Why Should We Read Virginia Woolf? A TED-Ed Animation Makes the Case

Vir­ginia Woolf dis­suad­ed read­ers from play­ing the crit­ic in her essay “How Should One Read a Book?” But in addi­tion to her nov­els, she is best known for her lit­er­ary crit­i­cism and became a foun­da­tion­al fig­ure in fem­i­nist lit­er­ary the­o­ry for her imag­i­na­tive polemic “A Room of One’s Own,” an essay that takes tra­di­tion­al crit­i­cism to task for its pre­sump­tions of male lit­er­ary supe­ri­or­i­ty.

Women writ­ers like her­self, she argues, had always been a priv­i­leged few with the means and the free­dom to pur­sue writ­ing in ways most women couldn’t. These con­di­tions were so rare for women through­out lit­er­ary his­to­ry that innu­mer­able artists may have gone unno­ticed and unher­ald­ed for their lack of oppor­tu­ni­ty. Her obser­va­tion would have put her read­ers in mind of Thomas Gray’s revered “Ele­gy Writ­ten in a Coun­try Church­yard,” with its famous line about a pau­per’s grave: “Some mute inglo­ri­ous Mil­ton here may rest.”

Woolf alludes to the poem, writ­ing of “some mute and inglo­ri­ous Jane Austen,” and makes a case that would-have-been women writ­ers were excep­tion­al­ly mar­gin­al­ized by gender—by its inter­sec­tions with pow­er and priv­i­lege and their lack. She famous­ly con­struct­ed a scenario—brought into pop cul­ture by The Smiths and Bana­nara­ma singer Siob­han Fahey—involv­ing Shakespeare’s fic­tion­al sis­ter Judith, whose tal­ent and ambi­tion are squashed for the sake of her brother’s edu­ca­tion. It is hard­ly a far-fetched idea. We might remem­ber Mozart’s sis­ter Nan­nerl, who was also a child prodi­gy, whose career end­ed with her child­hood, and who dis­ap­peared in her brother’s shad­ow.

In the TED-Ed video at the top, Woolf schol­ar and doc­tor­al can­di­date at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Wis­con­sin Iseult Gille­spie describes the import of Woolf’s thought exper­i­ment. Shakespeare’s sis­ter stands in for every woman who is pushed into domes­tic labor and mar­riage while the men in her fam­i­ly pur­sue their goals unhin­dered. “Woolf demon­strates the tragedy of genius restrict­ed,” just as Langston Hugh­es would do a cou­ple decades lat­er. Her par­tic­u­lar genius, says Gille­spie, lies in her abil­i­ty to por­tray “the inter­nal expe­ri­ence of alien­ation…. Her char­ac­ters fre­quent­ly live inner lives that are deeply at odds with their exter­nal exis­tence.”

The video out­lines Woolf’s own biog­ra­phy: her inclu­sion in the “Blooms­bury Group”—a social cir­cle includ­ing E.M. Forster and Vir­gini­a’s soon-to-be hus­band Leonard Woolf. And it sketch­es out the inno­v­a­tive  lit­er­ary tech­niques of her nov­els. Woolf thought of her­self, as Alain de Bot­ton says in his short intro­duc­tion above, as a “dis­tinc­tive­ly mod­ernist writer at odds with a raft of the staid and com­pla­cent assump­tions of 19th cen­tu­ry Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture.” One such assump­tion, as she writes in “A Room of One’s Own,” includes an opin­ion that “the best woman was intel­lec­tu­al­ly the infe­ri­or of the worst man.”

Woolf’s own mod­ernist break­throughs rival those of her con­tem­po­raries James Joyce and Ezra Pound. Her favorite women writ­ers rank as high­ly as men in the same canon in any seri­ous study; but this is of course beside the point. It wasn’t the truth or false­hood of claims about women’s infe­ri­or­i­ty that deter­mined their pow­er, but rather the social pow­er of those who made such claims.

Dom­i­neer­ing fathers, spot­light-steal­ing broth­ers, mor­al­iz­ing cler­gy­men, the gate­keep­ing intel­lec­tu­als of “Oxbridge”—Woolf’s port­man­teau for the snob­bery and chau­vin­ism of Oxford and Cam­bridge dons: it was such men who deter­mined not only whether or not a woman might pur­sue her writ­ing, but whether she lived or died in penury, mute and inglo­ri­ous. Woolf knew much of what she wrote, hav­ing grown up sur­round­ed by the cream of 19th-cen­tu­ry lit­er­ary soci­ety, and hav­ing had to “steal an edu­ca­tion from her father’s study,” as de Bot­ton notes, while her broth­ers went off to Cam­bridge. She was nonethe­less well aware of her priv­i­lege and used it not only to cre­ate new forms of writ­ing, but to open new lit­er­ary spaces for women writ­ers to come.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Vir­ginia Woolf

The Steamy Love Let­ters of Vir­ginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West (1925–1929)

Watch Pat­ti Smith Read from Vir­ginia Woolf, and Hear the Only Sur­viv­ing Record­ing of Woolf’s Voice

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

Hear Florence Welch’s Radio Documentary About the Making of David Bowie’s Heroes (Free for a Limited Time)

Image by AVRO and Becky Sul­li­van, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

As of this moment, you have 22 days left to stream a one-hour radio doc­u­men­tary host­ed by Flo­rence Welch (of Flo­rence + The Machine). It takes a close look at the mak­ing of David Bowie’s land­mark album Heroes, released 40 years ago. The doc­u­men­tary (stream­able here) explores “the per­son­al and musi­cal fac­tors that influ­enced the album’s writ­ing and record­ing in Berlin in 1977.” It also cov­ers,  accord­ing to the BBC, the fol­low­ing ground:

Flo­rence will fea­ture [archival mate­r­i­al] of the late David Bowie explain­ing why he chose to live and work in Berlin and the impact the city’s his­to­ry had on the mas­ter­piece he cre­at­ed. She’ll also meet the album’s pro­duc­er Tony Vis­con­ti to get an insight to the unique record­ing tech­niques he employed to inter­pret Bowie’s cre­ative vision and how the char­ac­ter­is­tics of the famous Hansa Stu­dios, which are sit­u­at­ed in a huge for­mer cham­ber music con­cert hall, con­tributed to the album’s influ­en­tial sounds. Iggy Pop, who was liv­ing with Bowie in Berlin dur­ing the record­ing of the album, recalls how a bat­tle with drug addi­tion, bank­rupt­cy and a legal dis­pute with his ex wife for access to his son all pro­vid­ed inspi­ra­tion for the album’s lyrics and Bri­an Eno, who col­lab­o­rat­ed with David through­out the LP’s record­ing, explains the unique musi­cal struc­tures he and David employed to com­pose the inno­v­a­tive songs.

Berlin’s rad­i­cal cul­tur­al diver­si­ty had always fas­ci­nat­ed Bowie and Flo­rence will explain how the oppor­tu­ni­ty to live and work in the city dur­ing the tur­bu­lent polit­i­cal peri­od pri­or to the fall of ‘the Wall’ pro­vid­ed the per­fect aus­tere envi­ron­ment for David and his col­lab­o­ra­tors to exper­i­ment with music inspired by sev­er­al Ger­man tech­no bands of the 70’s, includ­ing Neu!, Kraftwerk and Can.

When you’re done lis­ten­ing, we’d strong­ly rec­om­mend watch­ing this won­der­ful video where Tony Vis­con­ti, the pro­duc­er of David Bowie’s 1977 album, takes you inside the LP’s mak­ing. Don’t miss it. It’s a gem.

via NME

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Depeche Mode Releas­es a Goose­bump-Induc­ing Cov­er of David Bowie’s “Heroes”

Pro­duc­er Tony Vis­con­ti Breaks Down the Mak­ing of David Bowie’s Clas­sic “Heroes,” Track by Track

David Bowie Per­forms a Live Acoustic Ver­sion of “Heroes,” with a Bot­tle Cap Strapped to His Shoe, Keep­ing the Beat

David Bowie & Bri­an Eno’s Col­lab­o­ra­tion on “Warsza­wa” Reimag­ined in a Com­ic Ani­ma­tion

Ralph Steadman’s Hellish Illustrations for Ray Bradbury’s Classic Dystopian Novel, Fahrenheit 451

Hunter S. Thomp­son and Ray Brad­bury would at first seem to have lit­tle in com­mon, oth­er than hav­ing made their liv­ings by the pen. Or rather, both of them hav­ing devel­oped as writ­ers in the mid-20th cen­tu­ry, by the typewriter–though Thomp­son famous­ly shot his and a young Brad­bury once had to rent one for ten cents per hour at UCLA’s library. In one nine-day rental in the ear­ly 1950s, Brad­bury typed up Fahren­heit 451, still his best-known work and one whose cen­tral idea, that of a future soci­ety that method­i­cal­ly destroys all books, has stayed com­pelling almost 65 years after its first pub­li­ca­tion.

Thomp­son’s best-known work, 1971’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, deals in dif­fer­ent kinds of fright­en­ing visions, some of them brought to illus­trat­ed life by the Eng­lish artist Ralph Stead­man. Thir­ty years lat­er years lat­er and with his name long since made by his col­lab­o­ra­tion with Thomp­son, Stead­man would bring his tal­ents to Brad­bury’s dystopia. Brain Pick­ings’ Maria Popo­va quotes him describ­ing the theme of Fahren­heit 451 as “vital­ly impor­tant.” Accord­ing to Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Paul Gal­lagher, when Brad­bury saw Stead­man’s illus­tra­tions, com­mis­sioned for a lim­it­ed edi­tion of the book around its fifti­eth anniver­sary, he said to the artist, “You’ve brought my book into the 21st cen­tu­ry.”

Stead­man repaid the com­pli­ment when he said that he con­sid­ers Fahren­heit 451 “as impor­tant as 1984 and Ani­mal Farm as real pow­er­ful social com­ment,” and he should know, hav­ing pre­vi­ous­ly poured his artis­tic ener­gies into a 1995 edi­tion of George Orwell’s decep­tive­ly sim­ple alle­go­ry of the Russ­ian Rev­o­lu­tion and its con­se­quences. More than a few of us would no doubt love to see what Stead­man could do with 1984 here in the 21st cen­tu­ry, a time when we’ve hard­ly extin­guished the soci­etal dan­gers of which Orwell, or Brad­bury, or indeed Thomp­son, tried, each in his dis­tinc­tive lit­er­ary way, to warn us. Book-burn­ing may remain a fringe pur­suit, but the fight against thought con­trol in its infi­nite forms demands con­stant vig­i­lance — and no small amount of imag­i­na­tion.

You can see more illus­tra­tions of Fahren­heit 451 at Brain Pick­ings and Dan­ger­ous Minds. Also, you can pur­chase used copies of the lim­it­ed print edi­tion online, though they seem quite rare at this point. Edi­tions can be found on AbeBooks–for exam­ple here and here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

Gonzo Illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man Draws the Amer­i­can Pres­i­dents, from Nixon to Trump

Ralph Steadman’s Sur­re­al­ist Illus­tra­tions of George Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm (1995)

How Hunter S. Thomp­son — and Psilo­cy­bin — Influ­enced the Art of Ralph Stead­man, Cre­at­ing the “Gonzo” Style

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

Cult Director John Waters Hosts a Summer Camp for Naughty Adult Campers: Enrollment for the 2018 Edition Opens Today

I hat­ed sports at camp, so at this camp I think we should reward every team that los­es. This would be the camp where the fat peo­ple get picked first in dodge ball. 

- Film­mak­er-cum-Camp Direc­tor John Waters

I can think of many chil­dren who would scram­ble toward the refuge of the com­pas­sion­ate state­ment above, but Camp John Waters is a decid­ed­ly adult activ­i­ty.

The Pope of Trash shares actor Bill Mur­ray’s rel­ish for odd­ball set­tings in which he can meet the pub­lic as some­thing close to a peer. But where­as Mur­ray spe­cial­izes in sur­prise drop-in appear­ances—recit­ing poet­ry to con­struc­tion work­ers, crash­ing parties—Waters favors more immer­sive expe­ri­ences, such as hitch­hik­ing coast to coast.

His lat­est stunt brought him and 300 fel­low trav­el­ers to a rus­tic Con­necti­cut facil­i­ty (from Sept 22–24) that nor­mal­ly hosts cor­po­rate team build­ing events, fam­i­ly camps, and week­end get­aways for play­ful 20-to-30-some­things keen to make new friends while zip lin­ing, play­ing ping­pong, and par­ty­ing in the main lodge.

ART­news pegged the inau­gur­al ses­sion thus­ly:

 The Waters camp com­bines two of the more absurd devel­op­ments in con­tem­po­rary leisure: the celebri­ty-based get­away (see also: the Gronk Cruise) and a cer­tain recre­ation­al aes­thet­ic that seems to advo­cate for a sort of devel­op­men­tal pur­ga­to­ry.

Here,  there were no reluc­tant, home­sick campers, weep­ing into their Slop­py Joes. This was a self-select­ing bunch, eager to break out their wigs and leop­ard print, weave ene­my bracelets at the arts and crafts sta­tion, and bypass any­thing smack­ing of offi­cial out­door recre­ation, save the lake, where inflat­able pink flamin­gos were avail­able for aquat­ic lol­ly­gag­ging.

“Who real­ly wants to go wall climb­ing?” the founder him­self snort­ed in his wel­com­ing speech, adding that he would if Joe Dalle­san­dro, the Warhol super­star who accord­ing to Waters “for­ev­er changed male sex­u­al­i­ty in cin­e­ma,” wait­ed up top.

Naughty ref­er­ences to water sports aside, cer­tain aspects of the camp were down­right whole­some. Pine trees and s’mores. Canoes and cab­ins. Pre­sum­ably there was a camp nurse. (In Waters’ ide­al world, this posi­tion would be filled by Cry Baby’s Traci Lords.)

Waters’ rec­ol­lec­tions of his own stint at Maryland’s Camp Hap­py Hol­low seem pri­mar­i­ly fond. It makes sense. Any­one who tru­ly loathed sum­mer camp would be unlike­ly to recre­ate the expe­ri­ence for them­selves and their fel­low adults.

Camp Waters harkens back to the 1950s trans­gres­sions its direc­tor mer­ri­ly fess­es up to hav­ing par­tic­i­pat­ed in: unfil­tered cig­a­rettes and short sheet­ed beds, cir­cle jerks and panty raids. From here on out the sub­ver­sion will be tak­ing place in the sun­light.

Anoth­er spe­cial camp mem­o­ry for Waters is regal­ing his cab­in mates with an orig­i­nal, seri­al­ized hor­ror sto­ry. He retells it on Celebri­ty Ghost Sto­ries, above:

At the end there was this hideous gory thing and then all the kids had night­mares and their par­ents called the camp and com­plained — and I’m still doing that! It was the begin­ning of my career…. It was a won­der­ful les­son for me as a 10-year-old kid that I think helped me become what­ev­er I am today. It gave me the con­fi­dence to go ahead, to believe in things, to believe in behav­ior I couldn’t under­stand, to be drawn to sub­ject mat­ter I couldn’t under­stand.

Reg­is­tra­tion for Camp John Waters 2018 opens today at noon, so grab the bug spray and get ready to sing along:

There is a camp in a place called Kent

It’s name is Camp John Waters

For here we come to spend the night

For we all love to fuck and fight

Camp John Waters — rah rah rah!

Camp John Waters — sis­boom­bah!

Camp John Waters — rah rah rah!

Three cheers for Camp John Waters!

Could Waters’ own con­tri­bu­tion to such camp clas­sics as Meat­balls, Lit­tle Dar­lings and Wet Hot Amer­i­can Sum­mer be far behind?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Waters’ RISD Grad­u­a­tion Speech: Real Wealth is Nev­er Hav­ing to Spend Time with A‑Holes

John Waters Nar­rates Off­beat Doc­u­men­tary on an Envi­ron­men­tal Cat­a­stro­phe, the Salton Sea

The Phi­los­o­phy of Bill Mur­ray: The Intel­lec­tu­al Foun­da­tions of His Comedic Per­sona

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. She attend­ed Gnaw­bone Camp in Gnaw­bone, Indi­ana, recap­tur­ing that hap­py expe­ri­ence three decades lat­er as the Mail Lady of Beam Camp.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

An Oral History of the Bauhaus: Hear Rare Interviews (in English) with Walter Gropius, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe & More

Image by Detief Mewes, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

The Bauhaus, which oper­at­ed as an influ­en­tial school in Ger­many between 1919 and 1933 but lives on as a kind of aes­thet­ic ide­al, has its strongest asso­ci­a­tions with high­ly visu­al work, like tex­tiles, graph­ic design, indus­tri­al design, and espe­cial­ly archi­tec­ture. But a good deal of thought went into estab­lish­ing the kind of ratio­nal­i­ty- and func­tion­al­i­ty-ori­ent­ed philo­soph­i­cal basis that would pro­duce all that visu­al work, and you can hear some of the lead­ing lights of the Bauhaus dis­cuss it, in Eng­lish, on the record Bauhaus Reviewed: 1919 to 1933, now avail­able on Spo­ti­fy. (If you don’t have Spo­ti­fy’s soft­ware, you can down­load it here.) You can also pur­chase your own copy online.

“The bulk of the nar­ra­tive is by [Wal­ter] Gropius, an artic­u­late and pas­sion­ate advo­cate for this remark­able exper­i­ment in edu­ca­tion,” writes All Music Guide’s Stephen Eddins. “Artist Josef Albers and archi­tect [Lud­wig] Mies van der Rohe also con­tribute com­men­tary. [LTM Records founder] James Nice is cred­it­ed with ‘curat­ing’ the CD, and it must be his edit­ing that gives the album such a clear and infor­ma­tive nar­ra­tive struc­ture — one comes away with a vivid under­stand­ing of the devel­op­ment of the move­ment, both philo­soph­i­cal­ly and prag­mat­i­cal­ly.”

In between the spo­ken pas­sages on the ori­gins of the Bauhaus, form and total­i­ty, han­dling and tex­ture, utopi­anism, and oth­er top­ics besides, Bauhaus Reviewed 1919–1933 offers musi­cal com­po­si­tions by such Bauhaus-asso­ci­at­ed com­posers as Arnold Schoen­berg, Josef Matthias Hauer, and George Antheil. You can hear some of the sound from the record repur­posed in Archi­tec­ture as Lan­guage, the short about Mies by Swiss film­mak­er Alexan­dre Favre just below. In it that pio­neer of mod­ernism dis­cuss­es the Bauhaus as well as his own indi­vid­ual work, all of it inter­est­ing to any­one with an incli­na­tion toward mid­cen­tu­ry Euro­pean-Amer­i­can archi­tec­ture and design, none of it ulti­mate­ly more rel­e­vant than the final words the mas­ter speaks: “I don’t want to be inter­est­ing. I want to be good.”

via Mono­skop

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Orig­i­nal Bauhaus Books & Jour­nals for Free: Gropius, Klee, Kandin­sky, Moholy-Nagy & More

The Female Pio­neers of the Bauhaus Art Move­ment: Dis­cov­er Gertrud Arndt, Mar­i­anne Brandt, Anni Albers & Oth­er For­got­ten Inno­va­tors

32,000+ Bauhaus Art Objects Made Avail­able Online by Har­vard Muse­um Web­site

The Nazi’s Philis­tine Grudge Against Abstract Art and The “Degen­er­ate Art Exhi­bi­tion” of 1937

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

20,000 Americans Hold a Pro-Nazi Rally in Madison Square Garden in 1939: Chilling Video Re-Captures a Lost Chapter in US History

Our country’s bipar­ti­san sys­tem ensures that every elec­tion will give rise to a win­ning side and a los­ing side—and depress­ing­ly, a siz­able group who refrained from cast­ing a vote either way.

There are times when the divide between the fac­tions does not seem insur­mount­able, when lead­ers in the high­est posi­tions of author­i­ty seem sin­cere­ly com­mit­ted to reach­ing across the divide….

And then there are oth­er times.

Ear­li­er in the year, the Women’s March on Wash­ing­ton and its hun­dreds of sis­ter march­es gave many of us rea­son to hope. The num­bers alone were inspir­ing.

But his­to­ry shows how great num­bers can go the oth­er way too.

With many Amer­i­can high school his­to­ry cur­ricu­lums whizzing through World War II in a week, if that, it’s dou­bly impor­tant to slow down long enough to watch the 7 minute doc­u­men­tary above.

What you’re look­ing at is the 1939 “Pro-Amer­i­can Ral­ly” (aka Pro-Nazi Ral­ly) spon­sored by the Ger­man Amer­i­can Bund at Madi­son Square Gar­den on George Washington’s 207th Birth­day. Ban­ners embla­zoned with such slo­gans as “Stop Jew­ish Dom­i­na­tion of Chris­t­ian Amer­i­cans,” “Wake Up Amer­i­ca. Smash Jew­ish Com­mu­nism,” and “1,000,000 Bund Mem­bers by 1940” dec­o­rat­ed the great hall.

New York City May­or Fiorel­lo LaGuardia—an Epis­co­palian with a Jew­ish mother—considered can­cel­ing the event, but ulti­mate­ly he, along with the Amer­i­can Jew­ish Com­mit­tee and the Amer­i­can Civ­il Lib­er­ties Com­mit­tee decreed that the Bund was exer­cis­ing its right to free speech and free assem­bly.

A crowd of 20,000 filled the famous sports venue in mid-town Man­hat­tan to capac­i­ty. 1,500 police offi­cers were present to ren­der the Gar­den “a fortress impreg­nable to anti-Nazis.” An esti­mat­ed 100,000 counter-demon­stra­tors were gath­er­ing out­side.

Police Com­mis­sion­er Lewis J. Valen­tine bragged to the press that “we have enough police here to stop a rev­o­lu­tion.”

The most dis­turb­ing moment in the short film comes at the 3:50 mark, when anoth­er secu­ri­ty force—the Bund’s Ord­nungs­di­enst or “Order Ser­vice” pile on Isidore Green­baum, a 26-year-old Jew­ish work­er who rushed the podi­um where bun­des­führer Fritz Julius Kuhn was fan­ning the flames of hatred. Valentine’s men even­tu­al­ly pulled them off, just bare­ly man­ag­ing to save the “anti-Nazi” from the vicious beat­ing he was under­go­ing.

Report­ed­ly he was beat­en again, as the crowd inside the Gar­den howled for his blood.

The uni­formed youth per­form­ing a spon­ta­neous horn­pipe in the row behind the Bund’s drum and bugle corps is a chill­ing sight to see.

Direc­tor Mar­shall Cur­ry was spurred to bring the his­toric footage to Field of Vision, a film­mak­er-dri­ven doc­u­men­tary unit that com­mis­sions short films as a rapid response to devel­op­ing sto­ries around the globe. In this case, the devel­op­ing sto­ry was the “Unite the Right” white nation­al­ist ral­ly in Char­lottesville, which had occurred a mere two days before.

“The footage is so pow­er­ful,” Cur­ry told an inter­view­er, “it seems amaz­ing that it isn’t a stock part of every high school his­to­ry class. But I think the ral­ly has slipped out of our col­lec­tive mem­o­ry in part because it’s scary and embar­rass­ing. It tells a sto­ry about our coun­try that we’d pre­fer to for­get. We’d like to think that when Nazism rose up, all Amer­i­cans were instant­ly appalled. But while the vast major­i­ty of Amer­i­cans were appalled by the Nazis, there was also a sig­nif­i­cant group of Amer­i­cans who were sym­pa­thet­ic to their white suprema­cist, anti-Semit­ic mes­sage. When you see 20,000 Amer­i­cans gath­er­ing in Madi­son Square Gar­den you can be sure that many times that were pas­sive­ly sup­port­ive.”

Field of Vision co-founder Lau­ra Poitras recalled how after meet­ing with Cur­ry, “my first thought was, ‘we need to put this film in cin­e­mas,’ and release it like a news­reel.”’  The Alamo Draft­house cin­e­ma chain screened it before fea­tures on Sep­tem­ber 26 of this year.

The Atlantic has pho­tos of the “Pro-Amer­i­can Ral­ly” and oth­er Ger­man Amer­i­can Bund-spon­sored events in the days lead­ing up to WWII here. Also read an account that appeared in a 1939 edi­tion of The New York Times here.

The Inter­na­tion­al Social­ist Review cov­ers the counter-demon­stra­tions in many eye­wit­ness quotes.

via Pale­o­Fu­ture

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Edu­ca­tion for Death: The Mak­ing of Nazi–Walt Disney’s 1943 Pro­pa­gan­da Film Shows How Fas­cists Are Made

Philoso­phers (Includ­ing Slavoj Žižek) and Ethi­cists Answer the Ques­tion: Is It OK to Punch Nazis?

Helen Keller Writes a Let­ter to Nazi Stu­dents Before They Burn Her Book: “His­to­ry Has Taught You Noth­ing If You Think You Can Kill Ideas” (1933)

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

Hear 1,500+ Genres of Music, All Mapped Out on an Insanely Thorough Interactive Graph

If you are ready for a time-suck inter­net expe­ri­ence that will also make you feel slight­ly old and out of step with the cul­ture, feel free to dive into Every Noise at Once. A scat­ter-plot of over 1,530 musi­cal gen­res sourced from Spotify’s lists and based on 35 mil­lion songs,  Every Noise at Once is a bold attempt at musi­cal tax­on­o­my. The Every Noise at Once web­site was cre­at­ed by Glenn McDon­ald, and is an off­shoot of his work at Echo Nest (acquired by Spo­ti­fy in 2014).

McDon­ald explains his graph thus:

This is an ongo­ing attempt at an algo­rith­mi­cal­ly-gen­er­at­ed, read­abil­i­ty-adjust­ed scat­ter-plot of the musi­cal genre-space, based on data tracked and ana­lyzed for 1,536 gen­res by Spo­ti­fy. The cal­i­bra­tion is fuzzy, but in gen­er­al down is more organ­ic, up is more mechan­i­cal and elec­tric; left is denser and more atmos­pher­ic, right is spiki­er and bounci­er.

It’s also egal­i­tar­i­an, with world dom­i­nat­ing “rock-and-roll” giv­en the same space and size as its neigh­bors choro (instru­men­tal Brazil­ian pop­u­lar music), cow­boy-west­ern (Con­way Twit­ty, Mer­le Hag­gard, et. al.), and Indi­an folk (Asha Bhosle, for exam­ple). It also makes for some strange bed­fel­lows: what fac­tor does musique con­crete share with “Chris­t­ian relax­i­tive” oth­er than “rea­sons my col­lege room­mate and I nev­er got along.” Now you can find out!

Click on any of the gen­res and you’ll hear a sam­ple of that music. Dou­ble click and you’ll be tak­en to a sim­i­lar scat­ter-plot graph of its most pop­u­lar artists, this time with font size denot­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty and a sim­i­lar sam­ple of their music.

I’ve been spend­ing most of my time explor­ing up in the top right cor­ner where all sorts of elec­tron­ic dance sub­gen­res hang out. I’m not too sure what dif­fer­en­ti­ates “deep tech house” from “deep deep house” or “deep min­i­mal tech­no” or “tech house” or even “deep melod­ic euro house” but I now know where to come for a refresh­er course.

Spo­ti­fy and oth­er ser­vices depend on algo­rithms and tax­onomies like this to deliv­er con­sis­tent lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ences to its users, and they were attract­ed to Echo Nest for its work with gen­res. Echo Nest was orig­i­nal­ly based on the dis­ser­ta­tion work of Tris­tan Jehan and Bri­an Whit­man at the MIT Media Lab, who over a decade ago were try­ing to under­stand the “fin­ger­prints” of record­ed music. Now when you lis­ten to Spotify’s per­son­al­ized playlists, Echo Nest’s research is the engine work­ing in the back­ground.

McDon­ald says in this 2014 Dai­ly Dot arti­cle this isn’t about a machine guess­ing our taste.

“No, the machines don’t know us bet­ter than we do. But they can very eas­i­ly know more than we do. My job is not to tell you what to lis­ten to, or to pass judg­ment on things or ‘make taste.’ It’s to help you explore and dis­cov­er. Your taste is your busi­ness. Under­stand­ing your taste and sit­u­at­ing it in some intel­li­gi­ble con­text is my busi­ness.”

If you’d like a more pas­sive jour­ney through the ever expand­ing music genre uni­verse, there’s a Spo­ti­fy playlist of one song from each genre (all 1,500+) above. See you in the deep, deep house!

via Kottke.org

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Hip Hop Music Visu­al­ized on a Turntable Cir­cuit Dia­gram: Fea­tures 700 Artists, from DJ Kool Herc to Kanye West

Crime Jazz: How Miles Davis, Count Basie & Duke Elling­ton Cre­at­ed Sound­tracks for Noir Films & TV

Pio­neer­ing Elec­tron­ic Com­pos­er Karl­heinz Stock­hausen Presents “Four Cri­te­ria of Elec­tron­ic Music” & Oth­er Lec­tures in Eng­lish (1972)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Eerie 19th Century Photographs of Ghosts: See Images from the Long, Strange Tradition of “Spirit Photography”

We might draw any num­ber of con­clu­sions from the fact that rats’ brains are enough like ours that they stand in for humans in lab­o­ra­to­ries. A mis­an­throp­ic exis­ten­tial­ist may see the unflat­ter­ing sim­i­lar­i­ty as evi­dence that there’s noth­ing spe­cial about human beings, despite our grandiose sense of our­selves. A medieval Euro­pean thinker would draw a moral les­son, point­ing to the rat’s glut­tony as nature’s alle­go­ry for human greed. And a skep­ti­cal observ­er in the 19th and ear­ly 20th cen­turies might take note of how eas­i­ly both rats and humans can be manip­u­lat­ed; the lat­ter, for exam­ple, by pseu­do-phe­nom­e­na like Spir­i­tu­al­ism, which encom­passed a wide range of claims about ghosts and the after­life, from seances to spir­it pho­tog­ra­phy.

One such skep­ti­cal observ­er in 1920, Mil­la­ias Culpin, even wrote in his Spir­i­tu­al­ism and the New Psy­chol­o­gy of the “’sci­en­tif­ic’ sup­port­ers of spir­i­tu­al­ism,” most of them “emi­nent in phys­i­cal sci­ence.” They are eas­i­ly con­vinced, Culpin thought, because “they have been trained in a world where hon­esty is assumed to be a qual­i­ty of all work­ers. A lab­o­ra­to­ry assis­tant who played a trick upon one of them would find his career at an end, and ordi­nary cun­ning is for­eign to them. When they enter upon the world of Dis­so­ci­ates, where deceit mas­quer­ades under the dis­guise of trans­par­ent hon­esty, these emi­nent men are but as babes—country cousins in the hands of con­fi­dence-trick men.”

Such adher­ents of Spir­i­tu­al­ist beliefs were tak­en in not because they were nat­u­ral­ly cred­u­lous or stu­pid, but because they had been “trained” to trust the evi­dence of their sens­es. So-called spir­it pho­tographs, like those you see here, allowed peo­ple to “show mate­r­i­al evi­dence for their beliefs.” Pho­tog­ra­phers who cre­at­ed the images, Mash­able explains, could “eas­i­ly make two expo­sures on a sin­gle neg­a­tive, manip­u­late the neg­a­tive to cre­ate ghost­ly blurs, or over­lap two neg­a­tives in the dark­room to pro­duce an extra face with­in the resul­tant frame.”

The audi­ence for this work was “vast,” and many fit Culpin’s gen­er­al­iza­tions. In 1921, for exam­ple, para­nor­mal inves­ti­ga­tor Here­ward Car­ring­ton wrote of “a num­ber of ‘spir­it’ and ‘thought’ pho­tographs, the evi­dence for which seemed to me to be excep­tion­al­ly good.” In describ­ing oth­er pic­tures as “obvi­ous­ly fraud­u­lent” or “extreme­ly puz­zling,” Car­ring­ton made crit­i­cal dis­tinc­tions and appeared to use the meth­ods and the lan­guage of sci­ence in the eval­u­a­tion of objects pur­port­ing to prove the exis­tence of ghosts.

It may seem incred­i­ble that spir­it pho­tog­ra­phy had wide­spread appeal for as long as it did. The pho­tographs first began appear­ing in the 1860s, emerg­ing “from a small Boston por­trait stu­dio” and first made by William H. Mum­ler, the genre’s inven­tor and “most promi­nent ear­ly pro­po­nent,” writes Mash­able.

Mum­ler was nei­ther a pho­tog­ra­ph­er nor a medi­um. He orig­i­nal­ly worked as a sil­ver engraver, while dab­bling in pho­tog­ra­phy in the local stu­dio of a woman named Mrs. Stu­art. One day in 1861, in the midst of devel­op­ing a self-por­trait, Mum­ler report­ed that the dim fig­ure of a young cousin who had died twelve years ear­li­er emerged in the final print.

These ghost­ly images con­tin­ued to appear—on their own, the sto­ry goes—and the studio’s recep­tion­ist, a part-time medi­um, helped pop­u­lar­ize them. Soon Mum­ler “received vis­i­tors from across Amer­i­ca, includ­ing the recent­ly wid­owed Mary Todd Lin­coln.” Most of these vis­i­tors did not work as sci­en­tists or pro­fes­sion­al para­nor­mal inves­ti­ga­tors. They were ordi­nary peo­ple bereaved by the mass death of the Civ­il War and deeply moti­vat­ed to accept phys­i­cal con­fir­ma­tion of an after­life. More­over, before the rise of Fun­da­men­tal­ist Evan­gel­i­cal­ism in the 1920s, Spir­i­tu­al­ism was on the front lines of an ear­li­er cul­ture war: spir­it pho­tog­ra­phy was “a tan­gi­ble sym­bol of the over­ar­ch­ing argu­ment of mys­ti­cism ver­sus sci­ence and ratio­nal­ism.”

The three images at the top of the post date from the ear­li­est peri­od of spir­it pho­tog­ra­phy, between 1862 and 1875, and they were all pro­duced by Mum­ler in Boston and New York, where he moved in 1869, and where he was charged with fraud, then “acquit­ted of all charges because they could not be suf­fi­cient­ly proven.” (See many more of his pho­tos at Mash­able and the Get­ty Muse­um online archive.) Though his busi­ness suf­fered, spir­it pho­tog­ra­phy only grew more pop­u­lar, par­tic­u­lar­ly in Spir­i­tu­al­ist cir­cles in Britain, where Arthur Conan Doyle, cre­ator of the hyper-ratio­nal Sher­lock Holmes, was one of the most ardent of Spir­i­tu­al­ist believ­ers.

Doyle sup­port­ed a British pho­tog­ra­ph­er named William Hope, who began tak­ing spir­it pho­tographs in 1905, found­ed a group called the Crewe Cir­cle and lat­er “went on to prey on griev­ing fam­i­lies,” writes Riv­er Don­aghey at Vice, “who lost loved ones in WWI and des­per­ate­ly want­ed pho­to­graph­ic proof that their rel­a­tives were still hov­er­ing around in spec­tral form.” Even after Hope and his crew were exposed, Doyle con­tin­ued to sup­port him, going so far as to write a book called The Case for Spir­it Pho­tog­ra­phy. The four pho­tographs above and below are Hope’s work (see many more at Vice and the Pub­lic Domain Review). They are seri­ous­ly creepy—in the way movies like The Ring are creepy—but they are also, quite obvi­ous­ly, pho­to­graph­ic fic­tions.

Even as view­ers of pho­tog­ra­phy became savvi­er as the cen­tu­ry wore on, many peo­ple thrilled to Hope’s work until his death in 1933, maybe for the same rea­son we watch The Ring; it’s a fun scare, noth­ing more, if we sus­pend our dis­be­lief. As for the true believ­ers in spir­it photography—they are not so dif­fer­ent either from us 21st cen­tu­ry sophis­ti­cates. We’re still tak­en in all the time by hoax­es and frauds, maybe because it’s still as easy to push the but­tons in our brains, and because, well, we just want to believe.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Arthur Conan Doyle & The Cot­tin­g­ley Fairies: How Two Young Girls Fooled Sher­lock Holmes’ Cre­ator

Dis­cov­er “The Ghost Club,” the His­toric Para­nor­mal Soci­ety Whose Mem­bers Includ­ed Charles Dick­ens, Arthur Conan Doyle & W.B. Yeats

Browse The Mag­i­cal Worlds of Har­ry Houdini’s Scrap­books

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

Drone Footage Captures the US Postal Service Eerily Delivering Mail to Neighborhoods Razed by the California Fires

About 90 miles north of here, a series of fires, fanned by high winds, have destroyed 191,000 acres and left 31 peo­ple dead. In the town of San­ta Rosa alone, the fires con­sumed more than 2,800 homes overnight, turn­ing entire neigh­bor­hoods into cin­ders and ash. Cap­tured by a drone, the footage above shows the com­plete dev­as­ta­tion. It also adds a sur­re­al touch–the US Postal Ser­vice duti­ful­ly deliv­er­ing mail to emp­ty street address­es.

If you would like to assist with the relief effort (mon­e­tar­i­ly or oth­er­wise), please vis­it the San­ta Rosa Fire Depart­ment web­site.

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

The Jan van Eyck Acad­e­mie, a “mul­ti­form insti­tute for fine art, design and reflec­tion” in Hol­land, has come up with a nov­el way of pre­sent­ing Ray Brad­bury’s 1953 work of dystopi­an fic­tion, Fahren­heit 451. On Insta­gram, they write:

This week our col­leagues from Super Ter­rain are work­ing in the Lab as a last stop on their all-over-Europe print­ing adven­tures. They showed us this remark­able book they made “Fahren­heit 451”. —

Want to see how the nov­el unfolds? Just add heat. That’s the idea.

Appar­ent­ly they actu­al­ly have plans to mar­ket the book. When asked on Insta­gram, “How can I pur­chase one of these?,” they replied “We’re work­ing on it! Stay tuned.”

When that day comes, please han­dle the book with care.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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!

via Twist­ed Sifter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

Who Was Afraid of Ray Brad­bury & Sci­ence Fic­tion? The FBI, It Turns Out (1959)

Ray Brad­bury: “I Am Not Afraid of Robots. I Am Afraid of Peo­ple” (1974)

Ray Brad­bury: Lit­er­a­ture is the Safe­ty Valve of Civ­i­liza­tion

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If You Drive Down a Stretch of Route 66, the Road Will Play “America the Beautiful”

If you find your­self in New Mex­i­co, trav­el­ing down a stretch of Route 66, you can dri­ve over a quar­ter mile-long rum­ble strip and your car’s tires will play “Amer­i­ca the Beau­ti­ful.”  That’s assum­ing you’re dri­ving at the speed lim­it, 45 miles per hour. Don’t believe me? Watch the clip above.

As Atlas Obscu­ra explains, the “Musi­cal High­way” or “Singing High­way” was “installed in 2014 as part of a part­ner­ship between the New Mex­i­co Depart­ment of Trans­porta­tion and the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Chan­nel.” It’s all part of an elab­o­rate attempt to get dri­vers to slow down and obey the speed lim­it. “Get­ting the rum­ble strips to ser­e­nade trav­el­ers required a fair bit of engi­neer­ing. The indi­vid­ual strips had to be placed at the pre­cise dis­tance from one anoth­er to pro­duce the notes they need­ed to sing their now-sig­na­ture song.”

You’ll find this par­tic­u­lar stretch of road between Albu­querque and Tijeras. Here’s the loca­tion on Google Maps. Oth­er musi­cal rum­ble strips have popped up in Den­mark, Japan and South Korea.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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:

The Negro Trav­el­ers’ Green Book, the Pre-Civ­il Rights Guide to Trav­el­ing Safe­ly in the U.S. (1936–66)

Jack Kerouac’s On The Road Turned Into Google Dri­ving Direc­tions & Pub­lished as a Free eBook

Ancient Rome’s Sys­tem of Roads Visu­al­ized in the Style of Mod­ern Sub­way Maps

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