas­sive hit and remains one of the best-sell­ing sin­gles of all time. It served as “a sound­track of sorts to a polit­i­cal and cul­tur­al rev­o­lu­tion,” writes Richard Bien­stock at Rolling Stone. Odd­ly, “espe­cial­ly in light of the Scor­pi­ons’ back­ground… ‘Wind of Change’ was about nei­ther the Berlin Wall nor their Ger­man home­land.” Instead, the song was osten­si­bly inspired by a his­toric two-day fes­ti­val the band played in Moscow in 1989, a so-called “hard-rock Wood­stock” fea­tur­ing met­al roy­al­ty like Ozzy Osbourne, Möt­ley Crüe, Cin­derel­la, and Skid Row along­side hard rock Sovi­et bands like Gorky Park.

Three months after the con­cert, the Berlin Wall fell, and Scor­pi­ons’ lead singer Klaus Meine wrote the words:

The world is clos­ing in
Did you ever think
That we could be so close, like broth­ers
The future’s in the air
I can feel it every­where
Blow­ing with the wind of change

The icon­ic whis­tled intro and lighters-in-the-air video cement­ed “Wind of Change” as a defin­i­tive state­ment on how the “chil­dren of tomor­row” will “share their dreams” in a glob­al­ized world. Tan­ta­liz­ing­ly vague, the lyrics read like Sur­re­al­ist ad copy, slid­ing back and forth between dog­ger­el and weird Sym­bol­ist incan­ta­tion:

The wind of change
Blows straight into the face of time
Like a stormwind that will ring the free­dom bell
For peace of mind
Let your bal­alai­ka sing
What my gui­tar wants to say

These lines, it may not shock you to learn, may have been writ­ten by the CIA. At least, “that’s the mys­tery dri­ving the new eight-part pod­cast series Wind of Change,” writes Nicholas Quah at Vul­ture. (Lis­ten on Apple, Spo­ti­fy, Google, and on the pod­cast web­site.) “Led by New York­er staff writer Patrick Rad­den Keefe and pro­duced by Pineap­ple Street’s Hen­ry Molof­sky… the jour­ney takes us to a shape-shift­ing Won­der­land, a world where an Amer­i­can agency like the CIA may very well have par­tic­i­pat­ed in the pro­duc­tion of pop cul­ture as part of con­cert­ed efforts to build sen­ti­ment against its ene­mies abroad. It might even be some­thing that’s hap­pen­ing right now.”

Those who’ve read about how the Agency has influ­enced every­thing from Abstract Expres­sion­ism, to lit­er­ary mag­a­zines, cre­ative writ­ing, and Hol­ly­wood films might not find these alle­ga­tions par­tic­u­lar­ly sur­pris­ing, but as with all the best exam­ples of the ser­i­al pod­cast form, it’s the jour­ney, not the des­ti­na­tion that makes this sto­ry worth pur­su­ing. Keefe approach­es the sub­ject with a naiveté that might be delib­er­ate, play­ing up the idea of mass enter­tain­ment as “care­ful­ly devised and cal­i­brat­ed mes­sag­ing.”

The pod­cast is great fun (“it’s been described as This is Spinal Tap meets All the President’s Men,” writes Dead­line); its sto­ry, Keefe says in a state­ment, “stretch­es across musi­cal gen­res, and across bor­ders and peri­ods of his­to­ry.” Do we ever find out for sure whether the agency best known for over­throw­ing gov­ern­ments it doesn’t like wrote the Scor­pi­ons’ 1990 pow­er bal­lad “Wind of Change”? “Hear the music, and the accents and the voic­es,” says Keefe, “and judge for your­self who might be lying and who is telling the truth.”

If you ask Klaus Meine, it’s all a fan­ta­sy. (But, then, he would say that, would­n’t he?) “It’s weird,” the Scor­pi­ons singer com­ment­ed after learn­ing about Keefe’s pod­cast. “In my wildest dreams I can’t think about how that song would con­nect with the CIA.”  The idea, how­ev­er, would make “a good idea for a movie,” he says, “That would be cool.” A movie, maybe, fund­ed by the CIA.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the CIA Fund­ed & Sup­port­ed Lit­er­ary Mag­a­zines World­wide While Wag­ing Cul­tur­al War Against Com­mu­nism

The CIA Assess­es the Pow­er of French Post-Mod­ern Philoso­phers: Read a New­ly Declas­si­fied CIA Report from 1985

Read the CIA’s Sim­ple Sab­o­tage Field Man­u­al: A Time­less Guide to Sub­vert­ing Any Orga­ni­za­tion with “Pur­pose­ful Stu­pid­i­ty” (1944)

How the CIA Helped Shape the Cre­ative Writ­ing Scene in Amer­i­ca

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

Thomas Jefferson’s Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandson Poses for a Presidential Portrait

We hold these truths to be self-evi­dent: that all men are cre­at­ed equal; that they are endowed by their Cre­ator with cer­tain unalien­able rights; that among these are life, lib­er­ty and the pur­suit of hap­pi­ness…  —Thomas Jef­fer­son, 3rd Pres­i­dent of the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca

He was a bril­liant man who preached equal­i­ty, but he didn’t prac­tice it. He owned peo­ple. And now I’m here because of it. —Shan­non LaNier, co-author of Jefferson’s Chil­dren: The Sto­ry of One Amer­i­can Fam­i­ly

Many of the Amer­i­can par­tic­i­pants in pho­tog­ra­ph­er Drew Gard­ner’s ongo­ing Descen­dants project agreed to tem­porar­i­ly alter their usu­al appear­ance to height­en the his­toric resem­blance to their famous ances­tors, adopt­ing Eliz­a­beth Cady Stanton’s lace cap and sausage curls or Fred­er­ick Dou­glass’ swept back mane.

Actor and tele­vi­sion pre­sen­ter Shan­non LaNier sub­mit­ted to an uncom­fort­able, peri­od-appro­pri­ate neck­wrap, tugged into place with the help of some dis­creet­ly placed paper­clips, but skipped the wig that would have brought him into clos­er vis­i­ble align­ment with an 1800 por­trait of his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grand­fa­ther, Thomas Jef­fer­son.

“I didn’t want to become Jef­fer­son,” states LaNier, whose great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grand­moth­er, Sal­ly Hem­ings, was writ­ten out of the nar­ra­tive for most of our country’s his­to­ry.

An enslaved half-sis­ter of Jefferson’s late wife, Martha, Hem­ings was around six­teen when she bore Jefferson’s first child, as per the mem­oir of her son, Madi­son, from whom LaNier is also direct­ly descend­ed.

She has been por­trayed onscreen by actors Car­men Ejo­go and Thandie New­ton (and Maya Rudolph in an icky Sat­ur­day Night Live skit.)

But there are no pho­tographs or paint­ed por­traits of her, nor any sur­viv­ing let­ters or diary entries. Just two accounts in which she is described as attrac­tive and light-skinned, and some polit­i­cal car­toons that paint an unflat­ter­ing pic­ture.

The mys­tery of her appear­ance might make for an inter­est­ing com­pos­ite por­trait should the Smith­son­ian, who com­mis­sioned Gardner’s series, seek to entice all of LaNier’s female and female-iden­ti­fy­ing cousins from the Hem­ings line to pose.

While LaNier was aware of his con­nec­tion to Jef­fer­son from ear­li­est child­hood, his peers scoffed and his moth­er had to take the mat­ter up with the prin­ci­pal after a teacher told him to sit down and stop lying. As he recalled in an inter­view:

When they didn’t believe me, it became one of those things you stop shar­ing because, you know, peo­ple would make fun of you and then they’d say, “Yeah, and I’m relat­ed to Abra­ham Lin­coln.”

His fam­i­ly pool expand­ed when Jefferson’s great-great-great-great-grand­son, jour­nal­ist Lucian King Truscott IVwhose fifth great-grand­moth­er was Martha Jef­fer­sonissued an open invi­ta­tion to Hem­ings’ descen­dants to be his guests at a 1999 fam­i­ly reunion at Mon­ti­cel­lo.

It would be anoth­er 20 years before the Thomas Jef­fer­son Foun­da­tion and Mon­ti­cel­lo tour guides stopped fram­ing Hem­ings’ inti­mate con­nec­tion to Jef­fer­son as mere tat­tle.

Now vis­i­tors can find an exhib­it ded­i­cat­ed to her life, both online and in the recent­ly reopened house-muse­um.

Truscott laud­ed the move in an essay on Salon, pub­lished the same week that a year­book pho­to of Vir­ginia Gov­er­nor Ralph Northam in black­face pos­ing next to a fig­ure in KKK robes began to cir­cu­late:

Mon­ti­cel­lo is com­mit­ting an act of equal­i­ty by telling the sto­ry of slave life there, and by exten­sion, slave life in Amer­i­ca. When my cousins in the Hem­ings fam­i­ly stand up and proud­ly say, we are descen­dants of Thomas Jef­fer­son, they are com­mit­ting an act of equal­i­ty…. The pho­to­graph you see here is a pic­ture of who we are as Amer­i­cans. One day, a pho­to­graph of two cousins, one black and one white, will not be seen as unusu­al. One day, acts of equal­i­ty will out­weigh acts of racism. Until that day, how­ev­er, Shan­non and I will keep fight­ing for what’s right. And one day, we will win.

Watch a video of Jef­fer­son descen­dant Shan­non Lanier’s ses­sion with pho­tog­ra­ph­er Drew Gard­ner here.

See more pho­tos from Gardner’s Descen­dents project here.

Read his­to­ri­an Annette Gor­don-Reed’s New York Times op-ed on the com­pli­cat­ed Hem­ings-Jef­fer­son con­nec­tion here.

via Petapix­el

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

John Trumbull’s Famous 1818 Paint­ing Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence Vir­tu­al­ly Defaced to Show Which Found­ing Fathers Owned Slaves

Meet “Found­ing Moth­er” Mary Katharine God­dard, First Female Post­mas­ter in the U.S. and Print­er of the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence

Hamil­ton Mania Inspires the Library of Con­gress to Put 12,000 Alexan­der Hamil­ton Doc­u­ments Online

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

Carl Reiner & Mel Brooks’ Timeless Comedy Sketch: The 2000-Year-Old-Man

I read the obits. If I’m not in it I’ll have break­fast. —Carl Rein­er

Up until this week week, it seemed as if Mel Brooks and Carl Rein­er could keep their 2000-Year-Old Man rou­tine going for­ev­er.

The premise was sim­pleRein­er as the seri­ous mind­ed announc­er, inter­view­ing Brooks as an elder with a Mid­dle Euro­pean Yid­dish accent about some of the his­toric moments, trends, and celebri­ties he’d had per­son­al con­tact with over the years.

The idea orig­i­nat­ed with Rein­er, who, as a young staff writer for Sid Caesar’s Your Show of Shows, thought there was com­ic gold to be mined from We the Peo­plea week­ly news pro­gram that dra­ma­tized impor­tant cur­rent eventsnotably a plumber who claimed to have over­heard some toe curl­ing plans while repair­ing a faucet in Stalin’s bath­room.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, or rather for­tu­nate­ly, no one else in the writ­ers room had caught the show, so he draft­ed cowork­er Brooks to play along, inter­view­ing him as if he were the host of We the Peo­ple, and Brooks were an aver­age Joe who’d been at the Cru­ci­fix­ion:

Mel, aging before our eyes, sighed and allowed a sad “Oooooh, boy” to escape from the depths of his soul…

I pres­sured the Old Man and asked, “You knew Jesus?”

“Jesus … yes, yes,” he said, strain­ing to remem­ber, “thin lad … wore san­dals … always walked around with twelve oth­er guys … yes, yes, they used to come into the store a lot … nev­er bought any­thing … they came in for water … I gave it to them … nice boys, well-behaved… .”

For a good part of an hour Mel had us all laugh­ing and appre­ci­at­ing his total recall of life in the year 1 A.D. I called upon Mel that morn­ing because I knew that one of the char­ac­ters in his com­e­dy arse­nal would emerge. The one that did was sim­i­lar to one he did when­ev­er he felt we need­ed a laugh break. It was a Yid­dish pirate cap­tain who had an accent not unlike the 2,000-Year-Old Man.

The durable, always unscript­ed 2000-Year-Old Man made an instant splash with friends and fam­i­ly, but his accentwhich came quite nat­u­ral­ly to the Brook­lyn-born Brookscaused the duo to ques­tion the wis­dom of trot­ting him out before a wider audi­ence.

In the 20’s and 30’s Yid­dish accents had been a com­ic sta­ple on the radio, and in Broad­way, vaude­ville, and bur­lesque hous­es, but that changed when the Nazis came to pow­er, as Rein­er recalled in his 2003 mem­oir, My Anec­do­tal Life:

…when Adolf Hitler came along and decreed that all Jews were dirty, vile, dan­ger­ous, sub­hu­man ani­mals and must be put to death, Jew­ish and non-Jew­ish writ­ers, pro­duc­ers, and per­form­ers start­ed to ques­tion the Yid­dish accent’s accept­abil­i­ty as a tool of com­e­dy. The accent had a self-dep­re­cat­ing and demean­ing qual­i­ty that gave aid and com­fort to the Nazis, who were quite capa­ble of demean­ing and dep­re­cat­ing Jews with­out our help. From 1941 on, the Yid­dish accent was slow­ly, and for the most part, vol­un­tar­i­ly, phased out of show busi­ness.

Even­tu­al­ly, how­ev­er, the char­ac­ter found his way onto their 1961 LP 2000 Years with Carl Rein­er & Mel Brooks.

They but­tressed his 12-minute appear­ance with sketch­es involv­ing astro­nauts, teen heart­throb Fabi­an, and Method actors, hedg­ing their bets lest the accent flop with both ref­er­ence-chal­lenged WASPs and fel­low Jews ner­vous about rein­forc­ing prob­lem­at­ic stereo­types.

One won­ders what the 2000-Year-Old Manwho as a cave­man had trou­ble deter­min­ing “who was a lady”would have had to say about the move­ments for Trans Equal­i­ty#MeToo, and Black Lives Mat­ter.

A quote on Brooks’ web­site may pro­vide a hint:

It’s OK not to hurt the feel­ings of var­i­ous tribes and groups, how­ev­er, it’s not good for com­e­dy. Com­e­dy has to walk a thin line, take risks. It’s the lech­er­ous lit­tle elf whis­per­ing in the king’s ear, telling the truth about human behav­ior.

Brooks delight­ed by putting immi­nent­ly quotable, off-the-cuff punch­lines in the mouth of the 2000-Year-Old Man, hook­ing many young lis­ten­ers, like vet­er­an come­di­an and stand up com­e­dy teacher Rick Crom:

The 2000-Year-Old Man was the first com­e­dy album I ever lis­tened to. I was quot­ing it at 10. I told my Sun­day school teacher that before God, peo­ple wor­shipped “a guy…Phil.”

But it was Rein­erwho main­tained a wish list of ques­tions for the 2000-Year-Old Man and who left us ear­li­er this week at the not-too-shab­by age of 98who steered the act, often by press­ing his sub­ject to sub­stan­ti­ate his wild claims.

As Anne Lib­era, Direc­tor of Com­e­dy Stud­ies at The Sec­ond City and Colum­bia Col­lege Chica­go, notes:

Carl Rein­er was a mas­ter of the under­rat­ed art of the set­up. Most “straight men” are known for their respons­es that release the laugh. Carl did that too, but even more bril­liant­ly, he sub­tly puts all of the pieces into play for Mel Brooks to push off of into the com­e­dy stratos­phere. You see it in the Dick Van Dyke Show as well —he knew how to cre­ate the exact space for a com­ic char­ac­ter to do their best work.

Copies of the Com­plete 2000 Year Old Man can be pur­chased on Ama­zon.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Hear 30 of the Great­est Standup Com­e­dy Albums: A Playlist Cho­sen by Open Cul­ture Read­ers

Judd Apa­tow Teach­es the Craft of Com­e­dy: A New Online Course from Mas­ter­Class

Steve Mar­tin Per­forms Stand-Up Com­e­dy for Dogs (1973)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Here lat­est project is an ani­ma­tion and a series of free down­load­able posters, encour­ag­ing cit­i­zens to wear masks in pub­lic and wear them prop­er­ly. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

16th Century Bookwheels, the E‑Readers of the Renaissance, Get Brought to Life by 21st Century Designers

Most of us, through our com­put­ers or our even our phones, have access to more books than we could ever read in one life­time. That cer­tain­ly would­n’t have been the case in, say, the mid­dle ages, when books — assum­ing you belonged to the elite who could read them in the first place — were rare and pre­cious objects. Both books and lit­er­a­cy became more com­mon dur­ing the Renais­sance, though acquain­tance with both could still be con­sid­ered the sign of a poten­tial­ly seri­ous schol­ar. And for the most seri­ous Renais­sance schol­ars of all, Ital­ian mil­i­tary engi­neer Agosti­no Ramel­li designed the book­wheel, an elab­o­rate mechan­i­cal device allow­ing the user to turn from one book to anoth­er in rel­a­tive­ly quick suc­ces­sion.

First drawn by Ramel­li in 1588 (and pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture in 2017) but nev­er actu­al­ly con­struct­ed by him, the book­wheel has attract­ed renewed atten­tion in the 21st cen­tu­ry. “In 2018, a group of under­grad­u­ate engi­neer­ing stu­dents at the Rochester Insti­tute of Tech­nol­o­gy set out to build two,” writes Atlas Obscu­ra’s Claire Voon. “They began by dili­gent­ly study­ing the Ital­ian engineer’s illus­tra­tion, then pro­cured his­tor­i­cal­ly accu­rate mate­ri­als, such as Euro­pean beech and white oak.

With the help of mod­ern pow­er tools and process­es, such as com­put­er mod­el­ing and CNC rout­ing, they brought it to life.” You can see the RIT book­wheels under con­struc­tion and in action in the video above. (Its schemat­ics, near-impos­si­bly com­plex by the stan­dards of Ramel­li’s day, are also avail­able at RIT’s web site.)

Oth­ers have also brought Ramel­li’s design into real­i­ty. In the video just above, for exam­ple, we have writer Joshua Foer (pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here for his work on the sci­ence of mem­o­riza­tion) tak­ing his own repro­duc­tion for a spin. “It’s a fer­ris wheel for books,” Foer explains, “so that a schol­ar can have eight books in front of them, sort of like tabbed brows­ing before tabbed brows­ing.” The device’s cher­ry wood and laser-cut gears are cer­tain­ly hand­some, but what of its prac­ti­cal­i­ty? “I often read mul­ti­ple books at one time, and this way I can have them all open in front of me.” Most all of us start more books than we can fin­ish, and as we attempt to read them all in par­al­lel, occa­sion­al­ly one or two do get for­got­ten. Hence one advan­tage, even in our mod­ern times, of Ramel­li’s book wheel: any book placed on it becomes as unig­nor­able as the machine itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Behold the “Book Wheel”: The Renais­sance Inven­tion Cre­at­ed to Make Books Portable & Help Schol­ars Study (1588)

Dis­cov­er the Jacobean Trav­el­ing Library: The 17th Cen­tu­ry Pre­cur­sor to the Kin­dle

The Art of Mak­ing Old-Fash­ioned, Hand-Print­ed Books

Won­der­ful­ly Weird & Inge­nious Medieval Books

Wear­able Books: In Medieval Times, They Took Old Man­u­scripts & Turned Them into Clothes

How to Mem­o­rize an Entire Chap­ter from “Moby Dick”: The Art and Sci­ence of Remem­ber­ing Every­thing

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


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