Search Results for "anal"

“Odyssey of the Ear”: A Beautiful Animation Shows How Sounds Travel Into Our Ears and Become Thoughts in Our Brain

As all school­child­ren know, we hear with our ears. And as all school­child­ren also prob­a­bly know, we hear with our brains — or if they don’t know it, at least they must sus­pect it, giv­en the way sounds around us seem to turn with­out effort into thoughts in our heads. But how? It’s the inter­face between ear and brain where things get more com­pli­cat­ed, but “Odyssey of the Ear,” the six-minute video above, makes it much clear­er just how sound gets through our ears and into our brains. Suit­able for view­ers of near­ly any age, it com­bines sil­hou­ette ani­ma­tion (of the kind pio­neered by Lotte Reiniger) with live action, pro­jec­tion, and even dance.

Accord­ing to the video, which was orig­i­nal­ly pro­duced as part of Har­vardX’s Fun­da­men­tals of Neu­ro­science course, the process works some­thing like this. Our out­er ear col­lects sounds from our envi­ron­ment when things vibrate in the phys­i­cal world, pro­duc­ing vari­a­tions in air pres­sure, or “sound waves” that pass through the air.

The sound waves enter the ear and pass down through the audi­to­ry canal, at the end of which they hit the ear drum. The ear drum trans­fers the vibra­tions of the sound waves to a “series of lit­tle bones,” three of them, called the ossi­cles, or “ham­mer, anvil, and stir­rup.” These trans­mit the sounds to the flu­id-filled inner ear through a mem­brane called the “oval win­dow.”

Inside the inner ear is the snail-shaped organ known as the cochlea, and inside the cochlea is the organ of cor­ti, and inside the organ of cor­ti are “thou­sands of audi­to­ry hair cells,” actu­al­ly recep­tor neu­rons called stere­ocil­ia, that “con­vert the motion ener­gy of sound waves into elec­tri­cal sig­nals that are com­mu­ni­cat­ed to the audi­to­ry nerve.” From there, “the sig­nal goes into struc­tures deep­er in the brain, until at last it reach­es the audi­to­ry cor­tex, where we con­scious­ly expe­ri­ence sound.” That con­scious expe­ri­ence of sound may make it feel as if we imme­di­ate­ly rec­og­nize and con­sid­er all the nois­es, voic­es, or music we hear, but as “Odyssey of the Ear” reveals, sound waves have to make quite an epic jour­ney before they reach our brains at all. At that point the waves them­selves may have dis­si­pat­ed, but they live on in our con­scious­ness. In oth­er words, “the brain has tak­en what was out­side and made it inside.”

via The Kids Should See This

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Eve­lyn Glen­nie (a Musi­cian Who Hap­pens to Be Deaf) Shows How We Can Lis­ten to Music with Our Entire Bod­ies

How Did Beethoven Com­pose His 9th Sym­pho­ny After He Went Com­plete­ly Deaf?

The Neu­ro­science of Bass: New Study Explains Why Bass Instru­ments Are Fun­da­men­tal to Music

The British Library’s “Sounds” Archive Presents 80,000 Free Audio Record­ings: World & Clas­si­cal Music, Inter­views, Nature Sounds & More

Feel Strange­ly Nos­tal­gic as You Hear Clas­sic Songs Reworked to Sound as If They’re Play­ing in an Emp­ty Shop­ping Mall: David Bowie, Toto, Ah-ha & More

The Vin­cent Van Gogh Action Fig­ure, Com­plete with Detach­able Ear

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

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Why Should We Read Flannery O’Connor? An Animated Video Makes the Case

Every time a sto­ry of mine appears in a Fresh­man anthol­o­gy, I have a vision of it, with its lit­tle organs laid open, like a frog in a bot­tle. –Flan­nery O’Connor, “A Rea­son­able Use of the Unrea­son­able”

Why did Flan­nery O’Connor write? To con­vert us? The devout Catholic was not immune to a cer­tain apolo­getic impulse, or a sense of her own pur­pose as a ves­sel for divine truth. Or did she, like Greek trage­di­ans, write to inspire pity and ter­ror? “I don’t have any pre­ten­sions,” she once demurred, “to being an Aeschy­lus or Sopho­cles and pro­vid­ing you in this sto­ry with a cathar­tic expe­ri­ence.” In any case, what drove her may be a less inter­est­ing ques­tion than what should dri­ve us to read her.

O’Connor wrote, as most great writ­ers do, because she was com­pelled to write. What we gain as read­ers is the deeply unset­tling, but also deeply plea­sur­able expe­ri­ence of rec­og­niz­ing our own flawed human­i­ty in her vio­lent, manip­u­la­tive char­ac­ters, none of whom, some­how, are ever beyond redemp­tion. O’Connor’s autho­r­i­al voice does not judge or con­demn but expos­es to light the flaws that even, or espe­cial­ly, her most respectable char­ac­ters would rather hide from them­selves and oth­ers.

By use of what she called “a rea­son­able use of the unrea­son­able” she shows mur­der, con­tempt, and decep­tion as shock­ing­ly ordi­nary states of affairs, bely­ing the polite fic­tions of civil­i­ty and social nice­ness. Per­haps no set­ting could bet­ter illu­mi­nate the con­trasts than the pious­ly vio­lent seg­re­gat­ed mid-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can South. O’Connor’s “mas­tery of the grotesque,” notes the TED-Ed video above by Iseult Gille­spie, “and her explo­rations of the insu­lar­i­ty and super­sti­tions of the South led her to be clas­si­fied as a ‘South­ern Goth­ic’ writer.”

The label may fit super­fi­cial­ly, but “her work pushed beyond the pure­ly ridicu­lous and fright­en­ing char­ac­ter­is­tics asso­ci­at­ed with the genre to reveal the vari­ety and nuance of human char­ac­ter.” O’Connor her­self sug­gest­ed that what set her apart were “the assump­tions… of the cen­tral Chris­t­ian mys­ter­ies.” Though we need not read her work this way, she grants, there is “none oth­er by which it could have been writ­ten.” We might say that her com­mit­ted belief in the idea of uni­ver­sal human deprav­i­ty gave her unique insight into the mean­ing­less­ness of class and race dis­tinc­tions. Few writ­ers have tak­en the idea as seri­ous­ly, or approached it with more wicked play­ful­ness.

Why did she write? One rea­son is she “took plea­sure in chal­leng­ing her read­ers,” as the video explains. But it was plea­sure that she chiefly desired to share. We can vivi­sect her sto­ries, carve them up and seal them in jars labeled with pol­i­tics and the­olo­gies. Yet “prop­er­ly, you ana­lyze to enjoy,” she wrote. “It’s equal­ly true that to ana­lyze with any dis­crim­i­na­tion, you have to have enjoyed already, and I think that the best rea­son to hear a sto­ry read is that it should stim­u­late that pri­ma­ry enjoy­ment.” Lovers of O’Connor know the answer to the ques­tion of why we should read her. Because they take as much plea­sure in read­ing her sto­ries as she did in writ­ing them.

Dis­cov­er this enjoy­ment on your own. Hear Studs Terkel read her sto­ry “Rev­e­la­tion,” hear Estelle Par­sons read “Every­thing that Ris­es Must Con­verge,” and hear O’Con­nor her­self read that 1959 clas­sic of her South­ern grotesque style, “A Good Man is Hard to Find.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear a Rare Record­ing of Flan­nery O’Connor Read­ing “A Good Man is Hard to Find” (1959)

Flan­nery O’Connor Ren­ders Her Ver­dict on Ayn Rand’s Fic­tion: It’s As “Low As You Can Get”

Flan­nery O’Connor’s Satir­i­cal Car­toons: 1942–1945

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

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George Orwell’s Essay “British Cookery” is Officially Published 70 Years After It Was Rejected by the British Council (1946)

Image by BBC, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Voltaire once joked that Britain had “a hun­dred reli­gions and only one sauce.” In my expe­ri­ence, that sauce is a cur­ry, which was already a British sta­ple in Voltaire’s time. No doubt he had some­thing much bland­er in mind. Of course, it’s all hyper­bol­ic fun until some­one takes offense, as did George Orwell in 1946, when he wrote, against Voltaire­an stereo­types, about the mis­un­der­stood plea­sures of British food. His essay, “British Cook­ery,” was com­mis­sioned by the British Coun­cil, but they sub­se­quent­ly deemed that it would be “’unwise to pub­lish,’” reports the Dai­ly Mail, “so soon after the hun­gry win­ter of 1946 and wartime rationing.”

Not that it mat­ters much now, but the Coun­cil has for­mal­ly apol­o­gized to the deceased Orwell, over 70 years lat­er. Senior pol­i­cy ana­lyst Alas­dair Don­ald­son explains they are “delight­ed to make amends” by pub­lish­ing the essay in full, along­side “the unfor­tu­nate rejec­tion let­ter.” You can read it here at the British Coun­cil site. Orwell grants that the British diet is “sim­ple, rather heavy, per­haps slight­ly bar­barous… with its main empha­sis on sug­ar and ani­mal fats…. Cheap restau­rants in Britain are almost invari­ably bad, while in expen­sive restau­rants the cook­ery is almost always French, or imi­ta­tion French.”

Else­where, he con­cedes, “the British are not great eaters of sal­ads.” Indeed, he says, “the two great short­com­ings of British cook­ery are a fail­ure to treat veg­eta­bles with due seri­ous­ness, and an exces­sive use of sug­ar.” He does go on at length, in fact, about what sounds like a nation­al epi­dem­ic of sug­ar addic­tion. Such laps­es of taste are also what we would now label a nutri­tion­al emer­gency. He may seem to grant too much to crit­ics of British cook­ing. But this is main­ly by con­trast with spici­er, more veg­etable-friend­ly cuisines of the con­ti­nent and colonies. The kind of cook­ing he describes makes cre­ative­ly var­ied uses of stur­dy but lim­it­ed local resources (except for the sug­ar).

Orwell’s bru­tal hon­esty about British food’s defi­cien­cies makes him sound like a trust­wor­thy guide to its true delights. One of the truths he tells is that “British cook­ery dis­plays more vari­ety and more orig­i­nal­i­ty than for­eign vis­i­tors are usu­al­ly ready to allow.” The aver­age vis­i­tor encoun­ters British food prin­ci­pal­ly in restau­rants, pubs, and hotels, which, “whether cheap or expen­sive” are not rep­re­sen­ta­tive of “the diet of the great mass of the peo­ple.” This may be said of many region­al cuisines. But Orwell is devot­ed to a native British cook­ing which had, at the time, almost dis­ap­peared after six years of war rationing.

This cook­ing is rich in roast and cold meats, cheeses, breads, York­shire and suet pud­dings, pota­toes and turnips. The British diet is, or was, Orwell writes, eat­en by the low­er and upper class­es alike, under dif­fer­ent names and prices. Sea­son­ings are few. “Gar­lic, for instance, is unknown in British cook­ery prop­er.” What stands out is mint, vine­gar, but­ter, dried fruits, jam, and mar­malade.

Orwell him­self includ­ed a mar­malade recipe. (A hand­writ­ten note reads “Bad recipe! Too much sug­ar and water.”), which you can see below. Decide for your­self how much sug­ar to add.

ORANGE MARMALADE 

Ingre­di­ents:

2 seville oranges

2 sweet oranges (no)

2 lemons (no)

8lbs of pre­serv­ing sug­ar

8 pints of water

Method. Wash and dry the fruit. Halve them and squeeze out the juice. Remove some of the pith, then shred the fruit fine­ly. Tie the pips in a muslin bag. Put the strained juice, rind and pips into the water and soak for 48 hours. Place in a large pan and sim­mer for 1/2 hours until the rind is ten­der. Leave to stand overnight, then add the sug­ar and let it dis­solve before bring­ing to the boil. Boil rapid­ly until a lit­tle of the mix­ture will set into a jel­ly when placed on a cold plate. Pour into jars which have been heat­ed before­hand, and cov­er with paper cov­ers.

An increas­ing num­ber of peo­ple are cut­ting back or quit­ting near­ly every main ingre­di­ent in what Orwell describes as authen­tic British cook­ing: from meat to dairy to gluten to sug­ar to suet…. But if we are going to give it a fair shake, he argues, we must try the real thing. Or his ver­sion of it any­way. He includes sev­er­al more recipes: Welsh rarebit, York­shire pud­ding, trea­cle tart, plum cake, and Christ­mas pud­ding.

Orwell’s “British Cook­ery” wars with itself and comes to terms. He fills each para­graph with frank acknowl­edge­ments of British cuisine’s short­com­ings, yet he rel­ish­es its sim­ple, sol­id virtues. He writes that “British cook­ery” is “best stud­ied in pri­vate hous­es, and more par­tic­u­lar­ly in the homes of the mid­dle-class and work­ing-class mass­es who have not become Euro­peanized in their tastes.” It’s a kind of cul­tur­al nation­al­ism, but per­haps one sug­gest­ing those who want oth­ers to under­stand and appre­ci­ate a spe­cif­ic kind British cul­ture should invite out­siders in to share a meal.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

George Orwell Explains How to Make a Prop­er Cup of Tea

Try George Orwell’s Recipe for Christ­mas Pud­ding, from His Essay “British Cook­ery” (1945)

George Orwell’s Five Great­est Essays (as Select­ed by Pulitzer-Prize Win­ning Colum­nist Michael Hiltzik)

Food­ie Alert: New York Pub­lic Library Presents an Archive of 17,000 Restau­rant Menus (1851–2008)

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

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A Vintage Grand Piano Gets Reengineered to Play 20 Different Instruments with a Push of Its Keys

The Ukrain­ian Band “Brunettes Shoot Blondes” took a bro­ken, vin­tage grand piano and reengi­neered it, turn­ing it into “a hybrid, con­tain­ing 20 instru­ments.” Now, when you press the keys, the “piano ham­mers beat a marim­ba, tam­bourine, cym­bals or even cas­tanets. There are also spe­cial mechan­i­cal devices that allow for the play­ing of cel­lo, vio­lins and organ.” Watch it in action above…

via Colos­sal/Laugh­ing Squid

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:

How the Clavi­chord & Harp­si­chord Became the Mod­ern Piano: The Evo­lu­tion of Key­board Instru­ments, Explained

94-Year-Old Stroke Sur­vivor Plays Jazz Piano for the First Time in Years 

What Does the World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Piano Sound Like? Watch Pianist Give a Per­for­mance on a 1720 Cristo­fori Piano

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CBGB’s Heyday: Watch The Ramones, The Dead Boys, Bad Brains, Talking Heads & Blondie Perform Live (1974–1982)

There are, I guess, still many things peo­ple can do these days to tap into the lega­cy of CBGB, but I wouldn’t rec­om­mend going near most of them. The mer­chan­dis­ing empire (do, how­ev­er, new par­ents, get your tot a CBGB bib and one­sie); the “thud­ding­ly banal” 2013 film ver­sion, which… the less said about the bet­ter; yes, and CBGB, the restau­rant, in the Newark Air­port Ter­mi­nal C—proceed at your own risk.

We must sad­ly also men­tion this past summer’s “Potemkin vil­lage from hell,” a pop-up “TRGT” shop for the grand open­ing of the East Village’s new Tar­get at 14th St. and Avenue A. This abomination—which sold CBGB-styled “TRGT” shirts and prof­fered Tar­get-brand­ed Band-Aids (get it? Bands) sent “Van­ish­ing New York” blog­ger Jere­mi­ah Moss into “a state of con­fu­sion and dys­pho­ria… to see the arti­facts of my own life, my cul­tur­al and spir­i­tu­al awak­en­ing, my home, dis­played above the cash reg­is­ters in a Tar­get store.”

One can­not get too upset. The venue had been in a decline for a long time. The best of grass­roots Amer­i­can cul­ture all ends up in a Tar­get or Star­bucks even­tu­al­ly, gets green lit for a biopic and turned into an inter­ac­tive gallery. At least the CBGB build­ing was added to the Nation­al Reg­is­ter of His­toric Places in 2013. Maybe a boost for the sales of John Var­vatos who moved a store into the for­mer club in 2007, the very same year CBGB’s founder Hilly Kristal died of lung can­cer.

Ever-taste­ful New York Post announced the takeover with the head­line Hobo Goes Haute. “All of Man­hat­tan has lost its soul to mon­ey lords,” said Dead Boys gui­tarist Chee­tah Chrome. Twelve years lat­er, the lament seems under­stat­ed. But time moves on and so should we, the CBGB of the past was a moment in his­to­ry nev­er to be seen again, as fer­vid and fer­tile as late 19th cen­tu­ry Sym­bol­ism or the Beats—movements that just hap­pened to have very much influ­enced New York punk.

Like the life and work of Arthur Rim­baud or William S. Bur­roughs, the only way to com­mune with the leg­end of CBGB is through its pri­ma­ry sources. There is no short­age. Record­ings, pho­tographs, inter­views, and much excel­lent live footage of the bands that made the T‑shirt famous in the years of punk rock’s glo­ry: The Dead Boys and The Ramones in 1977, Bad Brains, invent­ing hard­core, in 1982, a very awk­ward Talk­ing Heads and con­fi­dent Blondie play­ing the Vel­vet Under­ground all the way back in 75….

Turn­ing cul­tur­al moments into mon­u­ments and mer­chan­dise is shal­low, of course, but it’s more than that—it’s impov­er­ish­ing. It makes us think we under­stand some­thing with­out ever hav­ing seen it. It’s not enough to know that it hap­pened, we should know how it hap­pened. How was the edgy elec­tri­fied dis­co stom­per “Psy­cho Killer” once a rick­ety, “tense and ner­vous” acoustic strum­mer? How did The Dead Boys’ Stiv Bators from Cleve­land more or less invent the moves front men and women in punk almost uni­ver­sal­ly adopt­ed? How did Wash­ing­ton DC’s Bad Brains break every unspo­ken rule of punk—with com­plex break­downs, tem­po shifts, and shred­ding solos—yet still con­quer every punk stage? How did the Ramones play entire live sets short­er than some of the sin­gle songs cer­tain oth­er bands played onstage at the time? How was it to wit­ness Blondie as a killer live cov­ers act? How was it to see The Ramones play “Judy is a Punk” in 1974?

For­get the grave­yard of CBGB kitsch out there. If you’re inter­est­ed in punk rock as a cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non, you owe it to your­self to see as much of this his­toric footage as pos­si­ble, and to lis­ten to as many live record­ings of far-too-often unsung CBGB bands like Tele­vi­sion. And if you were there, con­do­lences. Maybe you owe it to the rest of us to tell how it real­ly was.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith Plays Songs by The Ramones, Rolling Stones, Lou Reed & More on CBGB’s Clos­ing Night (2006)

AC/DC Plays a Short Gig at CBGB in 1977: Hear Met­al Being Played on Punk’s Hal­lowed Grounds

1976 Film Blank Gen­er­a­tion Doc­u­ments CBGB Scene with Pat­ti Smith, The Ramones, Talk­ing Heads, Blondie & More

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

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How Michel Legrand (RIP) Gave the French New Wave a Sound: Revisit the Influential Music He Composed for Jean-Luc Godard & Jacques Demy’s Films

When he died this past week­end, the pro­lif­ic com­pos­er Michel Legrand left behind a large and var­ied body of work, one that won him not just five Gram­my awards but, for the films he scored, three Oscars as well. Though he com­posed the music for more than 200 films and tele­vi­sion shows, many cinephiles will remem­ber him — and gen­er­a­tions of cinephiles to come will know him — as the man who gave the French New Wave a sound. Hav­ing appeared on cam­era as a pianist in Agnès Var­da’s Cleo from 5 to 7 in 1961, he went on to score The Umbrel­las of Cher­bourg, the beloved 1964 musi­cal (and a musi­cal with­out any dia­logue spo­ken at all, only sung) direct­ed by Var­da’s hus­band Jacques Demy.

Legrand also com­posed the music for Demy’s next film, the also-musi­cal The Young Girls of Rochefort, in 1967. That same decade, with­out a doubt the head­i­est for La Nou­velle Vague, he worked with no less a cin­e­mat­ic rule-break­er than Jean-Luc Godard on 1962’s Vivre sa vie and 1964’s Bande à part (also known as Band of Out­siders).

“I can’t help won­der­ing whether, since the music is dubbed in, so are the claps, foot-stamps, and fin­ger-snaps,” writes New York­er film crit­ic and Godard schol­ar Richard Brody of the well-known dance scene in the lat­ter, “or whether, for the take used in the film, there was no music play­ing at all, and the trio” — none of them trained dancers — “did their dance to the time of music play­ing in their minds.”

Brody names as “the great­est flour­ish in the sequence” the moment when “the music cuts out, and Godard speaks, in voice-over: ‘Now it’s time to open a sec­ond paren­the­sis, and to describe the emo­tions of the char­ac­ters.’ ” The way the direc­tor’s words inter­rupt the motion of the visu­als, and of Legrand’s score, “dis­tin­guish­es the scene from so many scenes in so many films where so many film­mak­ers are so con­cerned with bring­ing out their char­ac­ters’ emo­tions sole­ly by means of action,” the rea­son for the dull fact that “many movies — and many wrong­ly hailed — give a sense of being con­struct­ed as illus­tra­tions of script ele­ments, the con­nec­tions of dots plant­ed in just the right place to yield a par­tic­u­lar por­trait.”

Legrand did, of course, com­pose for a few such less artis­ti­cal­ly adven­tur­ous films as well, but that just goes to show how wide a vari­ety of cin­e­mat­ic visions his musi­cal aes­thet­ic could accom­mo­date. He scored such mem­o­rable and even influ­en­tial pic­tures as the orig­i­nal The Thomas Crown Affair and Sum­mer of ’42, as well as Orson Welles’ decades-await­ed The Oth­er Side of the Wind, which came out just last year as what Brody calls a “belat­ed mas­ter­piece” and “one of the great last dra­mat­ic fea­tures by any direc­tor.” Legrand’s music could fair­ly be called roman­tic, even sen­ti­men­tal, but like few oth­er com­posers work­ing today, he knew exact­ly what it took — and exact­ly whom to work with — to keep those qual­i­ties from turn­ing sac­cha­rine or banal.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Jean-Luc Godard Lib­er­at­ed Cin­e­ma: A Video Essay on How the Great­est Rule-Break­er in Film Made His Name

An Intro­duc­tion to Jean-Luc Godard’s Inno­v­a­tive Film­mak­ing Through Five Video Essays

How the French New Wave Changed Cin­e­ma: A Video Intro­duc­tion to the Films of Godard, Truf­faut & Their Fel­low Rule-Break­ers

Jacques Demy’s Lyri­cal Mas­ter­piece, The Umbrel­las of Cher­bourg

Watch the New Trail­er for Orson Welles’ Lost Film, The Oth­er Side of the Wind: A Glimpse of Footage from the Final­ly Com­plet­ed Film

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

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Watch 110 Lectures by Donald Knuth, “the Yoda of Silicon Valley,” on Programming, Mathematical Writing, and More

Many see the realms of lit­er­a­ture and com­put­ers as not just com­plete­ly sep­a­rate, but grow­ing more dis­tant from one anoth­er all the time. Don­ald Knuth, one of the most respect­ed fig­ures of all the most deeply com­put­er-savvy in Sil­i­con Val­ley, sees it dif­fer­ent­ly. His claims to fame include The Art of Com­put­er Pro­gram­ming, an ongo­ing mul­ti-vol­ume series of books whose pub­li­ca­tion began more than fifty years ago, and the dig­i­tal type­set­ting sys­tem TeX, which, in a recent pro­file of Knuth, the New York Times’ Siob­han Roberts describes as “the gold stan­dard for all forms of sci­en­tif­ic com­mu­ni­ca­tion and pub­li­ca­tion.”

Some, Roberts writes, con­sid­er TeX “Dr. Knuth’s great­est con­tri­bu­tion to the world, and the great­est con­tri­bu­tion to typog­ra­phy since Guten­berg.” At the core of his life­long work is an idea called “lit­er­ate pro­gram­ming,” which empha­sizes “the impor­tance of writ­ing code that is read­able by humans as well as com­put­ers — a notion that nowa­days seems almost twee.

Dr. Knuth has gone so far as to argue that some com­put­er pro­grams are, like Eliz­a­beth Bishop’s poems and Philip Roth’s Amer­i­can Pas­toral, works of lit­er­a­ture wor­thy of a Pulitzer.” Knuth’s mind, tech­ni­cal achieve­ments, and style of com­mu­ni­ca­tion have earned him the infor­mal title of “the Yoda of Sil­i­con Val­ley.”

That appel­la­tion also reflects a depth of tech­ni­cal wis­dom only attain­able by get­ting to the very bot­tom of things, which in Knuth’s case means ful­ly under­stand­ing how com­put­er pro­gram­ming works all the way down to the most basic lev­el. (This in con­trast to the aver­age pro­gram­mer, writes Roberts, who “no longer has time to manip­u­late the bina­ry muck, and works instead with hier­ar­chies of abstrac­tion, lay­ers upon lay­ers of code — and often with chains of code bor­rowed from code libraries.) Now every­one can get more than a taste of Knuth’s per­spec­tive and thoughts on com­put­ers, pro­gram­ming, and a host of relat­ed sub­jects on the Youtube chan­nel of Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty, where Knuth is now pro­fes­sor emer­i­tus (and where he still gives infor­mal lec­tures under the ban­ner “Com­put­er Mus­ings”).

Stan­ford’s online archive of Don­ald Knuth Lec­tures now num­bers 110, rang­ing across the decades and cov­er­ing such sub­jects as the usage and mechan­ics of TeX, the analy­sis of algo­rithms, and the nature of math­e­mat­i­cal writ­ing. “I am wor­ried that algo­rithms are get­ting too promi­nent in the world,” he tells Roberts in the New York Times pro­file. “It start­ed out that com­put­er sci­en­tists were wor­ried nobody was lis­ten­ing to us. Now I’m wor­ried that too many peo­ple are lis­ten­ing.” But hav­ing become a com­put­er sci­en­tist before the field of com­put­er sci­ence even had a name, the now-octo­ge­nar­i­an Knuth pos­sess­es a rare per­spec­tive to which any­one in 21st-cen­tu­ry tech­nol­o­gy could cer­tain­ly ben­e­fit from expo­sure.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Com­put­er Sci­ence Cours­es

50 Famous Aca­d­e­mics & Sci­en­tists Talk About God

The Secret His­to­ry of Sil­i­con Val­ley

When J.M. Coet­zee Secret­ly Pro­grammed Com­put­ers to Write Poet­ry in the 1960s

Intro­duc­tion to Com­put­er Sci­ence and Pro­gram­ming: A Free Course from MIT

Peter Thiel’s Stan­ford Course on Star­tups: Read the Lec­ture Notes Free Online

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

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Discover the Ingenious Typewriter That Prints Musical Notation: The Keaton Music Typewriter Patented in 1936

Noth­ing could seem more ordi­nary to any­one who has grown up with a musi­cian in the house, or tak­en music class­es them­selves, than sheaves of sheet music: quar­ter, half, and whole notes trip­ping through order­ly staffs in chords, arpeg­gios, and melodies. But the process of mak­ing those sheets of music is prob­a­bly far less famil­iar to most of us. Music print­ing his­to­ry, as the site Music Print­ing His­to­ry shows, par­al­lels book print­ing, but uses the tech­nolo­gies dif­fer­ent­ly, from wood­block to lith­o­g­ra­phy to pho­to­graph­ic repro­duc­tion to per­haps a rarely seen method—the music type­writer.

These inge­nious machines do exact­ly what it sounds like they do, in type­writer-like forms we’ll rec­og­nize and oth­er forms we will not. The first patent for such a device, filed in 1885 by Charles Spiro, shows an object resem­bling a sewing machine.

The next inven­tion, first patent­ed by F. Dogilbert in 1906, resem­bles a mechan­i­cal engrav­ing machine—and indeed, that’s more or less what it was. By con­trast, the 1946 Musicwriter, invent­ed by Cecil S. Effin­ger, looks just like an ear­ly IBM type­writer with a QWERTY key­board. The next ver­sion of the machine was, in fact, a word proces­sor made by IBM.

One inven­tion Music Print­ing His­to­ry does not men­tion was made by a woman, Miss Lil­lian Pavey, in 1961. In the British Pathé news­reel film above, you can see her type­writer in action as she tran­scribes music from a record in real time. In-between the ear­li­est music type­writ­ers, which were not mass-mar­ket­ed to con­sumers, and IBM’s slick, 1988 Musicwriter II, which was, there is the odd Keaton Music Type­writer, first patent­ed with 14 keys in 1936, then again in 1953 in a 33-key ver­sion.

See the Keaton’s clunky oper­a­tion at the top of the post. It looks a lit­tle like a seis­mo­graph or lie detec­tor machine with a semi­cir­cu­lar dou­ble ring of keys (in the 33-key design) in the cen­ter of a met­al car­riage. (See the orig­i­nal patent below.) Con­trary to the Pathé newsman’s claim that no one had suc­ceed­ed in mak­ing a work­ing music type­writer, the Keaton and oth­er mod­els to fol­low in the 40s and 50s sold, though not in large quan­ti­ties, and “made it eas­i­er for pub­lish­ers, edu­ca­tors, and oth­er musi­cians to pro­duce music copies in quan­ti­ty.” Typed sheet music could eas­i­ly be mass-repro­duced by pho­tog­ra­phy.

Nonethe­less, Music Print­ing His­to­ry notes, “com­posers… pre­ferred to write the music out by hand.” The type­writer was main­ly offered as a tool for mechan­i­cal repro­duc­tion, not spon­ta­neous com­po­si­tion. Com­put­ers have changed things such that com­posers seem to have the same kinds of debates about hand­writ­ing vers­es dig­i­tal as writ­ers do. But where the type­writer is still a pow­er­ful sym­bol of lit­er­ary art—for some an instru­ment as dis­tinc­tive and wor­thy of study as the gui­tars of rock ‘n’ roll greats—the music type­writer is an odd­i­ty, a mechan­i­cal curios­i­ty no one asso­ciates with cre­ation.

Yet, as “the most vin­tage and won­der­ful­ly imprac­ti­cal thing ever,” as Clas­sic Fm dubs the device, unwieldy machines like the Keaton remain high on the list of cool, quirky inven­tions its most like­ly cus­tomers did­n’t real­ly seem to need.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Behold Friedrich Nietzsche’s Curi­ous Type­writer, the “Malling-Hansen Writ­ing Ball”

The Endur­ing Ana­log Under­world of Gramer­cy Type­writer

Con­serve the Sound, an Online Muse­um Pre­serves the Sounds of Past Technologies–from Type­writ­ers, Elec­tric Shavers and Cas­sette Recorders, to Cam­eras & Clas­sic Nin­ten­do

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

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America at War: Infographic Reveals How the U.S. Military Is Operating in 40% of the World’s Nations

Ear­li­er this month, NBC reporter and ana­lyst William Arkin end­ed a 30-year career as a jour­nal­ist, announc­ing in a “scathing let­ter,” Democ­ra­cy Now! reports, that “he would be leav­ing the net­work. Arkin accus­es “the media of war­mon­ger­ing while ignor­ing the, quote, ‘creep­ing fas­cism of home­land secu­ri­ty.’” He does not equiv­o­cate in a fol­low-up inter­view with Amy Good­man. “The gen­er­als and the nation­al secu­ri­ty lead­er­ship” are also now, he says, “the com­men­ta­tors and the ana­lysts who pop­u­late the news media” (Arkin him­self is a for­mer Army intel­li­gence offi­cer).

The prob­lem isn’t only NBC, in his esti­ma­tion, and it isn’t only sup­posed jour­nal­ists cheer­lead­ing for war. Most of the con­flicts the coun­try is cur­rent­ly engaged in are un- or under-report­ed in major sources. His let­ter “applies to all of the main­stream net­works, applies to CNN and Fox, as well…. We’ve just become so shal­low that we’re not real­ly able even to see the truth, which is that we’re at war right now in nine coun­tries around the world where we’re bomb­ing, and we hard­ly report any of it on a day-to-day basis.”

This isn’t the case with inde­pen­dent media orga­ni­za­tions like Democ­ra­cy Now!, The Inter­cept, or Air­wars. Sec­u­lar and reli­gious refugee relief orga­ni­za­tions like the Inter­na­tion­al Res­cue Com­mit­tee, World Relief, or Mus­lim Glob­al Relief are pay­ing atten­tion. Many of these orga­ni­za­tions are non‑U.S.-based or con­nect­ed to the “civil­ian experts” Arkin says once appeared reg­u­lar­ly in the nation­al media and rep­re­sent­ed oppos­ing views, “peo­ple who might be uni­ver­si­ty pro­fes­sors or activists… or experts who were asso­ci­at­ed with think tanks.”

Air­wars, affil­i­at­ed with the Depart­ment of Media and Com­mu­ni­ca­tions at Gold­smiths, Uni­ver­si­ty of Lon­don, has mon­i­tored con­flicts around the world since 2014, with exten­sive cov­er­age and records of alleged civil­ian deaths, mil­i­tary reports, and the names of vic­tims. For a com­pa­ra­ble U.S.-focused deep dive, see the Costs of War Project at Brown University’s Wat­son Insti­tute of Inter­na­tion­al & Pub­lic Affairs. The project’s web­site not only tracks the enor­mous eco­nom­ic costs of wars in the Mid­dle East and Africa since 9/11; it also tracks “the human toll,” as you can see in the video below.

At the top of the post, see a map (view in a larg­er for­mat here) from the Cost of War Project’s Stephanie Savell, 5W Info­graph­ics, and the Smith­son­ian of all the regions where the U.S. is “com­bat­ting ter­ror­ism.” While most of the media orgs and non-prof­its men­tioned above would prob­a­bly dis­pute the use of that term in some or all of the con­flict zones, Savell sticks with the offi­cial lan­guage to describe the situation—one in which the nation “is now oper­at­ing in 40 per­cent of the world’s nations,” as she writes at Smithsonian.com.

Maybe no one needs an edi­to­r­i­al to imag­ine the enor­mous toll this lev­el of mil­i­tary engage­ment has tak­en over the course of 17 years since the incep­tion of the “Glob­al War on Ter­ror.” The map cov­ers the past two, illus­trat­ing “80 coun­tries, engaged through 40 U.S. mil­i­tary bases,” and con­duct­ing train­ing, exer­cis­es, active com­bat, and air and drone strikes on six con­ti­nents. The selec­tions, writes Savell, are “con­ser­v­a­tive,” and sourced from both inde­pen­dent and main­stream media out­lets and inter­na­tion­al gov­ern­ment and mil­i­tary sources.

“The most com­pre­hen­sive depic­tion in civil­ian cir­cles of U.S. mil­i­tary and gov­ern­ment antiter­ror­ist actions over­seas,” the Amer­i­ca at War map pro­vides infor­ma­tion we don’t often get in our daily—or hourly, or by-the-minute—diet of news. “Con­trary to what most Amer­i­cans believe, the war on ter­ror is not wind­ing down.” It is expand­ing. Giv­en the country’s his­to­ry of sus­tained mass move­ments against legal­ly sus­pect, gross­ly expen­sive wars with high civil­ian casu­al­ties, dis­ease epi­demics, star­va­tion, and refugee crises, one would think that a siz­able seg­ment of the pop­u­la­tion would want to know what their coun­try’s mil­i­tary and civil­ian defense con­trac­tors are doing around the world.

via Smithsonian.com

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of the U.S. Civ­il War Visu­al­ized Month by Month and State by State, in an Info­graph­ic from 1897

An Archive of 800+ Imag­i­na­tive Pro­pa­gan­da Maps Designed to Shape Opin­ions & Beliefs: Enter Cornell’s Per­sua­sive Maps Col­lec­tion

It’s the End of the World as We Know It: The Apoc­a­lypse Gets Visu­al­ized in an Inven­tive Map from 1486

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

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The Bustling Streets of Mumbai, India in 1929: Vintage Footage Captured with Very Early Sound Cameras

“Though hard­ly a cin­e­mat­ic mas­ter­piece,” film crit­ic Andre Soares writes, “or even a good film,” Al Jolson’s 1927 The Jazz Singer will for­ev­er bear the dis­tinc­tion of “the first time in a fea­ture film that syn­chro­nized sound and voic­es could be heard in musi­cal num­bers and talk­ing seg­ments.” What usu­al­ly goes unre­marked in film his­to­ry is that Indi­an cin­e­ma was nev­er far behind its U.S. coun­ter­part. The country’s first fea­ture sound film appeared just four years after The Jazz Singer. Now lost, the love sto­ry Alam Ara debuted in March of 1931 and ini­ti­at­ed a ven­er­a­ble tra­di­tion with its sev­er­al songs, includ­ing the first major fil­mi music hit.

The movie was so pop­u­lar, one his­to­ri­an notes, “police aid had to be sum­moned to con­trol the crowds.” Its direc­tor Ardeshir Irani was inspired by anoth­er ear­ly Hol­ly­wood part-talkie musi­cal, 1929’s Show Boat, which, like his film, used the Movi­etone sys­tem to record sound, rather than the Vita­phone sys­tem used in The Jazz Singer. Movi­etone, or Fox Movi­etone, as it came to be known after William Fox bought the patents in 1926, was also respon­si­ble for anoth­er ear­ly film devel­op­ment, the sound news­reel, a tech­nol­o­gy that made its way to India almost as soon as it debuted in the U.S.

The first sound news­reel, show­ing footage of Charles Lindbergh’s tak­ing off in the “Spir­it of St. Louis,” debuted in 1927 in New York. In Novem­ber 1929, Fox opened the first exclu­sive news­reel the­ater on Broad­way, and in Jan­u­ary of that same year, a Movi­etone cam­era cap­tured the street scenes of Bom­bay (now Mum­bai) that you see above, over 13 min­utes of footage com­plete with live audio record­ing of bustling crowds, busy ven­dors and laun­dry work­ers, honk­ing auto­mo­biles, and clip-clop­ping hors­es.

This incred­i­ble doc­u­ment pre­serves the sights and sounds of a sig­nif­i­cant Indi­an slice of life from 90 years ago, and shows how ear­ly the tech­nol­o­gy for mak­ing sound films arrived on the sub­con­ti­nent. When Ardeshir Irani began film­ing his ground­break­ing musi­cal the fol­low­ing year, he would use exact­ly this same tech­nol­o­gy, shoot­ing all of the dia­logue and music live, on a closed set late at night to avoid unwant­ed noise like the street sounds you hear above.

Learn more of the Fox Movi­etone news­reel sto­ry here, and here, learn how Indi­an cin­e­ma began in Mum­bai in 1899 when Indi­an pho­tog­ra­phers, writ­ers, the­ater impre­sar­ios, and entre­pre­neurs like Irani took the new tech­nol­o­gy and used it to build a cul­tur­al empire of their own.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

India on Film, 1899–1947: An Archive of 90 His­toric Films Now Online

100 Years of Cin­e­ma: New Doc­u­men­tary Series Explores the His­to­ry of Cin­e­ma by Ana­lyz­ing One Film Per Year, Start­ing in 1915

Immac­u­late­ly Restored Film Lets You Revis­it Life in New York City in 1911

Down­load 6600 Free Films from The Prelinger Archives and Use Them How­ev­er You Like

Free: British Pathé Puts Over 85,000 His­tor­i­cal Films on YouTube

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

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