Hear the First Recording of Computer Generated Music: Researchers Restore Music Programmed on Alan Turing’s Computer (1951)

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How­ev­er you feel about elec­tron­ic music, you’ll still find your­self lis­ten­ing to it most places you go. For bet­ter or worse, it has become mood music, sooth­ing the jan­gled nerves of cus­tomers in cof­fee shops and lulling bou­tique shop­pers into a pleas­ant sense of hip. Some com­put­er music pio­neers have moved on from com­pos­ing their own music to mak­ing com­put­ers do it for them. It’s pre­cise­ly the kind of thing I imag­ine Alan Tur­ing might have pur­sued had the com­put­er sci­ence giant also been a musi­cian.

In fact, Tur­ing did inad­ver­tent­ly cre­ate a com­put­er that could play music when he input a sequence of instruc­tions into it, which relayed sound to a loud­speak­er Tur­ing called “the hoot­er.” By vary­ing the “hoot” com­mands, Tur­ing found that he could make the hoot­er pro­duce dif­fer­ent notes, but he was “not very inter­est­ed in pro­gram­ming the com­put­er to play con­ven­tion­al pieces of music,” note Jack Copeland and Jason Long at the British Library’s Sound and Vision blog. Tur­ing “used the dif­fer­ent notes” as a rudi­men­ta­ry noti­fi­ca­tion sys­tem, “to indi­cate what was going on in the com­put­er.”

Instead, the task fell to school­teacher, pianist, and future com­put­er sci­en­tist Christo­pher Stra­chey to cre­ate the first com­put­er-gen­er­at­ed music, using Turing’s gigan­tic Mark II, its pro­gram­ming man­u­al, and “the longest com­put­er pro­gram ever to be attempt­ed.” After an all-night ses­sion, Stra­chey had taught the com­put­er to hoot out “God Save the Queen.” Upon hear­ing the com­po­si­tion the next morn­ing, Tur­ing exclaimed, “good show,” and Stra­chey received a job offer just a few weeks lat­er.

Once the BBC heard of the achieve­ment, they vis­it­ed Turing’s Com­put­ing Machine Lab­o­ra­to­ry and made the record­ings above in 1951, which include a ver­sion of Strachey’s “God Save the Queen” pro­gram and ren­di­tions of “Baa Baa Black Sheep” and Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.” The “orig­i­nal 12-inch disc the melodies were record­ed on,” writes The Verge, “has been known about for a while, but when Copeland (a pro­fes­sor) and Long (a com­pos­er) lis­tened to it, they found the audio was not accu­rate.” The two describe in their blog post how they went about restor­ing the audio and how it came to exist in the first place.

While the music Turing’s com­put­er pro­duced sounds painful­ly prim­i­tive, it would be sev­er­al more years before com­posers began to real­ly exper­i­ment with com­put­er-gen­er­at­ed music beyond the rudi­men­ta­ry first steps, and well over a decade before the design of sys­tems that could oper­ate in real time.

Now, although they still require human input (“the sin­gu­lar­i­ty isn’t upon us,” writes Spin)com­put­ers have begun to com­pose their own music, like “Daddy’s Car,” a Bea­t­les-esque song gen­er­at­ed by a SONY CSL Research Lab­o­ra­to­ry AI called Flow Machine. Here, a com­pos­er mix­es and match­es dif­fer­ent ele­ments, a style, melody, lyrics, etc. from var­i­ous data­bas­es. The machine pro­duces the sounds. SONY labs have been gen­er­at­ing com­put­er-made jazz and clas­si­cal music for some time now—some of which we may have already heard as back­ground music.

As Spin points out, already a new start­up called Jukedeck promis­es to “gen­er­ate a song in the genre and mood of your choos­ing…” per­haps as “back­ground music for adver­tise­ments or YouTube vlogs.” True to the spir­it of the man who inad­ver­tent­ly invent­ed com­put­er music, and who the­o­rized how a com­put­er might demon­strate con­scious­ness, the soft­ware will ask you to con­firm that you are not a robot.

via The Verge

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Enig­ma Machine: How Alan Tur­ing Helped Break the Unbreak­able Nazi Code

The His­to­ry of Elec­tron­ic Music, 1800–2015: Free Web Project Cat­a­logues the Theremin, Fairlight & Oth­er Instru­ments That Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Music

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

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

H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu in Anime: A First Glimpse

Mark it on your cal­en­dars. 2018 will bring an ani­me adap­ta­tion of the pop­u­lar card game Force of WillAn omnibus col­lec­tion of six ani­ma­tions, the film will include one short cre­at­ed by Shuhei Mori­ta, whose 2013 ani­ma­tion “Pos­ses­sions” already earned him an Acad­e­my Award nom­i­na­tion. Mori­ta’s next task–to bring to life H.P. Love­craft’s “Cthul­hu.” We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly high­light­ed Love­craft’s 1934 draw­ings of the mon­ster to which he gave lit­er­ary life in 1928. (See “The Call of Cthul­hu.”) Above, catch a very first glimpse of Mori­ta’s take on the gigan­tic octo­pus. Below, in the Relat­eds, find a good deal of mate­r­i­al on Cthulhu–drawings, radio drama­ti­za­tions and much more.

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!

via Kotaku

Relat­ed Con­tent

H.P. Lovecraft’s Mon­ster Draw­ings: Cthul­hu & Oth­er Crea­tures from the “Bound­less and Hideous Unknown”

H.P. Lovecraft’s Clas­sic Hor­ror Sto­ries Free Online: Down­load Audio Books, eBooks & More

Hear Drama­ti­za­tions of H.P. Lovecraft’s Sto­ries On His Birth­day: “The Call of Cthul­hu,” “The Dun­wich Hor­ror,” & More

Down­load Issues of “Weird Tales” (1923–1954): The Pio­neer­ing Pulp Hor­ror Mag­a­zine Fea­tures Orig­i­nal Sto­ries by Love­craft, Brad­bury & Many More

23 Hours of H.P. Love­craft Sto­ries: Hear Read­ings & Drama­ti­za­tions of “The Call of Cthul­hu,” “The Shad­ow Over Inns­mouth,” & Oth­er Weird Tales

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When L. Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz Series Was Banned for “Depicting Women in Strong Leadership Roles” (1928)

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We’ve reached the final stretch of the most infu­ri­at­ing, unset­tling elec­tion I’ve ever expe­ri­enced. And we find the U.S. so polar­ized  that—as The Wall Street Jour­nal chill­ing­ly demon­strates in their “Blue Feed Red Feed” feature—the left and right seem to live in two entire­ly dif­fer­ent real­i­ties. Still, one would have to work very hard on either side, I think, to deny the role sex­ism has played. One can­di­date, a known and well-doc­u­ment­ed misog­y­nist, leads mil­lions of sup­port­ers call­ing for his opponent’s death, impris­on­ment, and humil­i­a­tion. That oppo­nent, of course, hap­pens to be the first woman to run on a major par­ty tick­et in a gen­er­al elec­tion.

Do many Amer­i­cans still have a prob­lem with accept­ing women as lead­ers? I per­son­al­ly don’t think there’s much of an argu­ment there, and peo­ple who see the ques­tion as redun­dant mar­vel at how long archa­ic atti­tudes about women in pow­er have per­sist­ed. At least these days we can open­ly have the—often high­ly inflamed—conversation about sex­ism in busi­ness, enter­tain­ment, and gov­ern­ment. And we can sup­port a cul­tur­al indus­try thriv­ing on strong female char­ac­ters in fic­tion, film, and tele­vi­sion. Not so much in 1928, when the Chica­go Pub­lic Library banned The Wiz­ard of Oz, writes Kristi­na Rosen­thal at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Tul­sa Depart­ment of Spe­cial Col­lec­tions, “argu­ing that the sto­ry was ungod­ly for ‘depict­ing women in strong lead­er­ship roles.’”

First pub­lished in 1900, L. Frank Baum’s fan­ta­sy nov­el ini­ti­at­ed a series of 13 Oz-themed sequels, all of which became immense­ly pop­u­lar after MGM’s 1939 film adap­ta­tion. (You can find them all in text and audio for­mat here.) And yet, “through­out the years the books have been opposed for their pos­i­tive por­tray­als of fem­i­nin­i­ty.” Var­i­ous libraries used sim­i­lar excus­es to ban the books through­out the 50s and 60s. The Detroit pub­lic library banned the Oz books in 1957, stat­ing they had “no val­ue for chil­dren of today.” The ban remained in place until 1972. One Flori­da librar­i­an cir­cu­lat­ed a memo to her col­leagues call­ing the books “unwhole­some,” among oth­er things, and caus­ing a run on local book­stores as chil­dren des­per­ate­ly tried to find them.

Oth­er groups decid­ed that the books pro­mot­ed witch­craft in charges sim­i­lar to those levied at the Har­ry Pot­ter series. In 1986, a group of Fun­da­men­tal­ist Chris­t­ian fam­i­lies in Ten­nessee came togeth­er to remove the The Wiz­ard of Oz from their schools’ cur­ricu­lum, protest­ing “the novel’s depic­tion of benev­o­lent witch­es.” They argued, writes Rosen­thal, “that all witch­es are bad, there­fore it is ‘the­o­log­i­cal­ly impos­si­ble ‘for good witch­es to exist.” Many seek­ing to ban the books since have sim­i­lar­ly referred to their pos­i­tive depic­tions of mag­ic and “god­less super­nat­u­ral­ism,” but the Ten­nessee case stands as a land­mark in the Reli­gious Right’s liti­gious cru­sade against the gov­ern­ment. The attor­ney who rep­re­sent­ed plain­tiff Vic­ki Frost called on “every born-again Chris­t­ian to get their chil­dren out of pub­lic schools.”

It’s odd to think of whim­si­cal children’s lit­er­a­ture so seem­ing­ly innocu­ous as The Wiz­ard of Oz books as ter­ri­to­ry in the long cul­ture wars of the 20th cen­tu­ry. But as we are remind­ed every year dur­ing Banned Books Week (Sep­tem­ber 25 − Octo­ber 1, 2016), lit­er­a­ture often arous­es the ire of those incensed by change and dif­fer­ence. Yet their attempts to sup­press cer­tain books have always back­fired, mak­ing the tar­gets of their cen­sor­ship even more pop­u­lar and sought-after. If you’d like to read Baum’s Oz books now, you needn’t con­front a gate­keep­ing librar­i­an; sim­ply head over to our post on the com­plete Wiz­ard of Oz series, with free eBooks and audio books of all 14 female-cen­tric fan­ta­sy clas­sics.

via The Smith­son­ian

Relat­ed Con­tent:

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

The Com­plete Wiz­ard of Oz Series, Avail­able as Free eBooks and Free Audio Books

North Car­oli­na Coun­ty Cel­e­brates Banned Book Week By Ban­ning Ralph Ellison’s Invis­i­ble Man … Then Revers­ing It

74 Free Banned Books (for Banned Books Week)

1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

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

J.G. Ballard’s Experimental Text Collages: His 1958 Foray into Avant-Garde Literature

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Image by J. G. Bal­lard, via the British Library

J.G. Bal­lard became famous for his 1985 auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal nov­el Empire of the Sun (lat­er turned by Steven Spiel­berg into a major motion pic­ture). Before that, he became well-known for his con­tro­ver­sial, car-wreck-eroti­ciz­ing 1973 nov­el Crash (lat­er turned by David Cro­nen­berg into a semi-major motion pic­ture). Before that, he made cul­tur­al waves with the exper­i­men­tal 1970 col­lec­tion of “con­densed nov­els” The Atroc­i­ty Exhi­bi­tion and the both post-apoc­a­lyp­tic and psy­cho­log­i­cal Drowned World tril­o­gy of the 1960s. Go just a bit deep­er back into the Bal­lard canon and you find a work, in its way, even more dar­ing still: 1958’s Project for a New Nov­el.

“Bal­lard formed the ‘nov­el’ from sci­en­tif­ic and tech­ni­cal mate­r­i­al cut from pro­fes­sion­al lit­er­a­ture,” says the page at the British Library where you can see images of the work, the process of whose com­po­si­tion bears a resem­blance to William Bur­roughs’ famous “cut-up writ­ing” tech­nique. “Let­ters, words and sen­tence frag­ments are past­ed onto back­ing sheets with glue. Their design visu­al­ly ref­er­ences every­day media, with head­lines, body text and dou­ble-page spreads sug­gest­ing a mag­a­zine lay­out. Orig­i­nal­ly Bal­lard planned to dis­play the work on bill­boards, as if it was a pub­lic adver­tise­ment.”

Bal­lard him­self described the Project as “sam­ple pages of a new kind of nov­el, entire­ly con­sist­ing of mag­a­zine-style head­lines and lay­outs, with a delib­er­ate­ly mean­ing­less text, the idea being that the imag­i­na­tive con­tent could be car­ried by the head­lines and over­all design, so mak­ing obso­lete the need for a tra­di­tion­al text except for vir­tu­al­ly dec­o­ra­tive pur­pos­es.”

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Image by J. G. Bal­lard, via the British Library

Employ­ment at a Lon­don chem­i­cal soci­ety jour­nal gave him access not just to pho­to­copy­ing facil­i­ties (then a rar­i­ty) but the mag­a­zine Chem­i­cal and Engi­neer­ing News, which became his basic mate­r­i­al: “I liked the styl­ish typog­ra­phy. I also like the sci­en­tif­ic con­tent, and used sto­ries to pro­vide the text of my nov­el. Curi­ous­ly enough, far from being mean­ing­less, the sci­ence news sto­ries some­how become fic­tion­al­ized by the head­ings around them.”

That quote comes from an arti­cle by Rick McGrath at jgballard.ca, who points out that “many of the char­ac­ters and con­cerns in Project have resur­faced over the years” in his sub­se­quent writ­ings such as The Atroc­i­ty Exhi­bi­tion and The Ter­mi­nal Beach: “Ballard’s ‘col­lage of things’ spawned such char­ac­ters as Coma, Kline and Xero, and such phras­es as ‘the ter­mi­nal beach’, ‘Mr F is Mr F’, ‘tho­racic drop’ ‘inter­time’ ‘T‑12’ and many more Bal­lar­dian tropes now famil­iar to his read­ers today.”

Though Bal­lard’s work remained imag­i­na­tive in a way that no oth­er writer has repli­cat­ed, he nev­er, after the Project for a New Nov­el and the pieces of 1970s fol­low-up Adver­tis­er’s Announce­ments (“ ‘ads’ in the same sense that Project For A New Nov­el is a ‘nov­el‘”), got so exper­i­men­tal again. “Fas­ci­nat­ed with the causal­i­ty of time, Ballard’s first step is to remove it. Bored with action/reaction, Bal­lard inverts it,” writes McGrath. “Unwill­ing to accept the fic­tions of the world, Bal­lard cre­ates a per­son­al real­i­ty. The result is an autop­sy report, or a box of tools, or a line­up of ser­vice sta­tion atten­dants at a police sta­tion. It’s up to you to make a kind of per­son­al sense of it all” — a bit like the mod­ern world itself.

via The Scofield

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Very First Film of J.G. Ballard’s Crash, Star­ring Bal­lard Him­self (1971)

Sci-Fi Author J.G. Bal­lard Pre­dicts the Rise of Social Media (1977)

J.G. Bal­lard on Sen­sa­tion

William S. Bur­roughs on the Art of Cut-up Writ­ing

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Sights & Sounds of 18th Century Paris Get Recreated with 3D Audio and Animation

In what is often called the “Ear­ly Mod­ern” peri­od, or the “Long Eigh­teenth Cen­tu­ry,” Europe wit­nessed an explo­sion of satire, not only as a polit­i­cal and lit­er­ary weapon, but as a means of react­ing to a whole new way of life that arose in the cities—principally Lon­don and Paris—as a dis­placed rur­al pop­u­la­tion and expand­ing bour­geoisie rad­i­cal­ly altered the char­ac­ter of urban life. In Eng­land, poets like Alexan­der Pope and Jonathan Swift sav­aged their rivals in print, while also com­ment­ing on the increas­ing pace and declin­ing tastes of the city.

In France, Voltaire punched up, using his pen to nee­dle Parisian author­i­ties, serv­ing 11 months in the Bastille for a satir­i­cal verse accus­ing the Regent of incest. Despite the huge­ly suc­cess­ful pre­miere of his play Oedi­pus sev­en months after his release, Voltaire would ulti­mate­ly be exiled from his beloved city for 28 years, return­ing in 1778 at the age of 83.

Now, of course, Parisians cel­e­brate Voltaire in every pos­si­ble way, but what would it have been like to have expe­ri­enced the city dur­ing his life­time, when it became the buzzing cen­ter of Euro­pean intel­lec­tu­al life? In the video recre­ation above, we can par­tial­ly answer that ques­tion by expe­ri­enc­ing what 18th cen­tu­ry Paris may have looked and sound­ed like, accord­ing to musi­col­o­gist Mylène Par­doen, who designed this “his­tor­i­cal audio recon­sti­tu­tion,” writes CNRS News, with a “team of his­to­ri­ans, soci­ol­o­gists and spe­cial­ists in 3D rep­re­sen­ta­tions.”

The team chose to ani­mate “the Grand Châtelet dis­trict, between the Pont au Change and Pont Notre Dame bridges” because, Par­doen explains, the neigh­bor­hood “con­cen­trates 80% of the back­ground and sound envi­ron­ments of Paris in that era, whether through famil­iar trades—shopkeepers, crafts­men, boat­men, wash­er­women on the banks of the Seine… or the diver­si­ty of acoustic pos­si­bil­i­ties, like the echo heard under a bridge or in a cov­ered pas­sage­way.” The result is “the first 3D recon­struc­tion based sole­ly on a son­ic back­ground.”

“We are the whipped cream of Europe,” Voltaire once said of his Paris, a lux­u­ri­ous, aris­to­crat­ic world. But 18th cen­tu­ry Paris was also a grimy city full of ordi­nary labor­ers and mer­chants, of “cesspools and kennels”—as a com­men­tary on Dick­ens’ A Tale of Two Cities notes—and of wine-stained streets with­out prop­er drainage. And it was a city on the verge of a rev­o­lu­tion from below, inspired by icon­o­clasts from above like Voltaire. In the 3D video and audio recre­ation above, we get a small, video-game-like taste of a bustling city caught between immense lux­u­ry and crush­ing pover­ty, between medieval the­ol­o­gy and human­ist phi­los­o­phy, and between the rule of divine kings and a bloody sec­u­lar rev­o­lu­tion to come.

We start­ed the video above at the 2:06 mark when the ani­ma­tions kick in. Feel free to start the video from the very begin­ning.

via @WFMU/CNRS News

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Fly Through 17th-Cen­tu­ry London’s Grit­ty Streets with Prize-Win­ning Ani­ma­tions

Beau­ti­ful, Col­or Pho­tographs of Paris Tak­en 100 Years Ago—at the Begin­ning of World War I & the End of La Belle Époque

What Makes Paris Look Like Paris? A Cre­ative Use of Google Street View

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

“Somewhere Over the Rainbow” Played on a 1929 Theremin

Here in Amer­i­ca, we’re liv­ing in some anx­ious times. And frankly my nerves are a lit­tle torn and frayed–especially after the run-up to last night’s debate. Maybe some of you feel the same. Maybe you could stand to relax a bit. Maybe this will do the trick.

Above, watch Peter Pringle per­form on the theremin “Over the Rain­bow,” the song orig­i­nal­ly writ­ten for 1939’s The Wiz­ard of Oz. And it’s not just any theremin. It’s the 1929 RCA theremin that belonged to the Hol­ly­wood therem­i­nist, Dr. Samuel Hoff­man. In fact, it’s the very same one that Hoff­man played on The Tonight Show with John­ny Car­son in 1956, below.

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:

Watch Jim­my Page Rock the Theremin, the Ear­ly Sovi­et Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment, in Some Hyp­not­ic Live Per­for­mances

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

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8+ Hours of Classic Charles Dickens Stories Dramatized, Starring Orson Welles, Boris Karloff, Richard Burton & More

Do you know who would have under­stood our cur­rent polit­i­cal moment? Who would have known how to make sense of the naked avarice, wide­spread bul­ly­ing, dem­a­goguery, and preda­to­ry pol­i­tick­ing? Charles Dick­ens, that’s who.

The vil­lainy in Oliv­er Twist alone suf­fices to show just how well Dick­ens under­stood misog­y­ny, crim­i­nal exploita­tion, and the ways seduc­tive insin­cer­i­ty works to ensnare the vul­ner­a­ble.

As we approach the inter­minable hol­i­day sea­son, many of us will reflect on Dick­ens’ scathing indict­ment of greed in A Christ­mas Car­ol. Near­ly every­one wants a piece of Dick­ens’ pre­sumed polit­i­cal views. The Social­ist Review pro­claims “he would have been only too famil­iar with the shame­less pil­ing up of wealth, the poor strug­gling to sur­vive, the pen­ny pinch­ing of wel­fare, and the lofty con­tempt of our rulers” in the 21st cen­tu­ry.

But Dick­ens was no rev­o­lu­tion­ary. His for­eign pol­i­cy ideas “antic­i­pate Kipling’s pro­le­tar­i­an defend­ers of empire,” and he might have fit right in with the most star­ry-eyed of neo­con­ser­v­a­tives.

Was he a defend­er of free mar­ket ideals, as some allege? The idea seems implau­si­ble. Char­ac­ters like pre-redemp­tion Scrooge and Ralph Nickleby—who in, say, Ayn Rand’s hands might be cham­pi­ons of indi­vid­u­al­ism and self­ish­ness as a virtue—become in Dick­ens’ nov­els exam­ples of fright­en­ing­ly trun­cat­ed human­i­ty. Take this descrip­tion of Nick­le­by, uncle of the orphaned Nicholas:

He wore a sprin­kling of pow­der upon his head, as if to make him­self look benev­o­lent; but if that were his pur­pose, he would per­haps have done bet­ter to pow­der his coun­te­nance also, for there was some­thing in its very wrin­kles, and in his cold rest­less eye, which seemed to tell of cun­ning that would announce itself in spite of him.

This is the look of the deceit­ful, schem­ing busi­ness­man in Dick­ens: the cold eyes, the bare­ly-con­cealed mal­ice. In nov­els like Oliv­er Twist and Hard Times, Dick­ens “pro­vides a damn­ing cri­tique of indus­tri­al Eng­land of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry” and “an indict­ment of glob­al lais­sez faire cap­i­tal­ism of the twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry.” So argues The Cop­per­field Review, in any case.

But when we read Dick­ens, we don’t do so fore­most to have our polit­i­cal views bol­stered or chal­lenged, but to expe­ri­ence the immense­ly mov­ing and enter­tain­ing plots, with their vivid­ly delin­eat­ed char­ac­ters like Ralph Nick­le­by above. These qual­i­ties have always made Dick­ens’ work trans­late beau­ti­ful­ly to the stage and screen, and also to the radio waves, where Dick­ens appeared in dra­mat­ic adap­ta­tions dur­ing the medium’s gold­en age and beyond, often in star-stud­ded pro­duc­tions.

For exam­ple, at the top of the post, you can hear a 1950 radio play of David Cop­per­field with Richard Bur­ton in the title role and Boris Karloff as “the smarmi­est creep in Dick­ens,” Uri­ah Heep. The lat­ter char­ac­ter may be one of the most obses­sive­ly described in all of the author’s works, to the point of car­i­ca­ture. And yet, writes Sam Jordi­son at The Guardian, “just as Satan gets the best lines in Par­adise Lost, Heep gets some of the best moments in David Cop­per­field.”

Fur­ther up, you can hear Orson Welles star in a 1938 pro­duc­tion of A Tale of Two Cities. This play is the third in Welles and John Houseman’s series The Mer­cury The­atre on the Air, which fea­tured Welles’ hand­picked com­pa­ny of actors. Soon spon­sored by Campbell’s Soup, the pro­gram was renamed The Camp­bell Play­house by the time Welles pro­duced an adap­ta­tion of A Christ­mas Car­ol with Lionel Bar­ry­more as Scrooge.

In the Spo­ti­fy playlist above, hear that pro­duc­tion as well as a sec­ond Welles-star­ring ver­sion of A Tale of Two Cities record­ed in 1945 for the leg­endary Lux Radio The­ater. You’ll also find Richard Burton’s David Cop­per­field and clas­sic pro­duc­tions of Great Expec­ta­tions, Oliv­er Twist, The Pick­wick Papers, The Mys­tery of Edwin Drood, and short sto­ries like “The Queer Client,” “The Sig­nal­man,” and “The Tri­al for Mur­der.” If you need Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, down­load it here.

Vis­it­ing, or revis­it­ing, the Dick­en­sian world through radio plays fits in per­fect­ly with the author’s own mode of dis­sem­i­nat­ing his fic­tion: he was a show­man who loved to give read­ings of  his work “with full histri­on­ic bril­liance,” writes Simon Cal­low, “and stage-man­aged to a point of high the­atri­cal­i­ty.” And through such enter­tain­ment, he believed, he might move read­ers and audi­ences with his cri­tiques of the exploita­tive sys­tems of his day.

The playlist above will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free. Copies of Dick­ens’ works can be found in our col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Life & Lit­er­ary Works of Charles Dick­ens

Hear Charles Dick­ens’ A Christ­mas Car­ol Read by His Great-Grand­daugh­ter in His Pre­ferred Style

Charles Dick­ens’ Hand-Edit­ed Copy of His Clas­sic Hol­i­day Tale, A Christ­mas Car­ol

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

Charlie Chaplin Finds Comedy Even in the Brutality of WWI: A Scene from Shoulder Arms (1918)


A friend of the Roman poet Mar­tial once asked him why he went to watch lions devour slaves at the Col­i­se­um. “These are my times,” replied Mar­tial, “and I must know them.” Not every Roman enjoyed such bru­tal spec­ta­cles, and Mar­tial him­self per­haps least of all, but he regard­ed it as a duty as an observ­er and inter­preter not to spare him­self the awful sight that pleased so many of his fel­low cit­i­zens. Char­lie Chap­lin, too, knew his times, as evi­denced by pic­tures like 1936’s Mod­ern Times, which made light of indus­tri­al cap­i­tal­ism, and The Great Dic­ta­tor, his sharp 1940 satire of Nazism and fas­cism.

But the hor­rors of the pre­vi­ous World War gave him mate­r­i­al too, as you can see in this scene from the 1918 silent com­e­dy Shoul­der Arms, above: “There have been learned dis­cus­sions as to whether Chap­lin’s com­e­dy is low or high, artis­tic or crude,” said the con­tem­po­rary New York Times review of the film, Chap­lin’s most pop­u­lar to date, “but no one can deny that when he imper­son­ates a screen fool he is fun­ny.”

His screen fool, in this case, has enlist­ed in the “awk­ward squad,” and though boot camp gives him a hard time, the prat­falls he goes through when sent off to Europe even­tu­al­ly lead him to win the Great War almost sin­gle­hand­ed­ly. Alas, as with most of Chap­lin’s hap­less pro­tag­o­nists, his moment of tri­umph van­ish­es even more quick­ly than it came, and at the time of its pre­miere the real war still had weeks to go.

Before mak­ing the movie, Chap­lin him­self had doubts about the poten­tial for humor in the blood­i­est con­flict in the his­to­ry of mankind, but he must have ulti­mate­ly under­stood what all the most astute come­di­ans do: that com­e­dy and tragedy have always gone hand-in-hand. “Say­ing some­thing is too ter­ri­ble to joke about is like say­ing a dis­ease is to ter­ri­ble to try to cure,” as the par­tic­u­lar­ly astute Louis C.K. recent­ly put it — a man of our own comedic and trag­ic times, and one who cer­tain­ly knows them as well as Chap­lin knew his.

Find 65 Free Char­lie Chap­lin Films Online in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

via Red­dit

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

Chap­lin Meets Incep­tion: The Final Speech of The Great Dic­ta­tor

When Char­lie Chap­lin Entered a Chap­lin Look-Alike Con­test and Came in 20th Place

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Explore 5,300 Rare Manuscripts Digitized by the Vatican: From The Iliad & Aeneid, to Japanese & Aztec Illustrations

vatican-iliad

Hun­dreds of years before vast public/private part­ner­ships like Google Arts & Cul­ture, the Vat­i­can served as one of the fore­most con­ser­va­tors of cul­tur­al arti­facts from around the world. In the era of the Holy Roman Empire, few of those works were avail­able to the mass­es (except­ing, of course, the city’s con­sid­er­able pub­lic archi­tec­ture and sculp­ture). But with over 500 years of his­to­ry, Vat­i­can Muse­ums and Libraries have amassed a trove of arti­facts that rival the great­est world col­lec­tions in their breadth and scope, and these have slow­ly become pub­lic over time. In 1839, for exam­ple, Pope Gre­go­ry XVI found­ed the Egypt­ian Muse­um, an exten­sive col­lec­tion of Egypt­ian and Mesopotami­an arti­facts includ­ing the famous Book of the Dead. We also have The Col­lec­tion of Mod­ern Reli­gious Art, which holds 19th and 20th cen­tu­ry impres­sion­ists, sur­re­al­ists, cubists, expres­sion­ists, etc. In-between are large pub­lic col­lec­tions from antiq­ui­ty to the Renais­sance.

codex-borgianus

When it comes to man­u­scripts, the Vat­i­can Library is no less an embar­rass­ment of rich­es. But unlike the art col­lec­tions, most of these have been com­plete­ly inac­ces­si­ble to the pub­lic due to their rar­i­ty and fragili­ty. That’s all going to change, now that ancient and mod­ern con­ser­va­tion has come togeth­er in part­ner­ships like the one the Library now has with Japan­ese com­pa­ny NTT DATA.

Their com­bined project, the Dig­i­tal Vat­i­can Library, promis­es to dig­i­tize 15,000 man­u­scripts with­in the next four years and the full col­lec­tion of over 80,000 man­u­scripts in the next decade or so, con­sist­ing of codices most­ly from the “Mid­dle Age and Human­is­tic Peri­od.” They’ve made some excel­lent progress. Cur­rent­ly, you can view high-res­o­lu­tion scans of over 5,300 man­u­scripts, from all over the world. We pre­vi­ous­ly brought you news of the Library’s dig­i­ti­za­tion of Virgil’s Aeneid. They’ve also shared a fine­ly illus­trat­ed, bilin­gual (Greek and Latin) edi­tion of its pre­de­ces­sor, The Ili­ad (top).

japanese-dance-painting

Fur­ther up, from a sim­i­lar time but very dif­fer­ent place, we see a Pre-Columbian Aztec man­u­script, equal­ly fine­ly-wrought in its hand-ren­dered intri­ca­cies. You’ll also find illus­tra­tions like the cir­ca 17th-cen­tu­ry Japan­ese water­col­or paint­ing above, and the ren­der­ing of Dante’s hell, below, from a won­der­ful, if incom­plete, series by Renais­sance great San­dro Bot­ti­cel­li (which you can see more of here). Begun in 2010, the huge-scale dig­i­ti­za­tion project has decid­ed on some fair­ly rig­or­ous cri­te­ria for estab­lish­ing pri­or­i­ty, includ­ing “impor­tance and pre­cious­ness,” “dan­ger of loss,” and “scholar’s requests.” The design of the site itself clear­ly has schol­ars in mind, and requires some deft­ness to nav­i­gate. But with sim­ple and advanced search func­tions and gal­leries of Select­ed and Lat­est Dig­i­tized Man­u­scripts on its home­page, the Dig­i­tal Vat­i­can Library has sev­er­al entry points through which you can dis­cov­er many a tex­tu­al trea­sure. As the site remarks, “the world’s cul­ture, thanks to the web, can tru­ly become a com­mon her­itage, freely acces­si­ble to all.” You can enter the col­lec­tion here.

vatican-botticelli

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1,600-Year-Old Illu­mi­nat­ed Man­u­script of the Aeneid Dig­i­tized & Put Online by The Vat­i­can

Botticelli’s 92 Illus­tra­tions of Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy

15,000 Col­or­ful Images of Per­sian Man­u­scripts Now Online, Cour­tesy of the British Library

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

1944 Instructional Video Teaches You the Lindy Hop, the Dance That Originated in 1920’s Harlem Ballrooms

1944’s MGM short Groovie Movie, abovebills itself as an instruc­tion­al film for those wish­ing to learn the Lindy Hop and its extreme­ly close cousin, the Jit­ter­bug.

The edu­ca­tion­al mod­el here is def­i­nite­ly of the “toss ‘em in the pool and see if they swim” vari­ety.

The eas­i­ly frus­trat­ed are advised to seek out a calm and patient teacher, will­ing to break the foot­work down into a num­ber of small, eas­i­ly digestible lessons.

Or bet­ter yet, find some­one to teach you in per­son. We’re about 20 years into a swing dance revival, and with a bit of Googling, you should be able to find an ath­let­ic young teacher who can school you in the dance pop­u­lar­ized by Frankie “Mus­cle­head” Man­ning and his part­ner Fre­da Wash­ing­ton at Harlem’s Savoy ball­room.

Speak­ing of teach­ers, you might rec­og­nize Arthur “King Cat” Walsh, the “top flight hep cat” star of Groovie Movie, as the fel­low who was brought in to teach I Love Lucy’s Lucy Ricar­do how to boo­gie woo­gie.

He’s got more chem­istry with his Groovie Movie part­ner, Jean Veloz. Backed by Lenny Smith, Kay Vaughn, Irene Thomas, Chuck Sag­gau, and sev­er­al tal­ent­ed kid­dies, they quick­ly achieve an aston­ish­ing­ly man­ic inten­si­ty as nar­ra­tor Pete Smith barks out a host of jazzy lin­go. (Here­in, lays the tru­ly sol­id instruc­tion. The atti­tude!)

Smith also heps view­ers to a few of the influ­ences at work, includ­ing bal­let, tra­di­tion­al Javanese dance, and even the “gay old waltz.” Sad­ly, he fails to men­tion the Harlem ball­room scene from whence it most direct­ly sprung.

At least Whitey’s Lindy Hop­pers, a pro­fes­sion­al troop drawn from the Savoy’s most skilled prac­ti­tion­ers, got their due in the 1941 film, Hel­lza­pop­pin’, below. Again, aston­ish­ing!

Okay, worms, let’s squirm.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

James Brown Gives You Danc­ing Lessons: From The Funky Chick­en to The Booga­loo

Rita Hay­worth, 1940s Hol­ly­wood Icon, Dances Dis­co to the Tune of The Bee Gees Stayin’ Alive: A Mashup

Jazz ‘Hot’: The Rare 1938 Short Film With Jazz Leg­end Djan­go Rein­hardt

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her play Zam­boni Godot is open­ing in New York City in March 2017. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Akira Kurosawa’s Advice to Aspiring Filmmakers: Write, Write, Write and Read

We should all learn from the best, and in the domain of cin­e­ma, that means study­ing under mas­ters like Aki­ra Kuro­sawa. Though now near­ly twen­ty years gone, the Japan­ese film­mak­er known as “the Emper­or” left behind not just one of the most impres­sive bod­ies of direc­to­r­i­al work in exis­tence — RashomonSev­en Samu­raiThrone of BloodRan, and much else besides — but a gen­er­ous quan­ti­ty of words. In addi­tion to the volu­mi­nous mate­ri­als relat­ed to the films them­selves, he wrote the book Some­thing Like an Auto­bi­og­ra­phy, gave in-depth inter­views, and offered film­mak­ing advice to estab­lished col­leagues and young aspi­rants alike.

“If you gen­uine­ly want to make films,” Kuro­sawa tells the next gen­er­a­tion of direc­tors in the clip above, “then write screen­plays. All you need to write a script is paper and a pen­cil. It’s only through writ­ing scripts that you learn specifics about the struc­ture of film and what cin­e­ma is.”

This brings to mind the sto­ry of how, long unable to find fund­ing for Kage­musha, he wrote and re-wrote its screen­play, then, still unable to go into pro­duc­tion, paint­ed the entire film, shot by shot. Such per­sis­tence requires no lit­tle strength of patience and dis­ci­pline, the very kind one builds through rig­or­ous writ­ing prac­tice. Kuro­sawa quotes Balzac: “The most essen­tial and nec­es­sary thing is the for­bear­ance to face the dull task of writ­ing one word at a time.”

Take it one word at a time: appar­ent­ly cre­ators as osten­si­bly dif­fer­ent as Balzac, Kuro­sawa, and Stephen King agree on how to han­dle the writ­ing process. And to write, Kuro­sawa adds, you must read. “Young peo­ple today don’t read books,” he says, echo­ing an oft-heard com­plaint. “It’s impor­tant that they at least do a cer­tain amount of read­ing. Unless you have a rich reserve with­in, you can’t cre­ate any­thing. Mem­o­ry is the source of your cre­ation. Whether it’s from read­ing or from your own real-life expe­ri­ence, you can’t cre­ate unless you have some­thing inside your­self.” Or, as Wern­er Her­zog more recent­ly put it: “Read, read, read, read, read, read, read, read, read… read, read… read.” But per Kuro­sawa, don’t for­get to write — and when the writ­ing gets tough, do any­thing but give up.

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.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aki­ra Kurosawa’s List of His 100 Favorite Movies

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa & Gabriel Gar­cía Márquez Talk About Film­mak­ing (and Nuclear Bombs) in Six Hour Inter­view

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa to Ing­mar Bergman: “A Human Is Not Real­ly Capa­ble of Cre­at­ing Real­ly Good Works Until He Reach­es 80”

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa Paint­ed the Sto­ry­boards For Scenes in His Epic Films: Com­pare Can­vas to Cel­lu­loid

How Aki­ra Kuro­sawa Used Move­ment to Tell His Sto­ries: A Video Essay

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.


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