The First Biopic of Edgar Allan Poe: 1909 Film by D.W. Griffith Shows the Horror Master Writing “The Raven”

The film indus­try knows that movie­go­ers love watch­ing genius­es at work, and they may have known it for more than a cen­tu­ry, ever since the release of 1909’s Edgar Allan Poe above. The sev­en-minute silent short, made for the cen­te­nary of the tit­u­lar lit­er­ary fig­ure’s birth (and sub­ti­tled, back in those days before the word biopic, “a Pic­ture Sto­ry Found­ed on Events in His Career”) depicts the 19th-cen­tu­ry pio­neer of psy­cho­log­i­cal hor­ror com­pos­ing his best-known work, “The Raven,” even as his wife lays dying of tuber­cu­lo­sis. In real life, the young Vir­ginia Eliza Clemm Poe passed away two years after the poem’s pub­li­ca­tion, but D.W. Grif­fith, like a true crafts­man of his medi­um, knew the poten­tial for extra dra­ma when he saw it.

Grif­fith, who did hun­dreds of such shorts in the late 1900s and ear­ly 1910s, would of course go on to direct two of the most inno­v­a­tive and influ­en­tial works in cin­e­ma his­to­ry: 1915’s The Birth of a Nation and the fol­low­ing year’s Intol­er­ance. But just before that, in 1914, he fur­ther pur­sued his inter­est in Poe with a fea­ture called The Aveng­ing Con­science: or, Thou Shalt Not Kill, mov­ing beyond a sim­ple depic­tion of the author and his work­ing process (or at least his work­ing process as inter­pret­ed through the dis­tinc­tive dra­mat­ic style of ear­ly silent film) to draw direct inspi­ra­tion from the work itself.

Even if you’ve nev­er actu­al­ly read any of Poe’s writ­ing, you’ll sure­ly have absorbed enough of “The Raven” (even if just from The Simp­sons) to quote it now and again, just as you’ll sure­ly have heard enough about his 1843 sto­ry “The Tell-Tale Heart” to know the plot has some­thing to do with a man tor­ment­ed by his guilty con­science — and so you’ll prob­a­bly know which sto­ry Grif­fith chose for this ear­ly exam­ple of adap­ta­tion even before you see its first title card. Just as the film­mak­er uses strik­ing light and shad­ow to evoke Poe’s inner world in the ear­li­er film, here he, in the words of Edgar Allan Poe author Kevin J. Hayes, “bril­liant­ly repli­cates Poe’s psy­cho­log­i­cal ten­sion in visu­al terms.”

Grif­fith’s sec­ond Poe film incor­po­rates not just the stuff of his work, but more of the stuff of his life as well: “Some aspects of the plot, in which the cen­tral char­ac­ter is an orphan as well as an author, are also rem­i­nis­cent of Poe’s life,” writes Hayes in The Cam­bridge Com­pan­ion to Edgar Allan Poe. “The sto­ry includes echoes of oth­er writ­ing includ­ing ‘Three Sun­days in a Week,’ ‘The Pit and the Pen­du­lum,’ ‘The Black Cat,’ and ‘Annabel Lee,’ ” all “spun togeth­er in a sto­ry of love, mur­der, and vengeance, which nonethe­less ends hap­pi­ly.” Which brings us to anoth­er piece of com­mon cin­e­mat­ic wis­dom, appar­ent­ly known as well by Grif­fith as by any of his Hol­ly­wood suc­ces­sors: every­body loves a hap­py end­ing — appar­ent­ly, once they get in front of the sil­ver screen, even read­ers of Edgar Allan Poe.

Both films will be added to our col­lec­tion of Silent Films, a sub­set of our meta col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load The Com­plete Works of Edgar Allan Poe: Macabre Sto­ries as Free eBooks & Audio Books

Edgar Allan Poe & The Ani­mat­ed Tell-Tale Heart

New Film Extra­or­di­nary Tales Ani­mates Edgar Poe Sto­ries, with Nar­ra­tions by Guiller­mo Del Toro, Christo­pher Lee & More

Edgar Allan Poe Ani­mat­ed: Watch Four Ani­ma­tions of Clas­sic Poe Sto­ries

The Simp­sons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teach­ers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Lit­er­a­ture

The Mys­tery of Edgar Allan Poe’s Death: 19 The­o­ries on What Caused the Poet’s Demise

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. 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.

1978 News Report on the Rocky Horror Craze Captures a Teenage Michael Stipe in Drag

The impact of The Rocky Hor­ror Pic­ture Show in the ‘70s came from a per­fect cock­tail of sev­er­al time-spe­cif­ic ingre­di­ents: A lib­er­at­ed, post-’60s gen­er­a­tion of young peo­ple embold­ened by glam and the sex­u­al rev­o­lu­tion find­ing their voice; the pro­lif­er­a­tion of cin­e­mas that found that mid­night screen­ings were good for busi­ness; and the need to see a film again and again in a pre-VHS Amer­i­ca.

In the above clip from a St. Louis, MO night­ly news segment–commenters place it at around 1978–TV reporter Michael Brown inter­views the crowd out­side a screen­ing at the Var­si­ty The­ater, wait­ing to see the film “that some peo­ple obvi­ous­ly think has been here too long” (accord­ing to the news­cast­er) and, instead of find­ing deviants, dis­cov­ers some of the first cos-play­ers in his­to­ry.

One of which–and why the clip was post­ed in the first place–is a teenage Michael Stipe, years before mov­ing to Geor­gia and start­ing R.E.M., in full Frank N. Furter drag, who says this is “nor­mal” dress.

The idea to sell a film (that was orig­i­nal­ly a flop) as a “mid­night movie” start­ed with a loy­al fol­low­ing at the Waver­ly The­ater in New York City, and can­ny stu­dio mar­keters. Accord­ing to a 1999 arti­cle by Patri­cia Cor­ri­g­an,

“Rocky Hor­ror” came to St. Louis in March of 1976, show­ing at the now-defunct Var­si­ty The­atre in Uni­ver­si­ty City. The movie ran every night, as the main fea­ture, for three weeks. Pete Pic­cione, who owned the Var­si­ty, brought the film back as a mid­night movie on occa­sion­al week­ends for the rest of the year and on through 1977. By May of 1978, “Rocky Hor­ror” was play­ing every week­end as the mid­night show.

In fact, Pic­cione is in the seg­ment, being asked how he’d feel if his son or daugh­ter attend­ed this film, and well, we won’t ruin the reply. You’ll just have to watch.

Not only is this a great his­tor­i­cal vignette, but a reminder that the sight of peo­ple in cos­tume gath­er­ing to cel­e­brate a pop cul­ture event was once remark­able; now it’s called Comi­con.

It’s also worth won­der­ing: apart from the open­ing night, will we ever again see peo­ple gath­er­ing in pub­lic to watch a film 30, 40, 50 times? And did those news­cast­ers ever get bet­ter fash­ion sense?

via A.V. Club/Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Inter­view: Tim Cur­ry Dis­cuss­es The Rocky Hor­ror Pic­ture Show, Dur­ing the Week of Its Release (1975)

http://www.openculture.com/2015/02/tim-curry-discusses-the-rocky-horror-picture-show.html

Michael Stipe Rec­om­mends 10 Books for Any­one Marooned on a Desert Island

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based 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.

Moby Lets You Download 4 Hours of Ambient Music to Help You Sleep, Meditate, Do Yoga & Not Panic

Back in May, I wrote about the dam­ag­ing effects stress has on the body, and the sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly-val­i­dat­ed pow­er of yoga and med­i­ta­tion to undo them. Fol­low­ing close behind stress as a chron­ic con­trib­u­tor to ill­ness is sleep­less­ness, which the Divi­sion of Sleep Med­i­cine at Har­vard Med­ical School links to dia­betes, high blood pres­sure, heart dis­ease, and short­ened life expectan­cy. Add to all these risks the prob­lems of poor pro­duc­tiv­i­ty and dis­or­ga­nized think­ing, and you’ll begin to see insom­nia for the dan­ger­ous con­di­tion it is.

What to do with that anx­ious, over­worked, over­tired self? Well, again, I’d hearti­ly rec­om­mend a yoga or med­i­ta­tion prac­tice. Pow­er naps through­out the day can boost your endurance and brain­pow­er as well. But I’d also rec­om­mend music—music that calms the body and helps wash away the men­tal gunk that accu­mu­lates through­out the day. Com­pos­er Max Richter recent­ly released an eight-hour piece of music intend­ed to lull lis­ten­ers to sleep and keep them there. His efforts are now joined by elec­tron­i­ca super­star Moby, who has spo­ken frankly about the insom­nia that has plagued him since the age of four.

For his own ben­e­fit, Moby began mak­ing what he describes on his web­site as “real­ly real­ly real­ly qui­et music to lis­ten to when I do yoga or sleep or med­i­tate or pan­ic.” He “end­ed up with 4 hours of music,” he says, and “decid­ed to give it away.” The col­lec­tion con­sists of 11 “Long Ambi­ent” pieces between around 20 and 30 min­utes each. You can hear them all—or not, if they put you to sleep—at the Spo­ti­fy playlist above, or down­load them at Moby’s site. (He also gives you the option to play the record­ings on Apple Music, Sound­cloud, Deez­er and oth­er plat­forms.) “It’s real­ly qui­et,” he reit­er­ates, “no drums, no vocals, just very slow calm pret­ty chords and sounds and things.”

Con­sist­ing of rum­bling drone notes with reverb-drenched synths float­ing atop, Moby’s “Long Ambi­ent” com­po­si­tions remind me of the sound­scapes of Bri­an Eno or William Basin­s­ki, and like the work of those com­posers, his sleep music feels both ocean­ic and cin­e­mat­ic. Per­haps in his move a few years back from his native New York to L.A., Moby found him­self musi­cal­ly inspired by the Pacif­ic and the movies. (You might remem­ber his gor­geous, dra­mat­ic sound­track to the L.A.-set Michael Mann film Heat.) Wher­ev­er this music comes from, it’s a peace­ful way to com­bat insom­nia, stress, or pan­ic.

via Elec­tron­ic Beats

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Music That Helps You Sleep: Min­i­mal­ist Com­pos­er Max Richter, Pop Phe­nom Ed Sheer­an & Your Favorites

Dai­ly Med­i­ta­tion Boosts & Revi­tal­izes the Brain and Reduces Stress, Har­vard Study Finds

The Pow­er of Pow­er Naps: Sal­vador Dali Teach­es You How Micro-Naps Can Give You Cre­ative Inspi­ra­tion

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

Free: Learn Foreign Languages in Your Car

SONY DSC

Have a bor­ing com­mute? A long road trip com­ing up? Con­sid­er using that time well and learn­ing a lan­guage as you dri­ve. While rum­mag­ing around on Spo­ti­fy (down­load their free soft­ware here), we noticed that they give you free access to the mul­ti-part col­lec­tions: Learn Span­ish in Your Car, Learn French in Your Car, Learn Man­darin in Your Car, Learn Ital­ian in Your Car, Learn Russ­ian in Your Car, and Learn Ger­man in Your Car.

Run­ning 10–14 hours, the col­lec­tions (usu­al­ly retail­ing for $22.95 on Ama­zon) build in dif­fi­cul­ty, mov­ing from “Lev­el 1” to “Lev­el 2” to “Lev­el 3.” We’ve embed­ded the playlists below, and you can always find them list­ed in our col­lec­tion, Learn 45+ Lan­guages Online for Free: Span­ish, Chi­nese, Eng­lish & More.

Span­ish: 

French

Man­darin

Ger­man 

Ital­ian

Russ­ian

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!

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Get a Fly-on-the-Wall View of John Lennon Recording & Arranging His Classic Song, “Imagine” (1971)

In a recent inter­view, the peren­ni­al­ly cheer­ful Paul McCart­ney talked can­did­ly about his depres­sion after the Bea­t­les’ 1970 breakup, a rev­e­la­tion that may have come as a sur­prise to some peo­ple giv­en Sir Paul’s gen­er­al lev­el of, well, cheer. But, “you would be too if it hap­pened to you,” said McCart­ney, admit­ting that he “took to the bevvies… to a wee dram” (and mak­ing even a drink­ing prob­lem sound upbeat). Where McCart­ney admits he strug­gled to find his foot­ing again musi­cal­ly, two of his estranged band­mates released solo-career-defin­ing albums just months after the Bea­t­les’ offi­cial demise—George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass and John Lennon’s Imag­ine.

Lennon, of course, had his own post-Bea­t­les issues with sub­stance abuse and depres­sion. But in 1971 he had kicked a hero­in habit, embraced pri­mal ther­a­py, and was in top musi­cal form. Not only did Imag­ine, the album, go dou­ble plat­inum, but fans and crit­ics con­sid­er “Imag­ine,” the song, one of the finest Lennon ever wrote. In the footage above, we see Lennon dur­ing the ear­ly Imag­ine record­ing ses­sions at his home stu­dio at Tit­ten­hurst Park. Lennon plays the new title track for the album’s musi­cians for the first time, records his vocals and piano, and dis­cuss­es the mix and arrange­ment with Phil Spec­tor and Yoko Ono.

The clip comes from the 2000 doc­u­men­tary Gimme Some Truth: The Mak­ing of John Lennon’s Imag­ine Album, which cap­tures the inti­ma­cy of those record­ing ses­sions, as Lennon and his band eat and talk togeth­er before going into the stu­dio. George Har­ri­son appears often to record gui­tar parts for sev­er­al songs; the band jams and hors­es around; Allen Gins­berg and Miles Davis show up and Davis plays bas­ket­ball with Lennon; and Yoko and John dis­cuss design and album pho­tog­ra­phy.

Lat­er that year, Lennon and Yoko appeared on The Dick Cavett Show to pro­mote the song and album and pre­mier the “Imag­ine” film above. As in near­ly all of his solo work, Ono act­ed both as Lennon’s muse and his col­lab­o­ra­tor, inspir­ing Imag­ine’s “How” and “Oh Yoko” and co-writ­ing “Oh My Love.” She is rarely giv­en cred­it, how­ev­er, for inspiring—and co-writing—“Imagine.” The song owes much to Ono’s “good-natured­ly defi­ant lit­tle book,” Grape­fruit, “part irrev­er­ent activ­i­ty book for grown-ups,” writes Maria Popo­va, “part sub­ver­sive phi­los­o­phy for life,” com­plete with whim­si­cal draw­ings very much like the kind Lennon him­self made and pub­lished in his own books of sil­ly verse.

But while crit­ics and Lennon fans over­look Yoko’s role in “Imagine”’s com­po­si­tion, Lennon lat­er admit­ted it “should be cred­it­ed as a Lennon/Ono song. A lot of it—the lyric and the concept—came from Yoko, but in those days I was a bit more self­ish, a bit more macho, and I sort of omit­ted her con­tri­bu­tion, but it was right out of Grape­fruit.” The album cov­er did, how­ev­er, quote “Cloud piece,” one of the many med­i­ta­tive poems Lennon drew from: “Imag­ine the clouds drip­ping. Dig a hole in your gar­den to put them in.”

In the short mak­ing-of clip at the top, Lennon tells the room, after play­ing a raw ren­di­tion of “Imag­ine” solo on piano, “that’s the one I like best.” The song’s utopi­anism strong­ly con­trasts with the right­eous anger and bit­ter­ness Lennon gave vent to in oth­er songs on Imag­ine, includ­ing “How Do You Sleep?,” in which, he told Play­boy in 1980, “I used my resent­ment and with­draw­ing from Paul and The Bea­t­les, and the rela­tion­ship with Paul.” Ear­ly edi­tions of the LP even includ­ed a post­card pho­to of Lennon hold­ing a pig, mock­ing the cov­er of McCartney’s under­rat­ed Ram. McCart­ney expressed his post-Bea­t­les’ anger in a few minor lyri­cal jabs; Lennon respond­ed with unsub­tle vit­ri­ol. But many of Imag­ine’s songs—celebrations of love, protests against war, and the vision­ary title track—point away from the past and toward the future, or what lit­tle of it remained for Lennon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Lennon & Yoko Ono’s Two Appear­ances on The Dick Cavett Show in 1971 and 72

John Lennon’s “Imag­ine” & Paul McCartney’s “Yes­ter­day” Adapt­ed into Smart, Mov­ing Web­comics

Hear John Lennon’s Final Inter­view, Taped on the Last Day of His Life (Decem­ber 8, 1980)

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

The Books on Young Alan Turing’s Reading List: From Lewis Carroll to Modern Chromatics

turing book list

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

We now regard Alan Tur­ing, the trou­bled and ulti­mate­ly per­se­cut­ed crypt­an­a­lyst (and, intel­lec­tu­al­ly, much more besides)—who cracked the code of the Ger­man Enig­ma machine in World War II—as one of the great minds of his­to­ry. His life and work have drawn a good deal of seri­ous exam­i­na­tion since his ear­ly death in 1954, and recent­ly his lega­cy has even giv­en rise to pop­u­lar por­tray­als such as that by Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch in the film The Imi­ta­tion Game. So what, more and more of us have start­ed to won­der, forms a mind like Tur­ing’s in the first place?

A few years ago, math­e­mat­ics writer Alex Bel­los received, from “an old friend who teach­es at Sher­borne, the school Tur­ing attend­ed between 1928 and 1930,” some “new infor­ma­tion about the com­put­er pio­neer and codebreaker’s school years” in the form of “the list of books Tur­ing took out from the school library while he was a pupil.” Bel­los lists them as fol­lows:

“As you can see, and as you might expect,” writes Bel­los, “heavy on the sci­ences. The AJ Evans, a mem­oir about the author’s escape from impris­on­ment in the First World War, is the only non-sci­en­tif­ic book.” He also notes that “the physics books he took out all look very seri­ous, but the maths ones are light­heart­ed: the Lewis Car­roll and the Rouse Ball, which for decades was the clas­sic text in recre­ation­al maths prob­lems.” Sher­borne archivist Rachel Has­sall, who pro­vid­ed Bel­los with the list, also told him that “the book cho­sen by Tur­ing for his school prize was a copy of the Rouse Ball. Even teenage genius­es like to have fun.”

If you, too, would like to do a bit of the read­ing of a genius — or, depend­ing on how quan­ti­ta­tive­ly your own mind works, just have some fun — you can down­load for free most of these books the young Tur­ing checked out of the school library. Pro­gram­mer and writer John Gra­ham-Cum­ming orig­i­nal­ly found and orga­nized all the links to the texts on his blog; you can fol­low them there or from the list in this post. And if you know any young­sters in whom you see the poten­tial to achieve his­to­ry’s next Tur­ing-lev­el accom­plish­ment, send a few e‑books their way. Why read Har­ry Pot­ter, after all, when you can read A Selec­tion of Pho­tographs of Stars, Star-Clus­ters & Neb­u­lae, togeth­er with infor­ma­tion con­cern­ing the instru­ments & the meth­ods employed in the pur­suit of celes­tial pho­tog­ra­phy?

via Alex Bel­los

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Alan Tur­ing, Bril­liant Math­e­mati­cian and Code Break­er, Will Be Final­ly Par­doned by British Gov­ern­ment

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Reads a Let­ter Alan Tur­ing Wrote in “Dis­tress” Before His Con­vic­tion For “Gross Inde­cen­cy”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. 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.

Hear a 1930 Recording of Bolero, Conducted by Ravel Himself

ravel bolero

On May 1st, 2016, Mau­rice Ravel’s mas­ter­ful orches­tral com­po­si­tion Bolero entered the pub­lic domain, which means we may be hear­ing a lot more of the piece, first writ­ten and per­formed in 1928 as a bal­let com­mis­sioned by Russ­ian dancer Ida Ruben­stein. Then again, it’s not like Boléro hasn’t ful­ly per­me­at­ed the public’s domain for decades, regard­less of its copy­right sta­tus.

Audi­ences swooned as British ice dancers Torvill and Dean won the gold at the 1984 Win­ter Olympics in Sara­je­vo with a per­fect score-per­for­mance to Bolero; both Jeff Beck and Frank Zap­pa have cov­ered it; Bolero famous­ly scored a sex scene in 1979’s sleazy com­e­dy 10; it popped up in 2014’s Spi­der-Man 2; and it even pro­vid­ed the title of a film, 1934’s Bolero, which cul­mi­nat­ed in the leads danc­ing to Ravel’s com­po­si­tion….

If you hap­pened to have missed all of these cul­tur­al moments, you’ve still heard Bolero, with its unmis­tak­able flute and pic­co­lo melody and per­sis­tent­ly rap­ping snare drum. (Maybe you, and your tot, saw sev­en chick­ens dance to Bolero on Sesame Street.)

Bolero is not only Ravel’s most famous com­po­si­tion, but per­haps one of the most well-known pieces of clas­si­cal music ever writ­ten. “Famous to his­to­ri­ans and record-books for osten­si­bly con­tain­ing the longest-sus­tained sin­gle crescen­do any­where in orches­tral reper­to­ry,” writes All­mu­sic, and “famous to musi­cians and music lovers for being both the most repet­i­tive 15 min­utes of music they are like­ly to play/hear and also one of the most absolute­ly well-com­posed.” So repet­i­tive is Bolero that it has been cit­ed as evi­dence that Mau­rice Rav­el suf­fered from Alzheimer’s when he wrote it.

I find this expla­na­tion of Bolero uncon­vinc­ing, pri­mar­i­ly because of its afore­men­tioned “well-com­posed” qual­i­ty. This is no musi­cal per­se­ver­a­tion, the symp­tom of a decay­ing mind, but an inten­tion­al exercise—as is so much mod­ern music since Ravel—in find­ing beau­ty and vari­a­tion in same­ness. We hear it in the min­i­mal­ism of com­posers like Steve Reich, or the dron­ing beats of Kraftwerk and Can. In fact, clas­si­cal review mag­a­zine Gramo­phone invokes Krautrock-style rep­e­ti­tion in its descrip­tion of Bolero’s dri­ve “toward motorik self-obliv­ion.” The piece “is about devel­op­ing a sin­gle moment in time, obses­sive­ly rethought/re-shad­ed/re­drawn/re­vis­it­ed, revealed through shift­ing per­spec­tives on itself.”

Gramo­phone’s thor­ough doc­u­men­ta­tion of Bolero’s record­ing his­to­ry details the ways in which a suc­ces­sion of con­duc­tors and orches­tras have approached the piece’s com­plex inter­play of same­ness and dif­fer­ence, begin­ning with one of the very first record­ings, con­duct­ed by Rav­el him­self, in 1930. Lead­ing the Orchestre des Con­certs Lam­oureux in a ses­sion for Poly­dor, Rav­el was in poor health, and per­haps indeed suf­fer­ing from some form of demen­tia. (Two years lat­er, an auto acci­dent wors­ened his con­di­tion; Rav­el died in 1937 after an unsuc­cess­ful brain surgery.) His “con­duct­ing tech­nique” in the 1930 record­ing “falls far short” in com­par­i­son to oth­er record­ed ver­sions, writes Gramo­phone in their tepid review.

Nonethe­less, this ver­sion rep­re­sents a “his­tor­i­cal curio” and an oppor­tu­ni­ty to hear the com­pos­er pre­side over his own inter­pre­ta­tion of this enthralling piece of music. You can hear Ravel’s record­ing above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Rav­el Play Rav­el in 1922

Hear Debussy Play Debussy: A Vin­tage Record­ing from 1913

Watch 82-Year-Old Igor Stravin­sky Con­duct The Fire­bird, the Bal­let Mas­ter­piece That First Made Him Famous (1965)

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

1,000-Year-Old Manuscript of Beowulf Digitized and Now Online

Beowulf

One out­come of the upcom­ing “Brex­it” vote, we’re told, might free the UK to pur­sue its own unfet­tered des­tiny, or might plunge it into iso­la­tion­ist decline. The eco­nom­ic issues are beyond my ken, but as a read­er and stu­dent of Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture, I’ve always been struck by the fact that the old­est poem in Eng­lish, Beowulf, shows us an already inter­na­tion­al­ized Britain absorb­ing all sorts of Euro­pean influ­ences. From the Ger­man­ic roots of the poem’s Anglo-Sax­on lan­guage to the Scan­di­na­vian roots of its nar­ra­tive, the ancient epic reflects a Britain tied to the con­ti­nent. With pagan, native tra­di­tions min­gled with lat­er Chris­t­ian echoes, and local leg­ends with those of the Danes and Swedes, Beowulf pre­serves many of the island nation’s poly­glot, mul­ti-nation­al ori­gins.

Irish poet Sea­mus Heaney—whose work engaged with the ironies and com­pli­ca­tions of trib­al­ism and nationalism—had a deep respect for Beowulf; in the intro­duc­tion to his trans­la­tion of the poem, Heaney describes it as a tale “as elab­o­rate as the beau­ti­ful con­trivances of its lan­guage. Its nar­ra­tive ele­ments may belong to a pre­vi­ous age but as a work of art it lives in its own con­tin­u­ous present, equal to our knowl­edge of real­i­ty in the present time.” Though we’ve come to think of it as an essen­tial work of Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture, Beowulf might have dis­ap­peared into the mists of his­to­ry had not the only man­u­script of the poem sur­vived “more or less by chance.” The “unique copy,” writes Heaney, “(now in the British Library) bare­ly sur­vived a fire in the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry and was then tran­scribed and titled, retran­scribed and edit­ed, trans­lat­ed and adapt­ed, inter­pret­ed and taught, until it has become an acknowl­edged clas­sic.”

Now, the British Library’s dig­i­ti­za­tion of that sole man­u­script allows us to peel back the lay­ers of can­on­iza­tion and see how the poem first entered a lit­er­ary tra­di­tion. Orig­i­nal­ly “passed down oral­ly over many gen­er­a­tions, and mod­i­fied by each suc­ces­sive bard,” writes the British Library, Beowulf took this fixed form when “the exist­ing copy was made at an unknown loca­tion in Anglo-Sax­on Eng­land.” Not only is the loca­tion unknown, but the date as well: “its age has to be cal­cu­lat­ed by ana­lyz­ing the scribes’ hand­writ­ing. Some schol­ars have sug­gest­ed that the man­u­script was made at the end of the 10th cen­tu­ry, oth­ers in the ear­ly decades of the 11th, per­haps as late as the reign of King Cnut, who ruled Eng­land from 1016 until 1035.”

These schol­ar­ly debates may not inter­est the aver­age read­er much. The poem sur­vived long enough to be writ­ten down, then became known as great lit­er­a­ture these many cen­turies lat­er, because the rich poet­ic lan­guage and the com­pelling sto­ry it tells cap­ti­vate us still. Nonethe­less, though we may all know the gen­er­al out­lines of its hero’s con­test with the mon­ster Gren­del and his moth­er, many of the cul­tur­al con­cepts from the world of Beowulf strike mod­ern read­ers as total­ly alien. Like­wise the poem’s lan­guage, Old Eng­lish, resem­bles no form of Eng­lish we’ve encoun­tered before. Schol­ars like J.R.R. Tolkien and poets like Heaney have done much to shape our appre­ci­a­tion for the ancient work, and we might say that with­out their inter­ven­tions, it would not live, as Heaney writes, “in its own con­tin­u­ous present” but in a dis­tant, unrec­og­niz­able past.

You can hear Heaney read his trans­la­tion of the poem on Youtube. Read Tolkien’s famous essay on the poem here, and hear it read in its orig­i­nal lan­guage at our pre­vi­ous post. Learn more about the sin­gle man­u­script that pre­served the epic poem for pos­ter­i­ty at the British Library’s web­site.

Find Beowulf list­ed in our col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sea­mus Heaney Reads His Exquis­ite Trans­la­tion of Beowulf and His Mem­o­rable 1995 Nobel Lec­ture

Hear Beowulf Read In the Orig­i­nal Old Eng­lish: How Many Words Do You Rec­og­nize?

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Illus­trat­ed in a Remark­able Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­script (c. 1450)

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

How to Achieve Professional Happiness Through “Creative Incompetence”: A Corollary to the Famous “Peter Principle”

In 1969, Lau­rence J. Peters, a pro­fes­sor at the Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, pub­lished the best­selling book, The Peter Prin­ci­ple: Why Things Always Go Wrong, where he advanced this the­o­ry: “In a hier­ar­chy every employ­ee tends to rise to his lev­el of incom­pe­tence … in time every post tends to be occu­pied by an employ­ee who is incom­pe­tent to car­ry out its duties.” Mean­while, the real work gets “accom­plished by those employ­ees who have not yet reached their lev­el of incom­pe­tence.”

Above, Adam West­brook offers a short intro­duc­tion to “The Peter Prin­ci­ple” and its corol­lary, the con­cept of “cre­ative incom­pe­tence.” If you take “The Peter Prin­ci­ple” seri­ous­ly, you’ll know that not all pro­mo­tions are good ones. As you move upward, you might find that you’re deal­ing with more headaches .… and less work that you tru­ly enjoy. To pre­empt the bad pro­mo­tion, Peters sug­gest­ed (some­what light-heart­ed­ly) engag­ing in some “cre­ative incompetence”–that is, cre­at­ing “the impres­sion that you have already reached your lev­el of incom­pe­tence. Cre­ative incom­pe­tence will achieve the best results if you choose an area of incom­pe­tence which does not direct­ly hin­der you in car­ry­ing out the main duties of your present posi­tion.” In short, find the job you real­ly like, do it well, but give your boss the occa­sion­al odd­ball rea­son not to mess with a good thing.

Got exam­ples of your own cre­ative incom­pe­tence to rec­om­mend? Feel free to add them in the com­ments 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:

150 Free Online Busi­ness Cours­es

Hunter S. Thompson’s Ball­sy & Hilar­i­ous Job Appli­ca­tion Let­ter (1958)

Charles Bukows­ki Rails Against 9‑to‑5 Jobs in a Bru­tal­ly Hon­est Let­ter (1986)

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Stream 23 Free Documentaries from PBS’ Award-Winning American Experience Series

How to under­stand a coun­try as enor­mous, as cul­tur­al­ly and eco­nom­i­cal­ly pro­duc­tive, and as con­tra­dic­to­ry and frus­trat­ing as the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca? As an Amer­i­can myself, I’m here to tell you that there’s no short­cut. I live abroad, and dis­tance has pro­vid­ed me a help­ful new per­spec­tive, but my curios­i­ty about how my home­land turned out like it did remains strong. That same curios­i­ty pos­sess­es many an Amer­i­can and non-Amer­i­can alike, and they all can sati­ate at least some of it by watch­ing episodes of the PBS doc­u­men­tary series Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence avail­able free online. Note: We have a list of stream­able episodes down below.

Since pre­mier­ing at The Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence on Octo­ber 4, 1988 with an episode on the great San Fran­cis­co earth­quake of 1906, the arti­cle may have fall­en away, but the in-depth explo­ration of U.S. his­to­ry has con­tin­ued apace. While hard­ly for­mu­la­ic, the episodes do tend start with a par­tic­u­lar event, place, or indi­vid­ual that time has ren­dered icon­ic. And so, at the top of the post, we have the Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence por­trait of Thomas Edi­son, the “hold­er of more patents than any oth­er inven­tor in his­to­ry” who grew rich and famous “as the genius behind such rev­o­lu­tion­ary inven­tions as sound record­ing, motion pic­tures, and elec­tric light.”

Edi­son has indeed come to rep­re­sent the Amer­i­can arche­type of the self-made mil­lion­aire whose sheer inge­nu­ity would improve lives across the coun­try, and ulti­mate­ly the world. But the coin has, as always, anoth­er side: how much of Edis­on’s suc­cess owes to his own hard work, and how much owes to his com­bi­na­tion and mar­ket­ing of the work of oth­ers? (Sim­i­lar ques­tions have con­tin­ued to swirl around more recent larg­er-than-life fig­ures in Amer­i­can busi­ness, not least Steve Jobs.) Anoth­er fas­ci­nat­ing­ly com­pli­cat­ed lega­cy, as well as quite pos­si­bly Amer­i­ca’s most scru­ti­nized life and death, comes in for the Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence treat­ment in the series’ four-hour episode on John F. Kennedy.

In addi­tion to these sto­ries of Amer­i­can per­son­al­i­ties, the online archive also has sto­ries of Amer­i­can places like Mount Rush­more, Amer­i­can achieve­ments like space trav­el, Amer­i­can eras like the year 1964, and even pieces of Amer­i­can infra­struc­ture like Penn Sta­tion. And of course, giv­en the insa­tiable Amer­i­can appetite for pres­i­den­tial biogra­phies, such com­man­ders-in-chief as Jim­my Carter, Ronald Rea­gan, and Bill Clin­ton also have their own episodes. But view­ers out­side Amer­i­ca should note that, because of geo­graph­i­cal rights restric­tions, not all these videos may stream for them. Since I live out­side Amer­i­ca myself, I’ve got the same prob­lem, but then again, I’ll also have some binge-watch­ing (and cul­tur­al rein­tro­duc­tion) mate­r­i­al on my next trip back.

The titles list­ed above will be added to our col­lec­tion of Free Online Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch PBS’ Amer­i­can Mas­ters Doc­u­men­taries (Includ­ing Scorsese’s Homage to Kazan) Free Online

Ten Build­ings that Changed Amer­i­ca: Watch the Debut Episode from the New PBS Series

265 Free Doc­u­men­taries Online

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. 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.

1,300 Photos of Famous Modern American Homes Now Online, Courtesy of USC

modernist home
“For aver­age prospec­tive house own­ers the choice between the hys­ter­ics who hope to solve hous­ing prob­lems by mag­ic alone and those who attempt to ride into the future pig­gy back on the sta­tus quo, the sit­u­a­tion is con­fus­ing and dis­cour­ag­ing.” Those words, as much as they could describe the sit­u­a­tion today, actu­al­ly came print­ed in Arts & Archi­tec­ture mag­a­zine’s issue of June 1945.

“There­fore it occurs to us that the only way in which any of us can find out any­thing will be to pose spe­cif­ic prob­lems in a spe­cif­ic pro­gram on a put-up-or-shut-up basis.” What the mag­a­zine, at the behest of its pub­lish­er John Enten­za, put up was the Case Study Hous­es, which defined the ide­al of the mid­cen­tu­ry mod­ern Amer­i­can home.

USC Arch 2

More specif­i­cal­ly, they defined the ide­al of the mid­cen­tu­ry mod­ern south­ern Cal­i­forn­ian home. Los Ange­les pro­vid­ed a promis­ing envi­ron­ment for many of the for­mi­da­ble Euro­pean minds who came to Amer­i­ca around the Sec­ond World War, includ­ing writ­ers like Aldous Hux­ley, com­posers like Arnold Schoen­berg, and philoso­phers like Theodor Adorno. Archi­tects, such as the ear­li­er arrival Richard Neu­tra, espe­cial­ly thrived in the young city’s vast space and under its bright sun, giv­ing shape to a new kind of twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry house, one influ­enced by the rig­or­ous­ly clean aes­thet­ics of the Ger­man Bauhaus move­ment but adapt­ed to a much friend­lier cli­mate, both in terms of the weath­er and the free­dom from strict tra­di­tion.

USC Arch 3

Even if you don’t know archi­tec­ture, you know the Case Study hous­es from their count­less appear­ances in movies, tele­vi­sion, and print over the past sev­en­ty years. Soon­er or lat­er, every­one sees an image of Neu­tra’s Stu­art Bai­ley House, Charles and Ray Eames’ Eames House, or Pierre Koenig’s Stahl House. The decades have turned these and oth­er hous­es from the peak of mid­cen­tu­ry mod­ernism into price­less archi­tec­tur­al trea­sures — or at least extreme­ly high-priced archi­tec­tur­al trea­sures. Some open them­selves to tours now and again, but very few of us will ever have a chance to expe­ri­ence these hous­es as not qua­si-muse­ums but actu­al liv­able spaces.

USC Arch 4

Now we have the next best thing in the form of the Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Cal­i­for­ni­a’s Archi­tec­tur­al Teach­ing Slide Col­lec­tion, which col­lects about 1300 rarely seen pho­tographs of mid­cen­tu­ry mod­ern hous­es shot all over the west­ern Unit­ed States from the 1940s to the 1960s by Koenig him­self, along with his col­league Fritz Block, who also hap­pened to own a col­or slide com­pa­ny. “Instead of the pol­ished tableaus you might find in the pages of Archi­tec­tur­al Digest,” writes Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Carey Dunne, “these spon­ta­neous snap­shots cap­ture quirky and more inti­mate views.” Koenig and Block cap­tured these hous­es “with an architect’s geo­met­ri­cal­ly mind­ed and detail-ori­ent­ed eye, nev­er pre­sent­ing them as mere real estate.” The archive also offers images of mod­els, blue­prints, and oth­er such tech­ni­cal mate­ri­als.

USC Arch 5

Arts & Archi­tec­ture meant to com­mis­sion ideas for the every­man’s house of the future, “sub­ject to the usu­al (and some­times regret­table) build­ing restric­tions,” “capa­ble of dupli­ca­tion,” and “in no sense… an indi­vid­ual ‘per­for­mance.’ ” Yet Amer­i­can mid­cen­tu­ry mod­ern hous­es, from the Case Study Pro­gram or else­where, all came out as indi­vid­ual per­for­mances, but also the first works of archi­tec­ture many of us get to know as works of art. And the work of archi­tec­tur­al pho­tog­ra­phers like Julius Shul­man, espe­cial­ly his icon­ic shot of the Stahl House high above the illu­mi­nat­ed grid of Los Ange­les, has done much to instill in view­ers a rev­er­ence suit­ed to art. A col­lec­tion of non-stan­dard views like these, though, reminds us that even the most vision­ary house is a real place. Enter the USC archive here.

All Images: via USC Dig­i­tal Library

via Hyper­al­ler­gic/Fast Co Design

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Quick Ani­mat­ed Tour of Icon­ic Mod­ernist Hous­es

A is for Archi­tec­ture: 1960 Doc­u­men­tary on Why We Build, from the Ancient Greeks to Mod­ern Times 

The ABC of Archi­tects: An Ani­mat­ed Flip­book of Famous Archi­tects and Their Best-Known Build­ings

Bauhaus, Mod­ernism & Oth­er Design Move­ments Explained by New Ani­mat­ed Video Series

Watch 50+ Doc­u­men­taries on Famous Archi­tects & Build­ings: Bauhaus, Le Cor­busier, Hadid & Many More

Gehry’s Vision for Archi­tec­ture

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. 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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