“May you live in interÂestÂing times,” goes the apocÂryphal but nevÂerÂtheÂless much-invoked “ChiÂnese curse.” Egon Schiele, born in the AusÂtria-HunÂgary of 1890, cerÂtainÂly did live in interÂestÂing times, and his work, as feaÂtured in the new Great Art Explained video above, can look like the creÂations of a cursed man. That’s espeÂcialÂly true of those of his many self-porÂtraits that, as host James Payne puts it, renÂder his own body “more emaÂciÂatÂed than it actuÂalÂly was, radÂiÂcalÂly disÂtortÂed and twistÂed, someÂtimes faceÂless or limbÂless, someÂtimes in abject terÂror.” Here Schiele worked at “an interÂsecÂtion of sufÂferÂing and sex, as if he is disÂgustÂed by his own body.”
Such a preÂocÂcuÂpaÂtion, as Payne sugÂgests, may not seem comÂpleteÂly unreaÂsonÂable in a man who witÂnessed his own father’s death from syphilis — caught from a prosÂtiÂtute, on the night of his wedÂding to Schiele’s mothÂer — when he was still in adoÂlesÂcence.
But what tends to occuÂpy most disÂcusÂsions of Schiele’s art is less his familÂial or psyÂchoÂlogÂiÂcal backÂground than his line: the “thin line between beauÂty and sufÂferÂing” that clearÂly obsessed him, yes, but also the line creÂatÂed by the hand with which he drew and paintÂed. His art remains immeÂdiÂateÂly recÂogÂnizÂable today because “his line has a parÂticÂuÂlar rhythm: anguÂlar, tense, and ecoÂnomÂiÂcalÂly placed. It’s not just a means of describÂing form; it’s a voice.”
In this voice, Schiele comÂposed not likeÂnessÂes but “psyÂchoÂlogÂiÂcal porÂtraits, a search for the self or the ego, a preÂocÂcuÂpaÂtion of the time.” The figÂure of SigÂmund Freud loomed large over fin-de-sièÂcle VienÂna, of course, and into the twenÂtiÂeth cenÂtuÂry, the city and its civÂiÂlizaÂtion were “caught between the old impeÂrÂiÂal order and modÂern demoÂcÂraÂtÂic moveÂments.” A “labÂoÂraÂtoÂry for psyÂchoÂanalyÂsis, radÂiÂcal art, music, and taboo-breakÂing litÂerÂaÂture,” VienÂna had also givÂen rise to the career of Schiele’s menÂtor GusÂtav Klimt. By the time Schiele hit his stride, he could express in his work “not just perÂsonÂal disÂcomÂfort, but the sickÂness and fragiliÂty of an entire sociÂety” — before he fell vicÂtim to the SpanÂish flu panÂdemÂic of 1918 at just 28 years old, along with his wife and unborn child. In a sense, he was unlucky to live when and where he did. But as his art also reminds us, we don’t mereÂly inhabÂit our time and place; we’re creÂatÂed by them.
RelatÂed ConÂtent:
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
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Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon is such a work of art that to split it up into nine tracks—like clasÂsic rock radio has done for years—always sounds nonÂsenÂsiÂcal. How can you just end “Breathe” on that final chord and not folÂlow it with the anaÂlog drones of “On the Run”? How can you play “Brain DamÂage” and not end with “Eclipse”? And how dare you fade the long coda of “MonÂey” and segue into a car comÂmerÂcial?
You can’t, moralÂly speakÂing, I’m telling you.
So that’s why I like the cut of the jib of the MarÂtin Miller SesÂsion Band, who comÂmit to covÂerÂing the entireÂty of Dark Side of the Moon in this one long stuÂdio perÂforÂmance. AccordÂing to Miller’s PatreÂon page, this is the only full album they’ve covÂered so far, and they pull through admirably.
And the thing that is refreshÂing here is that the band covÂers the album up to a point, but not slavÂishÂly. It’s not the FlamÂing Lips’ deconÂstrucÂtion or the surÂprisÂingÂly still lisÂtenÂable 8‑Bit verÂsion, but neiÂther is it the kind of tribÂute band like Brit Floyd (below). When Miller solos, he’s not aping David Gilmour. The keyÂboardist MarÂius Leicht has his own knobs to twidÂdle, so to speak. And drumÂmer Felix Lehrmann will nevÂer ever be conÂfused for Nick Mason. (In fact, he gets a lot of grief in the comÂments for being too flash, but when you watch Miller’s othÂer videos and see him givÂing StewÂart Copeland a run for his monÂey on their Police medÂley, you see where he’s comÂing from.)
KnowÂing what you’re in for, quesÂtions arise: are they going to include the varÂiÂous spoÂken samÂples sprinÂkled throughÂout (“I don’t know I was realÂly drunk at the time,” “There is no dark side of the moon realÂly…”). Answer: yes indeed, and funÂny they are too. Does a saxÂoÂphonÂist turn up for “MonÂey” and “Us and Them”? Answer: Yes, and it’s Michal SkulÂsÂki. Who can posÂsiÂbly match Clare Torry’s pipes on “The Great Gig in the Sky”? JenÂny Marsala does, thank you very much.
So I would setÂtle in and try to unlearn your memÂoÂry of every note and beat on the 1973 clasÂsic. By doing so, you’ll hear the album anew.
And after that, if you’re still hanÂkerÂing for that “even betÂter than the real thing” vibe, enjoy this full conÂcert, cirÂcuÂlar proÂjecÂtion screen and all, by the aforeÂmenÂtioned Brit Floyd, playÂing LivÂerÂpool in 2011.
Note: An earÂliÂer verÂsion of this post appeared on our site in 2020.
RelatÂed ConÂtent:
The Dark Side of the Moon Project: Watch an 8‑Part Video Essay on Pink Floyd’s ClasÂsic Album
Clare Torry’s Rare Live PerÂforÂmances of “Great Gig in the Sky” with Pink Floyd
Ted Mills is a freeÂlance writer on the arts.
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If any disÂcusÂsion of medieval medÂiÂcine gets going, it’s only a matÂter of time before someÂone brings up leechÂes. And it turns out that the cenÂtralÂiÂty of those squirmÂing blood-suckÂers to the treatÂment of disÂease in the MidÂdle Ages isn’t much overÂstatÂed, at least judgÂing by a look through CuriÂous Cures. A WellÂcome Research Resources Award-fundÂed project of the UniÂverÂsiÂty of CamÂbridge Libraries, it has recentÂly finÂished conÂservÂing, digÂiÂtizÂing, and makÂing availÂable online 190 manÂuÂscripts conÂtainÂing more than 7,000 pages of medieval medÂical recipes. These books conÂtain a wealth of inforÂmaÂtion even beyond the text on their pages: a mulÂti-specÂtral imagÂing analyÂsis of one of them, for examÂple, revealed that it was once owned by a cerÂtain “Thomas Word, leche” — or leech, i.e., a healÂer who made intenÂsive use of the tools you might imagÂine.

Not that the pracÂtice of medieval medÂiÂcine came down to applyÂing leechÂes and nothÂing more. In the manÂuÂscripts digÂiÂtized by CuriÂous Cures (which include not just strictÂly medÂical texts but also bibles, law texts, and books of hours), one finds a wonÂderÂland of dove feces, fox lungs, saltÂed owl, eel grease, weasel tesÂtiÂcles, quickÂsilÂver (i.e. merÂcury) — a wonÂderÂland for readÂers curiÂous about medieval forms of knowlÂedge, if not for the actuÂal patients who had to underÂgo these dubiÂous treatÂments.
But as any scholÂar of the subÂject would be quick to remind us, medÂical docÂuÂments in the MidÂdle Ages may have wanÂtonÂly mixed folk and “offiÂcial” knowlÂedge, but they were hardÂly reposÂiÂtoÂries of pure superÂstiÂtion: rather, they repÂreÂsent the best efforts of intelÂliÂgent peoÂple to underÂstand their own bodÂies and the world they inhabÂitÂed, withÂin the domÂiÂnant worldÂview of their time and place.

That was a time in which health was thought to be deterÂmined by the “four humors,” black bile, yelÂlow bile, blood and phlegm; a time when cerÂtain parts of plants or aniÂmals were believed to be in “symÂpaÂthetÂic” corÂreÂsponÂdence with cerÂtain parts of the human body; a time when repeatÂedÂly prayÂing while clipÂping one’s finÂgerÂnails, then buryÂing those clipÂpings in an elder tree, could plauÂsiÂbly cure a toothache. And now, it’s easÂiÂer than ever to get a sense of what it must have been like, thanks to CuriÂous Cures’ tranÂscribed, transÂlatÂed, and searchÂable archive of all these manÂuÂscripts. The more outÂlandish remeÂdies aside, what’s remarkÂable is how these books also acknowlÂedge the imporÂtance of what we would now call a good night’s sleep, regÂuÂlar exerÂcise, and a balÂanced, varÂied diet. Medievals may have underÂstood their own health betÂter than we imagÂine, but regardÂless, we’re probÂaÂbly not bringÂing back leechcraft anyÂtime soon.

RelatÂed ConÂtent:
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
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Image by DosseÂman, via WikiÂmeÂdia ComÂmons
In 2012, archaeÂolÂoÂgists disÂcovÂered in SouthÂern Turkey a well-preÂserved mosaÂic feaÂturÂing a skeleÂton savorÂing a loaf of bread and a pitchÂer of wine, surÂroundÂed by the Greek words “Be cheerÂful and live your life.” DatÂing back to the 3rd cenÂtuÂry BCE, the mosaÂic likeÂly adorned the dinÂing room of a wealthy vilÂla in the ancient GreÂco-Roman city of AntiÂoch. It’s a kind of memenÂto mori, a reminder that life is short and you should enjoy it while you can. Or so that’s how many have interÂpretÂed the mesÂsage of the mosaÂic.
If you would like to delve deepÂer, it’s worth readÂing the analyÂsis and backÂground inforÂmaÂtion proÂvidÂed by The HisÂtoÂry Blog. MeanÂwhile, this sepÂaÂrate post on TumÂblr highÂlights othÂer transÂlaÂtions and interÂpreÂtaÂtions of the mosaic’s key inscripÂtion.
If you would like to supÂport the misÂsion of Open CulÂture, conÂsidÂer makÂing a donaÂtion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your conÂtriÂbuÂtions will help us conÂtinÂue proÂvidÂing the best free culÂturÂal and eduÂcaÂtionÂal mateÂriÂals to learnÂers everyÂwhere. You can conÂtribute through PayÂPal, PatreÂon, and VenÂmo (@openculture). Thanks!
RelatÂed ConÂtent
A RabÂbit Rides a CharÂiÂot Pulled by Geese in an Ancient Roman MosaÂic (2nd cenÂtuÂry AD)
How to Make the 2000-Year-Old “PizÂza” DisÂcovÂered on a PomÂpeii FresÂco
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With the HalÂloween seaÂson mere months away, the time has come to start thinkÂing about what frightÂenÂing reads to line up for ourÂselves this year. Some of us may reach for Mary ShelÂley’s FrankenÂstein; or, The ModÂern Prometheus, a stoÂry we all think we know. But a look into its conÂtext reveals that what’s now regardÂed as a timeÂless clasÂsic was, in its day, quite a topÂiÂcal novÂel. IntroÂducÂing the 1931 James Whale film adapÂtaÂtion, the regÂuÂlar horÂror-movie playÂer Edward Van Sloan describes FrankenÂstein as dealÂing with “the two great mysÂterÂies of creÂation: life and death” — which, when ShelÂley’s novÂel was pubÂlished more than a cenÂtuÂry earÂliÂer, were yet more mysÂteÂriÂous still.
“WorÂried by the potenÂtial inabilÂiÂty to disÂtinÂguish between the states of life and death, two docÂtors, William Hawes and Thomas Cogan, set up the RoyÂal Humane SociÂety in LonÂdon in 1774,” writes Sharon RusÂton at The PubÂlic Domain Review. At the time, it was actuÂalÂly called the SociÂety for the RecovÂery of PerÂsons ApparÂentÂly Drowned, a name that would’ve douÂbled neatÂly as a misÂsion stateÂment. Falling into the rivers and canals of LonÂdon was, it seems, a comÂmon occurÂrence in those days, and few memÂbers of the pubÂlic posÂsessed the swimÂming skills to save themÂselves. Thus the SociÂety’s memÂbers took it upon themÂselves to devise methÂods of revivÂing those “perÂsons apparÂentÂly drowned,” whether their plunges were acciÂdenÂtalÂly or delibÂerÂateÂly takÂen.
One such attemptÂed suiÂcide, writes RusÂton, “seems to have been Mary Shelley’s mothÂer, the femÂiÂnist, Mary WollÂstonecraft,” who latÂer comÂplained about how, after leapÂing into the Thames, she was “inhuÂmanÂly brought back to life and misÂery.” That inciÂdent could well have done its part to inspire FrankenÂstein, though notions of revivÂing the dead were very much in the air at the time, not least due to the attenÂtion being paid to the pracÂtice of “GalÂvanism,” which involved stimÂuÂlatÂing the musÂcles of dead aniÂmals and human bodÂies to moveÂment using the then-novÂel pheÂnomÂeÂnon of elecÂtricÂiÂty. In the EngÂland of that hisÂtorÂiÂcal moment, it wasÂn’t entireÂly far-fetched to believe that the dead realÂly could be brought back to life.
You can learn more about the sciÂenÂtifÂic develÂopÂments, social changes, and human anxÂiÂeties (includÂing about the posÂsiÂbilÂiÂty of being buried alive) that formed FrankenÂstein’s culÂturÂal backÂground from the Vox HisÂtoÂry Club video above. In a way, it seems inevitable that someÂone in the earÂly nineÂteenth cenÂtuÂry would write about a sciÂenÂtist avant la letÂtre who dares to creÂate life from death. It just hapÂpened to be the teenage ShelÂley, to whom the idea came while engaged in a comÂpeÂtiÂtion with Lord Byron, the writer-physiÂcian John PoliÂdori, and her soon-to-be husÂband PerÂcy Bysshe ShelÂley to see who could write the scariÂest stoÂry. Two cenÂturies latÂer, the stoÂry of FrankenÂstein may no longer scare us, but as told by ShelÂley, it still has a way of soundÂing strangeÂly plauÂsiÂble.
RelatÂed conÂtent:
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
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“TomorÂrow NevÂer Knows” couldÂn’t be made today, and not just because the BeaÂtÂles already made it in 1966. MarkÂing perÂhaps the sinÂgle biggest step in the group’s artisÂtic evoÂluÂtion, that song is in every sense a prodÂuct of its time. The use of psyÂcheÂdelÂic drugs like LSD was on the rise in the counÂterÂculÂture, as was the awareÂness of the reliÂgion and music of farÂaway lands such as India. At the same moment, develÂopÂments in recordÂing-stuÂdio techÂnolÂoÂgy were makÂing new approachÂes posÂsiÂble, involvÂing sounds that musiÂcians nevÂer would have imagÂined tryÂing before — and, when brought togethÂer, proÂduced a result that many lisÂtenÂers of just a few years earÂliÂer would hardÂly have recÂogÂnized as music at all.
In the new You Can’t Unhear This video above, host RayÂmond Schillinger explains all that went into the recordÂing of “TomorÂrow NevÂer Knows,” which he calls “arguably the most pivÂotal song of the BeaÂtÂles’ career.” It seems that John had underÂgone some conÂsidÂerÂable expeÂriÂences durÂing the group’s five-month-long break after RubÂber Soul, givÂen that he turned up to EMI StuÂdios afterÂward with a song that “defied pretÂty much every conÂvenÂtion of pop music at the time: the lyrics didÂn’t rhyme, the chord proÂgresÂsion didÂn’t realÂly progress, and instead of romanÂtic love, the subÂject matÂter was expandÂing one’s psyÂchic conÂsciousÂness through ego death.” A young Geoff EmerÂick, who’d just been proÂmotÂed to the role of the BeaÂtÂles’ recordÂing engiÂneer, rose to the chalÂlenge of facilÂiÂtatÂing an equalÂly non-stanÂdard stuÂdio process.
The wholÂly new sonÂic texÂture that resultÂed owes in large part to the use of mulÂtiÂple tape loops, litÂerÂal secÂtions of audio tape conÂnectÂed at the beginÂning and end to allow theÂoÂretÂiÂcalÂly infiÂnite repÂeÂtiÂtion of their conÂtent. This was a fairÂly new musiÂcal techÂnolÂoÂgy at the time, and the BeaÂtÂles made use of it with gusÂto, creÂatÂing loops of all manÂner of sped-up sounds — an orchesÂtra playÂing, a MelÂlotron, a reversed IndiÂan sitar, Paul soundÂing like a seagÂull — and orchesÂtratÂing them “live” durÂing recordÂing. (Ringo’s drum track, despite what sounds like a superÂhuÂman regÂuÂlarÂiÂty in this conÂtext, was not, in fact a loop.) OthÂer techÂnoÂlogÂiÂcalÂly novÂel eleÂments includÂed John’s douÂble-tracked vocals run through a revolvÂing Leslie speakÂer and a backÂwards guiÂtar solo about whose authorÂship BeaÂtÂles enthuÂsiÂasts still argue.
What John had called “The Void,” was retiÂtled after one of Ringo’s sigÂnaÂture askew expresÂsions (“a hard day’s night” being anothÂer) in order to avoid drawÂing too much attenÂtion as a “drug song.” But lisÂtenÂers tapped into the LSD scene would have recÂogÂnized lyriÂcal inspiÂraÂtion drawn from The Tibetan Book of the Dead, the ancient work that also informed The PsyÂcheÂdelÂic ExpeÂriÂence, the guideÂbook by TimÂoÂthy Leary and Richard Alpert (latÂer Baba Ram Dass) with which John directÂed his own first trip. But even for the least turned-on BeaÂtÂle fan, “TomorÂrow NevÂer Knows” was “like stepÂping from a black-and-white world into full colÂor,” as Schillinger puts it. The BeaÂtÂles might have gone the way of the Rolling Stones and choÂsen to record in an AmerÂiÂcan stuÂdio rather than their home-away-from-home on Abbey Road, the unconÂvenÂtionÂal use of its less-than-cutÂting-edge gear resultÂed in what remains a vividÂly powÂerÂful disÂpatch from the anaÂlog era — even here in the twenÂty-twenÂties, when conÂsciousÂness expanÂsion itself has gone digÂiÂtal.
RelatÂed conÂtent:
How John Lennon Wrote the BeaÂtÂles’ Best Song, “A Day in the Life”
The AmazÂing RecordÂing HisÂtoÂry of The BeaÂtÂles’ “Here Comes the Sun”
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
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In his lifeÂtime, JackÂson PolÂlock had only one sucÂcessÂful art show. It took place at the BetÂty ParÂsons Gallery in New York in NovemÂber 1949, and afterÂward, his felÂlow abstract expresÂsionÂist Willem de KoonÂing declared that “JackÂson has finalÂly broÂken the ice.” PerÂhaps, accordÂing to Louis Menand’s book The Free World: Art and Thought in the Cold War, he meant that “PolÂlock was the first AmerÂiÂcan abstracÂtionÂist to break into the mainÂstream art world, or he might have meant that PolÂlock had broÂken through a stylÂisÂtic logÂjam that AmerÂiÂcan painters felt blocked by.” WhatÂevÂer its intent, de KoonÂing’s remark annoyed art critÂic and major PolÂlock advoÂcate Clement GreenÂberg, who “thought that it reduced PolÂlock to a tranÂsiÂtionÂal figÂure.”
It wasÂn’t necÂesÂsarÂiÂly a reducÂtion: as Menand sees it, “all figÂures are tranÂsiÂtionÂal. Not every figÂure, howÂevÂer, is a hinge, someÂone who repÂreÂsents a moment when one mode of pracÂtice swings over to anothÂer.” PolÂlock was such a hinge, as, in his way, was GreenÂberg: “After PolÂlock, peoÂple paintÂed difÂferÂentÂly. After GreenÂberg, peoÂple thought about paintÂing difÂferÂentÂly.”
When they made their mark, “there was no going back.” GalÂlerist-YouTuÂber James Payne examÂines the nature of that mark in the new Great Art Explained video above, the first of a mulÂti-part series on PolÂlockÂ’s art and the figÂures that made its culÂturÂal impact posÂsiÂble. Even more imporÂtant than GreenÂberg, in Payne’s telling, is PolÂlockÂ’s felÂlow artist — and, in time, wife — Lee KrasÂner, whose own work he also gives its due.
We also see the paintÂings of AmerÂiÂcan regionÂalÂist Thomas Hart BenÂton, PolÂlockÂ’s teacher; MexÂiÂcan muralÂist David Alfaro Siqueiros, in whose workÂshop PolÂlock parÂticÂiÂpatÂed; and even Pablo PicasÂso, who exertÂed subÂtle but detectable influÂences of his own on PolÂlockÂ’s work. OthÂer, non-artisÂtic sources of inspiÂraÂtion Payne explores include the psyÂchoÂlogÂiÂcal theÂoÂry of Carl GusÂtav Jung, with whose school of therÂaÂpy PolÂlock engaged in the late nineÂteen-thirÂties and earÂly forÂties. It was in those sesÂsions that he proÂduced the “psyÂchoÂanÂaÂlytÂic drawÂings,” one of sevÂerÂal catÂeÂgories of PolÂlockÂ’s work that will surÂprise those who know him only through his large-canÂvas, wholÂly abstract drip paintÂings. Each repÂreÂsents one stage of a comÂplex evoÂluÂtionÂary process: PolÂlock may have been the ideÂal artist for the new, post-war AmerÂiÂcan world, but he hardÂly came fulÂly formed out of Wyoming.
RelatÂed conÂtent:
The MoMA TeachÂes You How to Paint Like PolÂlock, Rothko, de KoonÂing & OthÂer Abstract Painters
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
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This week, BriÂan WilÂson became the last of the WilÂson brothÂers to shufÂfle off this morÂtal coil. DenÂnis, the first of the Wilsons to go, died young in 1983 — but not before offerÂing this memÂoÂrable assessÂment of the famÂiÂly musiÂcal project: “BriÂan WilÂson is the Beach Boys. He is the band. We’re his mesÂsenÂgers. He is all of it. PeriÂod. We’re nothÂing.” That was a bit harsh: DenÂnis may not have been a virÂtuÂoso drumÂmer, but Beach Boys enthuÂsiÂasts all credÂit his faintÂly despairÂing songs with enrichÂing the band’s sigÂnaÂture emoÂtionÂal landÂscape. BriÂan may have writÂten “God Only Knows,” but he did so with his brothÂer CarÂl’s voice in mind. And could even BriÂan’s othÂer masÂterÂpiece “Good VibraÂtions” have made the same impact withÂout the parÂticÂiÂpaÂtion of his much-resentÂed cousin Mike Love?
Still, withÂout BriÂan’s orchesÂtraÂtion, the othÂer Beach Boys’ voicÂes would nevÂer have come togethÂer in the powÂerÂful way they did, to say nothÂing of the conÂtriÂbuÂtions of the countÂless stuÂdio musiÂcians who played on their recordÂings. Before “Good VibraÂtions,” nevÂer had a pop song owed so much to so many musiÂcians — and, at the same time, even more to the ferÂtile and unconÂvenÂtionÂal sonÂic imagÂiÂnaÂtion of just one man.
LaboÂriÂousÂly craftÂed over sevÂen months in four difÂferÂent stuÂdios, it came out in OctoÂber of 1966 as the most expenÂsive sinÂgle ever proÂduced. Its then-epic length of 3:35 filled CapiÂtol Records with doubts about its radio viaÂbilÂiÂty, but that turned out to be an astonÂishÂingÂly brief runÂning time to conÂtain the sheer comÂpoÂsiÂtionÂal intenÂsiÂty that soon got the song labeled a “pockÂet symÂphoÂny.”
“Good VibraÂtions” and its myrÂiÂad intriÂcaÂcies are scruÂtiÂnized to this day, most recentÂly in video essays like the ones you see here. On his Youtube chanÂnel PolyÂphonÂic, Noah Lefevre calls it “dense enough that you could teach an entire music course on it.” David HartÂley grants it the staÂtus of “probÂaÂbly the most comÂplex song ever recordÂed,” and even “the first song ever creÂatÂed using copy and paste.” Long before the era of digÂiÂtal audio workÂstaÂtions, BriÂan WilÂson used wholÂly anaÂlog stuÂdio techÂnolÂoÂgy to string togethÂer “feels,” his name for the disÂparate fragÂments of music in his mind. His method conÂtributed to the symÂphonÂic conÂstrucÂtion of “Good VibraÂtions,” and his willÂingÂness to folÂlow the mood wherÂevÂer it led resultÂed in the song’s disÂtincÂtive use of an ElecÂtro-Theremin. Despite all this, some lisÂtenÂers still quesÂtion his cenÂtralÂiÂty to the Beach Boys’ music; for them, there will always be “KokoÂmo.”
RelatÂed conÂtent:
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
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Three Yale proÂfesÂsors—TimÂoÂthy SnyÂder, Jason StanÂley and MarÂci Shore–have spent their careers studyÂing fasÂcism and authorÂiÂtarÂiÂanÂism. They know the signs of emergÂing authorÂiÂtarÂiÂanÂism when they see it. Now, they’re seeÂing those signs here in the UnitÂed States, and they’re not sitÂting by idly. They’ve moved to the UniÂverÂsiÂty of ToronÂto where they can speak freely, withÂout fearÂing perÂsonÂal or instiÂtuÂtionÂal retÂriÂbuÂtion. Above, they share their views in the NYTimes Op-Doc. It comes prefÂaced with the text below:
Legal resÂiÂdents of the UnitÂed States sent to forÂeign prisÂons withÂout due process. StuÂdents detained after voicÂing their opinÂions. FedÂerÂal judges threatÂened with impeachÂment for rulÂing against the administration’s priÂorÂiÂties.
In this OpinÂion video, MarÂci Shore, TimÂoÂthy SnyÂder and Jason StanÂley, all proÂfesÂsors at Yale and experts in authorÂiÂtarÂiÂanÂism, explain why AmerÂiÂca is espeÂcialÂly vulÂnerÂaÂble to a demoÂcÂraÂtÂic backÂslidÂing — and why they are leavÂing the UnitÂed States to take up posiÂtions at the UniÂverÂsiÂty of ToronÂto.
ProÂfesÂsor StanÂley is leavÂing the UnitÂed States as an act of protest against the Trump administration’s attacks on civÂil libÂerÂties. “I want AmerÂiÂcans to realÂize that this is a demoÂcÂraÂtÂic emerÂgency,” he said.
ProÂfesÂsor Shore, who has spent two decades writÂing about the hisÂtoÂry of authorÂiÂtarÂiÂanÂism in CenÂtral and EastÂern Europe, is leavÂing because of what she sees as the sharp regresÂsion of AmerÂiÂcan democÂraÂcy. “We’re like peoÂple on the TitanÂic sayÂing our ship can’t sink,” she said. “And what you know as a hisÂtoÂriÂan is that there is no such thing as a ship that can’t sink.”
She borÂrows from politÂiÂcal and apoÂlitÂiÂcal SlavÂic motifs and expresÂsions, arguÂing that the EngÂlish lanÂguage does not fulÂly capÂture the demoÂcÂraÂtÂic regresÂsion in this AmerÂiÂcan moment.
ProÂfesÂsor Snyder’s reaÂsons are more comÂpliÂcatÂed. PriÂmarÂiÂly, he’s leavÂing to supÂport his wife, ProÂfesÂsor Shore, and their chilÂdren, and to teach at a large pubÂlic uniÂverÂsiÂty in ToronÂto, a place he says can host conÂverÂsaÂtions about freeÂdom. At the same time, he shares the conÂcerns expressed by his colÂleagues and worÂries that those kinds of conÂverÂsaÂtions will become ever hardÂer to have in the UnitÂed States.
“I did not leave Yale because of DonÂald Trump or because of ColumÂbia or because of threats to Yale — but that would be a reaÂsonÂable thing to do, and that is a deciÂsion that peoÂple will make,” he wrote in a Yale DaiÂly News artiÂcle explainÂing his deciÂsion to leave.
Their motives difÂfer but their analyÂsis is the same: ignorÂing or downÂplayÂing attacks on the rule of law, the courts and uniÂverÂsiÂties spells trouÂble for our democÂraÂcy.
To delve deepÂer into their work, see StanÂley and SnyÂder’s respecÂtive works: How FasÂcism Works: The PolÂiÂtics of Us and Them and On TyranÂny: TwenÂty Lessons from the TwenÂtiÂeth CenÂtuÂry.
RelatÂed ConÂtent
Actor John LithÂgow Reads 20 Lessons on TyranÂny, Penned by HisÂtoÂriÂan TimÂoÂthy SnyÂder
UmberÂto Eco’s List of the 14 ComÂmon FeaÂtures of FasÂcism
Toni MorÂriÂson Lists the 10 Steps That Lead CounÂtries to FasÂcism (1995)
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It can be temptÂing to view the box office’s domÂiÂnaÂtion by visuÂal-effects-laden HolÂlyÂwood specÂtaÂcle as a recent pheÂnomÂeÂnon. And indeed, there have been periÂods durÂing which that wasÂn’t the case: the “New HolÂlyÂwood” that began in the late nineÂteen sixÂties, for instance, when the old stuÂdio sysÂtem handÂed the reins to invenÂtive young guns like Peter BogÂdanovich, FranÂcis Ford CopÂpoÂla, and MarÂtin ScorsÂese. But lest we forÂget, that moveÂment met its end in the face of comÂpeÂtiÂtion from late-1970s blockÂbusters like Jaws and Star Wars, a new kind of blockÂbuster that sigÂnaled a return to the simÂple thrills of silent cinÂeÂma.
Even a cenÂtuÂry ago, many movieÂgoÂers expectÂed two expeÂriÂences above all: to be wowed, and to be made to laugh. No wonÂder that era saw visuÂal comeÂdiÂans like Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton, and CharÂlie ChapÂlin become not just the most famous actors in the world, but some of the most famous human beings in the world.
StayÂing on top required not just seriÂous perÂforÂmaÂtive skill, but also equalÂly seriÂous techÂniÂcal ingeÂnuÂity, as explained in the new Lost in Time video above. It breaks down just how Lloyd, Keaton, and ChapÂlin pulled off some of their career-definÂing stunts on film, putting the actuÂal clips alongÂside CGI reconÂstrucÂtions of the sets as they would have looked durÂing shootÂing.
When Lloyd hangs from the arms of a clock high above downÂtown Los AngeÂles in SafeÂty Last! (1923), he’s realÂly hangÂing high above downÂtown Los AngeÂles — albeit on a set conÂstructÂed atop a buildÂing, shot from a careÂfulÂly choÂsen angle. When the entire façade of a house falls around Keaton in SteamÂboat Bill, Jr. (1928), leavÂing him standÂing unharmed in a winÂdow frame, the façade actuÂalÂly fell around him — in a preÂciseÂly choreÂoÂgraphed manÂner, but with only a couÂple of inchÂes of clearÂance on each side. When a blindÂfoldÂed ChapÂlin skates perÂilousÂly close to a mulÂtiÂstoÂry drop in ModÂern Times (1936), he’s perÂfectÂly safe, the edge of the floor being nothÂing more than a matÂte paintÂing: one of those anaÂlog techÂnoloÂgies of movie magÂic whose obsoÂlesÂcence is still bemoaned by clasÂsic-film enthuÂsiÂasts, from whom CGI, no matÂter how expenÂsive, nevÂer quite thrills or amusÂes in the same way.
RelatÂed conÂtent:
The Art of CreÂatÂing SpeÂcial Effects in Silent Movies: IngeÂnuÂity Before the Age of CGI
Watch the Only Time CharÂlie ChapÂlin & Buster Keaton PerÂformed TogethÂer On-Screen (1952)
CharÂlie ChapÂlin Does Cocaine and Saves the Day in ModÂern Times (1936)
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
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