Read 18 Lost Stories From Hunter S. Thompson’s Forgotten Stint As a Foreign Correspondent

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Image by Steve Ander­son, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

At 24, some five years before pub­lish­ing his break­out book, Hell’s Angels, and near­ly a decade before brand­ing him­self a “gonzo jour­nal­ist,” the young Hunter S. Thomp­son was an anony­mous free­lancer look­ing to make a name for him­self. The year was 1962. Fidel Cas­tro had marched into Havana three years ear­li­er, and the sto­ry of the decade — the expand­ing fron­tier of the Cold War — was play­ing out in Latin Amer­i­ca. It occurred to Thomp­son that a hun­gry cub reporter could build a rep­u­ta­tion cov­er­ing it.

Thompson’s epiphany coin­cid­ed with the launch of the Nation­al Observ­er, a mild­ly exper­i­men­tal week­ly news­pa­per pub­lished by the Dow Jones Com­pa­ny. Thomp­son sent a let­ter intro­duc­ing him­self, said he was head­ed to South Amer­i­ca, and got an invite to sub­mit any sto­ries he wrote along the way. He arrived in Colom­bia in May of 1962 and, over the course of the next year, trav­eled through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Paraguay, Argenti­na, Uruguay, and Brazil. The Observ­er pub­lished some 20 of his sto­ries from or about South Amer­i­ca, most of which focused on the continent’s cul­ture and pol­i­tics, and on how these were affect­ed by a Cold War–era U.S. for­eign pol­i­cy cen­tered around aid and con­tain­ment.

Six of Thompson’s South Amer­i­ca pieces were anthol­o­gized in his 1979 col­lec­tion The Great Shark Hunt (some in a slight­ly altered form); the rest have been essen­tial­ly lost for more than 50 years, read­able only in a few libraries’ micro­form col­lec­tions of the Observ­er, which fold­ed in 1977. I dug up the whole series while research­ing my book, The Foot­loose Amer­i­can: Fol­low­ing the Hunter S. Thomp­son Trail Across South Amer­i­ca (get a copy here). From the out­set, I intend­ed to post the arti­cles online some­where fol­low­ing the book’s pub­li­ca­tion, so that oth­er read­ers and researchers can eas­i­ly access them — and now that the book’s been on shelves for a year, it seemed like time to make good.

As I write in the book — and as I’ve described in The Atlantic and else­where — Thompson’s South Amer­i­can reportage offers a glimpse at his emerg­ing style. This is sharp, wit­ty par­tic­i­pa­to­ry jour­nal­ism with a keen eye for the absur­di­ties of South Amer­i­can life in the 1960s . The pieces are a mix of straight­for­ward news report­ing and more nar­ra­tive, fea­ture-style arti­cles. The depth of insight into Cold War for­eign pol­i­cy is impres­sive, and the sto­ries con­tain some mem­o­rable prose: the taxis in Quito, Ecuador, “rolled back and forth like ani­mals look­ing for meat.” Asun­cion, Paraguay, is “an O. Hen­ry kind of place … about as live­ly as Atlantis, and near­ly as iso­lat­ed.” La Paz, Bolivia, mean­while, offers “steep hills and high prices, sun­ny days and cold nights, demon­stra­tions by wild-eyed oppo­si­tion groups, drunk­en Indi­ans reel­ing and shout­ing through the streets at night — a man­ic atmos­phere.”

The Com­mu­ni­ty Texts col­lec­tion at archive.org now hosts a doc­u­ment with 18 of Thompson’s Nation­al Observ­er sto­ries from South Amer­i­ca, as well as host­ing each piece for indi­vid­ual read­ing or down­load. Find them all right below.

Note: If you find that the font is small, just click the plus (+) sign at the bot­tom of the screen to increase the font size.

1) ‘Leery Opti­mism’ at Home for Kennedy Vis­i­tor (June 24, 1962)

A pro­file of Colom­bi­a’s U.S.-friendly pres­i­dent-elect.

2) Nobody is Neu­tral Under Aruba’s Hot Sun (July 16, 1962)

On the divi­sive pol­i­tics of sun­ny Aru­ba.

3) A Foot­loose Amer­i­can in a Smuggler’s Den (August 6, 1962)

Thomp­son is marooned in Gua­ji­ra, Colom­bia, smug­gling cap­i­tal of the Caribbean.

4) Democ­ra­cy Dies in Peru, But Few Seem to Mourn Its Pass­ing (August 27, 1962)

On the results of a sur­pris­ing Peru­vian elec­tion — and the mil­i­tary takeover that fol­lowed.

5) How Democ­ra­cy is Nudged Ahead in Ecuador (Sep­tem­ber 17, 1962)

A day in the life of the Amer­i­can pro­pa­gan­da bureau in Ecuador.

6) Bal­lots in Brazil Will Mea­sure the Allure of Left­ist Nation­al­ism (Octo­ber 1, 1962)

On a piv­otal Brazil­ian elec­tion and the lure of the pop­ulist left.

7) Oper­a­tion Tri­an­gu­lar: Bolivia’s Fate Rides With It (Octo­ber 15, 1962)

On tin min­ers’ grave­yards, vio­lent strik­ers, and Bolivi­a’s crip­pling reliance on resource extrac­tion.

8) Uruguay Goes to the Polls with Econ­o­my Sag­ging (Novem­ber 19, 1962) 

The Blan­cos and Col­orados clash at the polls in South Amer­i­ca’s most devel­oped democ­ra­cy.

9) Chat­ty Let­ters Dur­ing a Jour­ney From Aru­ba to Rio (Decem­ber 31, 1962)

A selec­tion of Thomp­son’s (some­times des­per­ate) let­ters from South Amer­i­ca to his edi­tor.

10) Trou­bled Brazil Holds Key Vote (Jan­u­ary 7, 1963) — Text 1Text 2

Brazil­ians vote with the specter of rev­o­lu­tion on the hori­zon.

11) It’s a Dic­ta­tor­ship, But Few Seem to Care Enough to Stay and Fight (Jan­u­ary 28, 1963)

Report­ing on the belea­guered oppo­si­tion to Paraguay’s dic­ta­tor, Alfre­do Stroess­ner.

12) Brazil­ian Sol­diers Stage Raid in Revenge (Feb­ru­ary 11, 1963)

Report­ing on a grudge, a rogue mil­i­tary, and a mur­der in a Rio de Janeiro bar.

13) Left­ist Trend and Emp­ty Trea­sury Plague the Latin Amer­i­can Giant (March 11, 1963)

Hyper­in­fla­tion, labor strikes, and grow­ing insta­bil­i­ty in Brazil.

14) A Nev­er-Nev­er Land High Above the Sea (April 15, 1963)

On mad­ness, para­noia, and bizarre hap­pen­ings in the streets of La Paz.

15) Elec­tion Watched as Barom­e­ter Of Country’s Eco­nom­ic Trend (May 20, 1963) 

Report­ing on the mil­i­tary jun­ta from gloomy Lima.

16) He Haunts the Ruins of His Once-Great Empire (June 10, 1963)

On the plight — and latent polit­i­cal pow­er — of indige­nous Andeans.

17) Why Anti-Gringo Winds Often Blow South of the Bor­der (August 19, 1963)

On cyn­i­cism and dis­il­lu­sion­ment (and drink­ing) among Amer­i­can expats in South Amer­i­ca.

18) Can Brazil Hold Out Until the Next Elec­tion? (Octo­ber 28, 1963)

Hyper-infla­tion threat­ens to sink the Brazil­ian gov­ern­ment.

This is a guest post from Bri­an Kevin, a writer based in Maine and the author of The Foot­loose Amer­i­can. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @BrianMT.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hunter S. Thomp­son, Exis­ten­tial­ist Life Coach, Gives Tips for Find­ing Mean­ing in Life

Read 10 Free Arti­cles by Hunter S. Thomp­son That Span His Gonzo Jour­nal­ist Career (1965–2005)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Inter­views Kei­th Richards

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An Introduction to the Literary Philosophy of Marcel Proust, Presented in a Monty Python-Style Animation

Those who know the name Mar­cel Proust, if not his work itself, know it as that of the most soli­tary and intro­spec­tive of writers—a name become an adjec­tive, describ­ing an almost painful­ly del­i­cate vari­ety of sen­so­ry rem­i­nis­cence verg­ing on tantric solip­sism. Proust has earned the rep­u­ta­tion for writ­ing what Alain de Bot­ton above tells us in his Proust intro­duc­tion is “offi­cial­ly the longest nov­el in the world,” A la recher­ché du temps per­du (In Search of Lost Time). The book—or books, rather, total­ing dou­ble the num­ber of words as Tolstoy’s War and Peace—recounts the main­ly con­tem­pla­tive tra­vails of a “thin­ly veiled” ver­sion of the author. It is, in one sense, a very long, mas­ter­ful­ly styl­ized diary of the author’s loves, lusts, likes, moods, and tastes of every kind.

Those who know the iPhone app, “Proust”—a far few­er num­ber, I’d wager—know it as a game that har­ness­es the com­bined pow­er of social net­work­ing, instant online opin­ion, and sur­vey tech­nol­o­gy in a relent­less­ly repet­i­tive exer­cise in face­less col­lec­tiv­i­ty. These two enti­ties are per­haps vague­ly relat­ed by the Proust ques­tion­naire, but the dis­tance between them is more sig­nif­i­cant, stand­ing as an iron­ic emblem of the dis­tance between Proust’s refined lit­er­ary uni­verse and that of our con­tem­po­rary mass cul­ture.

Proust, a con­sti­tu­tion­al­ly frag­ile elit­ist born to wealthy Parisian par­ents in 1871, con­clud­ed that a life worth liv­ing requires the unique­ly sen­si­tive, fine­ly-tuned appre­ci­a­tion of every­day life that chil­dren and artists pos­sess, uncol­ored by the spoils of habit and dead­en­ing rou­tine. “Proust” the game—as the host of its vicious­ly satir­i­cal video pro­claims in an ambigu­ous­ly Euro­pean accent—concludes “It’s fun to judge”… in iden­ti­cal, rain­bow-col­ored screens that reduce every con­sid­er­a­tion to a vapid con­test with no stakes or effort. It too rep­re­sents, through par­o­dy, a kind of phi­los­o­phy of life. And one might broad­ly say we all live some­where in-between the hyper-aes­theti­cism of Proust the writer and the mind­less rapid-fire swipe-away triv­i­al­iz­ing of Proust the app.

De Bot­ton, con­sis­tent with the mis­sion of his very mis­sion­ary School of Life, would like us to move clos­er to the lit­er­ary Proust’s phi­los­o­phy, a “project of rec­on­cil­ing us to the ordi­nary cir­cum­stances of life” and the “charm of the every­day.” As he does with all of the fig­ures he con­scripts for his lessons, De Bot­ton pre­sumes that Proust’s pri­ma­ry intent in his inter­minable work was to “help us” real­ize this charm—and Proust did in fact say as much. But read­ers and schol­ars of the reclu­sive French writer may find this state­ment, its author, and his writ­ing, much more com­pli­cat­ed and dif­fi­cult to make sense of than we’re giv­en to believe.

Nonethe­less, this School of Life video, like many of the oth­ers we’ve fea­tured here, does give us a way of approach­ing Proust that is much less daunt­ing than so many oth­ers, com­plete with clever cut-out ani­ma­tions that illus­trate Proust’s the­o­ry of mem­o­ry, occa­sioned by his famed, fate­ful encounter with a cup of tea and a madeleine. The teatime epiphany caused Proust to observe:

The rea­son why life may be judged to be triv­ial, although at cer­tain moments it seems to us so beau­ti­ful, is that we form our judg­ment ordi­nar­i­ly not on the evi­dence of life itself, but of those quite dif­fer­ent images which pre­serve noth­ing of life, and there­fore we judge it dis­parag­ing­ly.

We may take or leave De Botton’s inter­pre­ta­tion of Proust’s work, but it seems more and more imper­a­tive that we give the work itself our full attention—or as much of it as we can spare.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Mon­ty Python’s “Sum­ma­rize Proust Com­pe­ti­tion” on the 100th Anniver­sary of Swann’s Way

Mar­cel Proust Fills Out a Ques­tion­naire in 1890: The Man­u­script of the ‘Proust Ques­tion­naire’

What Are Lit­er­a­ture, Phi­los­o­phy & His­to­ry For? Alain de Bot­ton Explains with Mon­ty Python-Style Videos

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

Hear the Never Released Version of The Stones’ “Brown Sugar,” With Eric Clapton on Slide Guitar

Has there ever been a more enter­tain­ing song containing–as crit­ic Robert Christ­gau enu­mer­at­ed– “slav­ery, inter­ra­cial sex, cun­nilin­gus, and less dis­tinct­ly, sado­masochism, lost vir­gin­i­ty, rape and hero­in” as the Rolling Stones’ 1971 “Brown Sug­ar”? The song’s lyrics lay in wait for those who hear it in pass­ing on clas­sic rock radio, like an un-PC land mine. And you’ll only step on one when you’re danc­ing.

Last week, the Rolling Stones pro­mot­ed the re-release/re­mas­ter/repack­age of their 1971 album Sticky Fin­gers with an alter­na­tive take of the song, fea­tur­ing Eric Clap­ton on slide gui­tar, and a slop­pi­er, more fes­tive sound. It’s the first offi­cial release of a ver­sion long since boot­legged.
Unlike many alter­na­tive ver­sions found on deluxe edi­tions, this record­ing came after the clas­sic track was record­ed, but the path of Sticky Fin­gers was a con­vo­lut­ed one.

For starters, it was Mick Jag­ger, not Kei­th Richards, who came up with the open­ing riff, some­thing he wrote while in Aus­tralia film­ing Tony Richardson’s Ned Kel­ly as a way of reha­bil­i­tat­ing his hand after injur­ing it. Jag­ger says he had Fred­dy Cannon’s rough-around-the-edges 1959 “Tal­la­has­see Lassie” in mind, though you might be hard pressed to hear the influ­ence.
The Stones record­ed “Brown Sug­ar” at the Mus­cle Shoals Sound Stu­dios in Sheffield, Alaba­ma in ear­ly Decem­ber, 1969. It was just a few days after the release of their epochal Let It Bleed, and a week after the New York and Bal­ti­more con­certs record­ed for Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out!. Bri­an Jones was near­ly half a year dead. Gui­tarist Mick Tay­lor was new.

And Mus­cle Shoals was not yet a stu­dio of leg­end. It had been the home of one hit: R.B. Greaves’ hump­ing-the-sec­re­tary sin­gle “Take a Let­ter, Maria.” Mem­phis was near­by and had bet­ter stu­dios, but the Stones want­ed to check out this new place.

On the first night, they record­ed a cov­er of “You Got­ta Move” by Mis­sis­sip­pi Fred McDow­ell that ends side one of the album. The next day, they record­ed “Brown Sug­ar.” Mick Jag­ger told a reporter upon enter­ing the stu­dio: “I’ve got a new one myself. No words yet, but a few words in my head — called Brown Sug­ar — about a woman who screws one of her black ser­vants. I start­ed to call it Black Pussy but I decid­ed that was too direct, too nit­ty-grit­ty.”

Jim Dick­in­son, Mus­cle Shoals pro­duc­er and ses­sion piano play­er, is quot­ed in Kei­th Richard’s 2010 book Life, “I watched Mick write the lyrics. It took him maybe forty-five min­utes; it was dis­gust­ing. He wrote it down as fast as he could move his hand. I’d nev­er seen any­thing like it. He had one of those yel­low legal pads, and he’d write a verse a page, just write a verse and then turn the page, and when he had three pages filled, they start­ed to cut it. It was amaz­ing!” Many years lat­er Mar­sha Hunt, Jagger’s secret girl­friend at the time and moth­er of his first child Karis, would reveal the song was indeed about her, which makes the taboos of slav­ery and rape in the lyrics all that more dis­turb­ing.

The next day, the band focused on anoth­er new song called “Wild Hors­es” and then they were back on the road, pre­mier­ing “Brown Sug­ar” at the dis­as­trous con­cert at the Alta­mont Speed­way where sev­er­al peo­ple died.

The band want­ed to release the song, but con­trac­tu­al prob­lems with for­mer label ABKCO halt­ed their plans.

A year lat­er, while the major­i­ty of Sticky Fin­gers had been record­ed, the group cel­e­brat­ed Kei­th Richards’ birth­day at Olympic Stu­dios in Lon­don. The alter­na­tive ver­sion above comes from that par­ty and fea­tures Al Koop­er on piano and Eric Clap­ton on slide. Richards pre­ferred this ver­sion, but it nev­er made the cut, and lis­ten­ing to it now the offi­cial ver­sion sounds like the obvi­ous choice: the sound of Mus­cle Shoals is unde­ni­able.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mick Jag­ger Tells the Sto­ry Behind ‘Gimme Shel­ter’ and Mer­ry Clayton’s Haunt­ing Back­ground Vocals

The Rolling Stones Release a Soul­ful, Nev­er-Heard Acoustic Ver­sion of “Wild Hors­es”

Watch the Rolling Stones Write “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il”: From Jean-Luc Godard’s ’68 Film One Plus One

Gimme Shel­ter: Watch the Clas­sic Doc­u­men­tary of the Rolling Stones’ Dis­as­trous Con­cert at Alta­mont

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.

Christopher Lee Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and From “The Fall of the House of Usher”

Sir Christo­pher Lee died on Sun­day at the age of 93, bring­ing to a close a long and dis­tin­guished act­ing career — though one for­tu­nate­ly not con­fined only to the heights of respectabil­i­ty. Lee could get schlocky with the best of them, ele­vat­ing oth­er­wise clunky, broad, or over­ly lurid genre films with his inim­itable com­bi­na­tion of stature, bear­ing, and (espe­cial­ly) voice, most notably as Ham­mer Hor­ror’s go-to Count Drac­u­la in the 1950s and 60s, as a James Bond vil­lain in 1974, and as var­i­ous sin­is­ter gray emi­nences in more recent Star Wars and Lord of the Rings movies.

But Lee made him­self equal­ly at home in projects involv­ing the “bet­ter” class­es of genre as well. His famous voice did supreme jus­tice to the works of Edgar Allan Poe, the 19th-cen­tu­ry writer whose work did so much to define mod­ern hor­ror lit­er­a­ture.

At the top of the post, you can hear Lee give a read­ing of Poe’s well-known 1845 poem “The Raven”; just below, we have the trail­er for Raúl Gar­cía’s ani­mat­ed adap­ta­tion of Poe’s 1839 sto­ry “The Fall of the House of Ush­er,” over which Lee intones suit­ably omi­nous nar­ra­tion straight from the text.

If you’d like to hold your own trib­ute to the late Sir Lee, you’ll want to lis­ten to all his Poe-relat­ed work, watch his per­for­mances in such films as the thor­ough­ly cult-clas­sic The Wick­er Man and the founder-of-Pak­istan biopic Jin­nah (in which he played the title role, his per­son­al favorite), and play aloud a selec­tion from his stint as a heavy-met­al Christ­mas vocal­ist. Most artists who began their careers in the 1940s got pub­licly cat­e­go­rized as “high­brow” or “low­brow”; Lee’s career, with its many for­ays right up to the end into the con­ven­tion­al and uncon­ven­tion­al, the straight-ahead and the bizarre, exist­ed in a real­i­ty beyond brows — the one, in oth­er words, that we all live in now.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Christo­pher Lee Nar­rates a Beau­ti­ful Ani­ma­tion of Tim Burton’s Poem, Night­mare Before Christ­mas

Hor­ror Leg­end Christo­pher Lee Presents a Heavy Met­al Ver­sion of The Lit­tle Drum­mer Boy

Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” Read by Christo­pher Walken, Vin­cent Price, and Christo­pher Lee

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear Ornette Coleman Collaborate with Lou Reed, Which Lou Called “One of My Greatest Moments”

Sax­o­phon­ist Ornette Cole­man died yes­ter­day at age 85, leav­ing behind one of jaz­z’s most inter­est­ing and illus­tri­ous lega­cies. Cole­man strode into the fifties and six­ties with a hand­ful of van­guard artists—Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Dave Brubeck—and, as the New York Times writes, “widened the options in jazz.” This meant tak­ing jazz places it had not been before, even­tu­al­ly into the psy­che­del­ic jams on Cole­man’s 1971 Sci­ence Fic­tion album, which fea­tures one track with “a ‘Pur­ple Haze’-styled bassline through a wah-wah ped­al,” Jaz­zTimes wrote in 2000, while “Ornette over­dubs on trum­pet and vio­lin and Dewey Red­man wails on musette over Ed Black­well’s inim­itable groove.” The track “Hap­py House” seems to bend space and time in new direc­tions, pair­ing two trum­pet play­ers and two drummers—one for each ear in stereo record­ing.

Cole­man’s free form will­ing­ness to exper­i­ment made him a sought after col­lab­o­ra­tor (at least once against his will) with artists who also bent, or invent­ed, their own genre bound­aries. Thir­ty-two years after Sci­ence Fic­tion, Cole­man made an appear­ance on the 2003 Edgar Allan Poe-trib­ute The Raven, a late album by Lou Reed, the pio­neer­ing artist who took pop and R&B down a dark, psy­che­del­ic path.

The result­ing col­lab­o­ra­tion, which you can hear at the top of the post, just bare­ly holds togeth­er in a gospel/free jazz/funk groove that hyp­no­tizes even as it bewil­ders lis­ten­ers, giv­ing us an ensem­ble of musi­cians each hear­ing slight­ly dif­fer­ent rhythms and tim­bres in the repet­i­tive drone of Reed’s lead vocal.

Reed was excit­ed about Cole­man’s con­tri­bu­tion, writ­ing on his web­site, “THIS IS ONE OF MY GREATEST MOMENTS.” The jazz great “did sev­en versions—all dif­fer­ent and all amaz­ing and won­drous.” You can hear four above. “Each take,” Reed explains, “is Ornette play­ing against a dif­fer­ent instrument—ie drum, gui­tar 1 gui­tar 2 etc. Lis­ten to this!!!” And lis­ten you should. Try to fig­ure out which of the sev­en takes made the album ver­sion above. Then lis­ten to them again. Then read this inter­view between Jacques Der­ri­da and Cole­man in which he explains how he came to devel­op his sin­u­ous style, one writes the New York Times Ben Ratliff, less behold­en to the rules of har­mo­ny and rhythm” and more in tune with “an intu­itive, col­lec­tive musi­cal lan­guage.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da Inter­views Jazz Leg­end Ornette Cole­man: Talk Impro­vi­sa­tion, Lan­guage & Racism (1997)

Charles Min­gus Explains in His Gram­my-Win­ning Essay “What is a Jazz Com­pos­er?”

Lou Reed Rewrites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” See Read­ings by Reed and Willem Dafoe

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

The Sketchbook Project Presents Online 24,000 Sketchbooks, Created by Artists from 135 Countries

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Artist: Helen Sander­son

If you love some­thing give it away.

If it doesn’t come back to you, it was nev­er real­ly yours…

Or, it’s a labor of love you cre­at­ed under the aus­pices of the Brook­lyn Art Library, with the full knowl­edge that giv­ing it away is a cost of par­tic­i­pa­tion.

Every year, thou­sands of artists, from the expe­ri­enced to the fledg­ling, pay a nom­i­nal fee to fill a 5x7 sketch­book with a cus­tom bar­code. Upon com­ple­tion, the books are to be mailed back to the one room Art Library, to become part of the per­ma­nent col­lec­tion, cur­rent­ly over 34,000 vol­umes strong (24,000 of which appear online). Vis­i­tors receive free library cards that allow them to view as many vol­umes as they like in-house, three at a time.

Artists will­ing to cough up a slight­ly more sub­stan­tial fee can have their book dig­i­tized for online view­ing at The Sketch­book Project.

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Artist: Tim Oliveira

In their vir­gin state, the sketch­books are uni­form. From there, any­thing goes, pro­vid­ed they retain their orig­i­nal height and width, and swell to no more than an inch thick. (Messy, gooey books might face rejec­tion, in part because they threat­en to con­t­a­m­i­nate the herd.)

Dip in at ran­dom and you will find an aston­ish­ing array of fin­ished work: messy, metic­u­lous, inti­mate, inscrutable, self-mock­ing, sin­cere, abstract, nar­ra­tive, care­ful­ly plot­ted, utter­ly impro­vi­sa­tion­al, accom­plished, ama­teur — ren­dered in a wide vari­ety of media, includ­ing ball point pen and col­lage.

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Artist: Estel­la Yu

My favorite way to browse the col­lec­tion, whether in per­son or online, is by select­ing a theme, just as the artists do when sign­ing up for the annu­al project. 2016’s themes include  “sand­wich,” “great hopes and mas­sive fail­ures,” and “Ahhh! Mon­ster!”

(“I’ll choose my own theme” is a peren­ni­al menu offer­ing.)

The theme that guid­ed the artists whose work is pub­lished here­in is “Things Found on Restau­rant Nap­kins.” Would you have guessed?

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Artist: Christo­pher Mof­fitt

You can also search on spe­cif­ic words or medi­ums, artists’ names, and geo­graph­ic loca­tions. To date, The Sketch­book Project has received sketch­books by cre­ative peo­ple from 135+ coun­tries.

Those ready to take the Brook­lyn Art Library’s Sketch­book Project plunge can enlist here. Don’t fret about your qualifications—co-founders Steven Peter­man and Shane Zuck­er have made things demo­c­ra­t­ic, which is to say uncu­rat­ed, by design.

sketchbook6

Artist: Bet­ty Esper­an­za

via The New York­er

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New York Pub­lic Library Puts 20,000 Hi-Res Maps Online & Makes Them Free to Down­load and Use

Down­load 422 Free Art Books from The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art

LA Coun­ty Muse­um Makes 20,000 Artis­tic Images Avail­able for Free Down­load

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Her 2011 sketch­book, “I’m a Scav­enger” is housed in the Brook­lyn Art Library. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Smithsonian Digitizes & Lets You Download 40,000 Works of Asian and American Art

Freer 1

Art lovers who vis­it my home­town of Wash­ing­ton, DC have an almost embar­rass­ing wealth of oppor­tu­ni­ties to view art col­lec­tions clas­si­cal, Baroque, Renais­sance, mod­ern, post­mod­ern, and oth­er­wise through the Smith­son­ian’s net­work of muse­ums. From the East and West Wings of the Nation­al Gallery, to the Hir­sh­horn, with its won­drous sculp­ture gar­den, to the Amer­i­can Art Muse­um and Ren­wick Gallery—I’ll admit, it can be a lit­tle over­whelm­ing, and far too much to take in dur­ing a week­end jaunt, espe­cial­ly if you’ve got rest­less fam­i­ly in tow. (One can’t, after all, miss the Nat­ur­al His­to­ry or Air and Space Muse­ums… or, you know… those mon­u­ments.)

Freer 2

In all the bus­tle of a DC vaca­tion, how­ev­er, one col­lec­tion tends to get over­looked, and it is one of my per­son­al favorites—the Freer and Sack­ler Gal­leries, which house the Smithsonian’s unique col­lec­tion of Asian art, includ­ing the James McNeill Whistler-dec­o­rat­ed Pea­cock Room. (See his “Har­mo­ny in Blue and Gold” above.)

Stand­ing in this re-cre­ation of muse­um founder Charles Freer’s per­son­al 19th cen­tu­ry gallery—which he had relo­cat­ed from Lon­don to his Detroit man­sion in 1904—is an aes­thet­ic expe­ri­ence like no oth­er. And like most such expe­ri­ences, there real­ly is no vir­tu­al equiv­a­lent. Nonethe­less, should you have to hus­tle past the Freer and Sack­ler col­lec­tions on your DC vaca­tion, or should you be unable to vis­it the nation’s cap­i­tal at all, you can still get a taste of the beau­ti­ful works of art these build­ings con­tain.

Freer 3

Like many major muse­ums all over the world—including the Nation­al Gallery, the Rijksmu­se­um, The British Library, and over 200 oth­ers—the Freer/Sackler has made its col­lec­tion, all of it, avail­able to view online. You can also down­load much of it.

See del­i­cate 16th cen­tu­ry Iran­ian water­col­ors like “Woman with a spray of flow­ers” (top), pow­er­ful Edo peri­od Japan­ese ink on paper draw­ings like “Thun­der god” (above), and aston­ish­ing­ly intri­cate 15th cen­tu­ry Tibetan designs like the “Four Man­dala Vajravali Thang­ka” (below). And so, so much more.

As Freer/Sackler direc­tor Julian Raby describes the ini­tia­tive, “We strive to pro­mote the love and study of Asian art, and the best way we can do so is to free our unmatched resources for inspi­ra­tion, appre­ci­a­tion, aca­d­e­m­ic study, and artis­tic cre­ation.” There are, writes the gal­leries’ web­site, Ben­to, “thou­sands of works now ready for you to down­load, mod­i­fy, and share for non­com­mer­cial pur­pos­es.” More than 40,000, to be fair­ly pre­cise.

Freer 4

You can browse the col­lec­tion to your heart’s con­tent by “object type,” top­ic, name, place, date, or “on view.” Or you can con­duct tar­get­ed search­es for spe­cif­ic items. In addi­tion to cen­turies of art from all over the far and near East, the col­lec­tion includes a good deal of 19th cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can art, like the sketch of Whistler’s moth­er, below, per­haps a prepara­to­ry draw­ing for his most famous paint­ing. Though I do rec­om­mend that you vis­it these exquis­ite gal­leries in per­son if you can, you must at least take in their col­lec­tions via this gen­er­ous online col­lec­tion and its boun­ty of inter­na­tion­al artis­tic trea­sures. Get start­ed today.

Whistler 1

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 35,000 Works of Art from the Nation­al Gallery, Includ­ing Mas­ter­pieces by Van Gogh, Gau­guin, Rem­brandt & More

40,000 Art­works from 250 Muse­ums, Now View­able for Free at the Redesigned Google Art Project

Rijksmu­se­um Dig­i­tizes & Makes Free Online 210,000 Works of Art, Mas­ter­pieces Includ­ed!

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

The Sex Pistols’ 1976 Manchester “Gig That Changed the World,” and the Day the Punk Era Began

“Ever get the feel­ing you’ve been cheat­ed?”

John­ny Rot­ten aka John Lydon’s clos­ing words at the last Sex Pis­tols gig (watch it online) seemed apt this week when Vir­gin Bank announced their cur­rent line of cred­it cards would fea­ture the band’s sig­na­ture art­work. That Jamie Reid’s famous cut-n-paste zine-cum-Sit­u­a­tion­al­ist aes­thet­ic has turned into a bit of cap­i­tal­ist plas­tic for your wal­let is an irony that the Sex Pis­tols might nev­er have seen com­ing back in 1976, when they played the “gig that changed the world.”

Recre­at­ed above in a clip from Michael Winterbottom’s 24 Hour Par­ty Peo­ple, the June 4, 1976 gig at Manchester’s Less­er Free Trade Hall spawned the British punk move­ment and the post-punk move­ment that was soon to fol­low in a scant two years. For in the audi­ence were future mem­bers of the Buz­zcocks Howard Devo­to and Pete Shel­ley (who orga­nized the gig and opened for the Pis­tols); a nascent ver­sion of Joy Divi­sion; the two founders of Fac­to­ry Records Mar­tin Han­net and Tony Wil­son; Mark E. Smith of The Fall, Mick Huck­nall of Fran­tic Ele­va­tors and much lat­er Sim­ply Red; and a one Steven Patrick Mor­ris­sey, who would form The Smiths. (That’s Steve Coogan play­ing Tony Wil­son in the clip, by the way.)

The Sex Pis­tols played 13 songs in their set, includ­ing cov­ers of Dave Berry’s “Don’t Give Me No Lip Child,” Paul Revere and the Raiders “(I’m Not Your) Step­ping Stone”, the Small Faces “What’cha Gonna Do About It,” The Stooges’ “No Fun”, and The Who’s “Sub­sti­tute.” When asked for an encore, they played “No Fun” again.

Of their orig­i­nals, their two most famous songs–”God Save the Queen” and “Anar­chy in the U.K.” had yet to be written–but “Pret­ty Vacant,” “Prob­lems,” “New York,” “No Feel­ings” are all here in their raw form.

A few songs nev­er made it onto their first album, but can be found on their heav­i­ly boot­legged demo tape they record­ed the same year.

Also of note is how non “punk” the mem­bers are dressed, not in the sense of how Mal­colm McLaren and Vivi­enne West­wood would design, pack­age and sell the fash­ion. The boys look clos­er to the work­ing class job­bers of ear­ly Devo and the Stooges. Plus: no Sid Vicious. He’d come lat­er. That’s Glen Mat­lock on bass, who left the band in ear­ly ’77 after clash­ing with Lydon. He went on to form Rich Kids with Midge Ure.

When the Pis­tols returned to Lon­don, every­body in Man­ches­ter and beyond had start­ed a band, or at least that’s how it felt. By the time the Pis­tols got back to Lon­don, The Clash and The Damned had formed. And even if you hadn’t been at Less­er Free Trade Hall, you told your friends you had been and picked up a gui­tar.

The Sex Pis­tols would return three weeks lat­er to play the Hall again, play­ing to hun­dreds this time and solid­i­fy­ing the dawn of the punk era.

Below is a BBC doc­u­men­tary on the famous gig, telling­ly titled I Swear I Was There, which has an accom­pa­ny­ing book.

On a side note: Less­er Free Trade Hall–named after the rad­i­cal Free Trade polit­i­cal move­ment–was the site of anoth­er famous moment in rock his­to­ry. It was here that a new­ly elec­tri­fied Bob Dylan was called “Judas” by a very upset folk music fan.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sex Pis­tols Do Dal­las: A Strange Con­cert from the Strangest Tour in His­to­ry (Jan­u­ary 10, 1978)

John­ny Rotten’s Cor­dial Let­ter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pis­tols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

Sid Vicious Sings Paul Anka’s “My Way” in His Own Spec­tac­u­lar Way

Rock Crit­ic Greil Mar­cus Picks 10 Unex­pect­ed Songs That Tell the Sto­ry of Rock ‘n’ Roll

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.

Hear Friedrich Nietzsche’s Classical Piano Compositions: They’re Aphoristic Like His Philosophy

In March, we fea­tured 43 orig­i­nal tracks of clas­si­cal music by philoso­pher and self-taught com­pos­er Friedrich Niet­zsche, bet­ter known as the author of books like Thus Spoke Zarathus­tra and Beyond Good and Evil. Despite the endur­ing impor­tance of his tex­tu­al out­put, Josh Jones not­ed that “what Niet­zsche loved most was music.” He “found the mun­dane work of pol­i­tics and nation­al­ist con­quest, with its trib­al­ism and moral pre­ten­sions, thor­ough­ly dis­taste­ful. Instead, he con­sid­ered the cre­ative work of artists, writ­ers, and musi­cians, as well as sci­en­tists, of para­mount impor­tance.”

Today we offer more of the eccen­tric, high­ly opin­ion­at­ed 19th-cen­tu­ry Ger­man philoso­pher’s musi­cal side. In the playlist just above, you can hear his piano com­po­si­tions as col­lect­ed on Michael Krück­er’s Friedrich Niet­zsche: Com­plete Solo Piano Works. “Most of the works on this album date from the 1860s, when [Niet­zsche] was a cel­e­brat­ed young pro­fes­sor and philoso­pher,” writes All­Mu­sic’s James Man­heim. “The music is light, often qua­si-impro­visato­ry, and some of it resem­bles the key­board music of the com­pos­er whom Niet­zsche extolled lat­er in life, Georges Bizet. The most sub­stan­tial piece, the 20-minute Hym­nus an die Fre­und­schaft, was essen­tial­ly his last com­po­si­tion, but he lat­er reworked it with texts by his then-love inter­est, Lou Andreas-Salomé; that ver­sion was lat­er arranged for cho­rus and orches­tra by anoth­er com­pos­er.”

Man­heim also notes that this selec­tion of piano pieces, in their brevi­ty, sug­gest that “the apho­ris­tic style of Niet­zsche’s late writ­ings was antic­i­pat­ed by his musi­cal think­ing.” Enthu­si­asts of Niet­zsche’s life and career will cer­tain­ly find them­selves mak­ing even more con­nec­tions between his musi­cal and philo­soph­i­cal work than that. But those look­ing for his moti­va­tion to work in this purest of all arts per­haps need look no fur­ther than this typ­i­cal­ly unequiv­o­cal pro­nounce­ment: “With­out music, life would be a mis­take.”

You can find more Niet­zschean piano com­po­si­tions below, these per­formed by Dorothea Klotz. To hear the music, you will need to down­load Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, if you haven’t already.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Clas­si­cal Music Com­posed by Friedrich Niet­zsche: 43 Orig­i­nal Tracks

130+ Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

The Phi­los­o­phy of Niet­zsche: An Intro­duc­tion by Alain de Bot­ton

A Free Playlist of Music From The Works Of James Joyce (Plus Songs Inspired by the Mod­ernist Author)

The Dig­i­tal Niet­zsche: Down­load Nietzsche’s Major Works as Free eBooks

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

 

The Entirety of Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless Artfully Compressed Into a 3 Minute Film

Gérard Courant is a French film­mak­er, who, at least until 2011, held the dis­tinc­tion of direct­ing the longest film ever made. Clock­ing in at 192 hours, and shot over 36 years (1978–2006), Ciné­ma­ton con­sist­ed of “a series of over 2,880 silent vignettes (ciné­ma­tons), each 3 min­utes and 25 sec­onds long, of var­i­ous celebri­ties, artists, jour­nal­ists and friends of the direc­tor, each doing what­ev­er they want for the allot­ted time.” Ken Loach, Wim Wen­ders, Ter­ry Gilliam, Julie Delpy all made appear­ances. And so too did Jean-Luc Godard. (See below.)

While mak­ing Ciné­ma­ton, Courant also cre­at­ed anoth­er kind of exper­i­men­tal film — what he calls “com­pressed” films. In 1995, he shot Com­pres­sion de Alphav­ille, an accel­er­at­ed homage to Jean-Luc Godard 1965 sci-fi filmAlphav­ille. Then came a “com­pres­sion” (top) of Godard­’s À bout de souffle/Breathless (1960), the clas­sic of French New Wave cin­e­ma.

Dur­ing the 1960s and 1970s, when Courant came of age as a film­mak­er, sculp­tors like César Bal­dac­ci­ni cre­at­ed art by com­press­ing every­day objects–like Coke cans–into mod­ern sculp­tures. So Courant took things a step fur­ther and fig­ured why not com­press art itself. Why not com­press a 90 minute film into 3–4 min­utes, while keep­ing the plot of the orig­i­nal film firm­ly intact.

Along the way, Courant asked him­self: Do com­pressed films hon­or the orig­i­nal? Does one have the right to touch these mas­ter­pieces? And can one decom­press these com­pressed films and then return them to their orig­i­nal form? Pon­der these ques­tions as you watch the exam­ples above.

Note: If you read French, Courant gives more of the back­sto­ry on his com­pressed films here.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jean-Luc Godard Gives a Dra­mat­ic Read­ing of Han­nah Arendt’s “On the Nature of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism”

A Young Jean-Luc Godard Picks the 10 Best Amer­i­can Films Ever Made (1963)

Jef­fer­son Air­plane Wakes Up New York; Jean-Luc Godard Cap­tures It (1968)

Watch the Rolling Stones Write “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il”: From Jean-Luc Godard’s ’68 Film One Plus One

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Jim Jarmusch’s 10 Favorite Films: Ozu’s Tokyo Story, Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai and Other Black & White Classics

Jim Jar­musch, like his younger com­pa­tri­ots in film­mak­ing Quentin Taran­ti­no and Wes Ander­son, made his name as much with his taste as with his body of work. Or maybe it makes more sense to say that he’s made his name in large part by mak­ing films shaped by, and show­cas­ing, that taste. This seems to have held espe­cial­ly true in the case of Only Lovers Left Alive, his most recent fea­ture, which focus­es on a mar­ried cou­ple of vam­pire aes­thetes who split their time between her place in Tang­i­er stacked with yel­lowed vol­umes of poet­ry, and his decay­ing Detroit Vic­to­ri­an decked out with a noise-rock record­ing stu­dio and an iPhone patched through an old tube tele­vi­sion.

So Jar­musch’s fans will by def­i­n­i­tion have some famil­iar­i­ty with the direc­tor’s pref­er­ences in cloth­ing, music, Euro­pean cul­tures, and nich­es of Amer­i­cana. But what about in oth­er movies? Here we have a top ten list from the mak­er of Per­ma­nent Vaca­tion, Mys­tery Train, and Night on Earth, orig­i­nal­ly com­posed for the British Film Insti­tute’s 2002 Sight and Sound top ten poll. Three of Jar­musch’s selec­tions you can watch online here, or find them in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

  1. L’Atalante (1934, Jean Vigo)
  2. Tokyo Sto­ry (1953, Yasu­jiro Ozu)
  3. They Live by Night (1949, Nicholas Ray)
  4. Bob le Flam­beur (1955, Jean-Pierre Melville)
  5. Sun­rise (1927, F.W. Mur­nau) 
  6. The Cam­era­man (1928, Buster Keaton/Edward Sedg­wick) 
  7. Mouchette (1967, Robert Bres­son)
  8. Sev­en Samu­rai (1954, Aki­ra Kuro­sawa)
  9. Bro­ken Blos­soms (1919, D.W. Grif­fith) 
  10. Rome, Open City (1945, Rober­to Rosselli­ni)

The true Jar­musch enthu­si­ast will imme­di­ate­ly notice a num­ber of con­nec­tions between his own pic­tures and those he names as his favorites. He began his career work­ing as an assis­tant to the direc­tor of They Live by Night, Nicholas Ray (and you can even glimpse Jar­musch in Light­ning Over Water, Wim Wen­ders’ doc­u­men­tary on Ray’s final years).

Jar­musch’s Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samu­rai shares not just tit­u­lar but philo­soph­i­cal qual­i­ties with Kuro­sawa’s Sev­en Samu­rai. With Bob le Flam­beur, Jean-Pierre Melville gave birth to cin­e­mat­ic “cool,” a tra­di­tion Jar­musch has done his lev­el best to uphold. And if D.W. Grif­fith’s Bro­ken Blos­soms sounds a bit like Bro­ken Flow­ers, the sim­i­lar­i­ties — the indi­rect ones, at least — don’t end there.

And all cinephiles, Jar­musch fans or oth­er­wise, will notice that he has includ­ed not a sin­gle col­or film among his top ten. Some of this might have to do with his gen­er­al­ly retro sen­si­bil­i­ty (some­thing to which even casu­al view­ers of his work can attest), but the likes of Stranger Than Par­adise, Down By Law, Dead Man, and Cof­fee and Cig­a­rettes sug­gest that he him­self counts as one of the finest users of black-and-white cin­e­matog­ra­phy in the mod­ern day. The vivid col­ors Yorick Le Saux cap­tured for him in Only Lovers Left Alive (and Christo­pher Doyle did in its pre­de­ces­sor, The Lim­its of Con­trol), sug­gest that Jar­musch’s uni­verse exists equal­ly well in both visu­al realms, but speak­ing from my own Jar­musch fan­dom, I do hope he has at least one more black-and-white pic­ture in him.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Two Short Films on Cof­fee and Cig­a­rettes from Jim Jar­musch & Paul Thomas Ander­son

Jim Jar­musch: The Art of the Music in His Films

Free: F. W. Murnau’s Sun­rise, the 1927 Mas­ter­piece Vot­ed the 5th Best Movie of All Time

Jim Jarmusch’s Anti-MTV Music Videos for Talk­ing Heads, Neil Young, Tom Waits & Big Audio Dyna­mite

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.


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