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Malcolm Gladwell Has Launched a New Podcast, Revisionist History: Hear the First Episode

Mal­colm Glad­well has a pod­cast. Some of you will require no fur­ther infor­ma­tion, and in fact have already clicked over to iTunes (or anoth­er pod­cast down­load­ing appli­ca­tion of your choice), des­per­ate to down­load the first episode. Allow me to inform those cool­er heads who remain that Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry won’t begin its ten-week run, with one episode out per week, until June 16th. (Update: The first episode is now live and you can stream it below.) But you can sub­scribe right now (iTunesStitch­erRSS), and while you wait over the next few days, you can lis­ten to the pre­view that Glad­well has already post­ed.

You can also get a lit­tle a taste of Glad­well’s new project by watch­ing the trail­er at the top of the post. “Every week, I’m going to take you back into the past,” Glad­well promis­es in the video’s nar­ra­tion, “to exam­ine some­thing that I think has been over­looked and mis­un­der­stood.”

He gets into more detail on the Bri­an Lehrer Show seg­ment below, in which he describes the first episode of Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry as about the ques­tion of what it means to be “the first out­sider to enter a closed world,” start­ing from the career of British painter Eliz­a­beth Thomp­son, whose 1874 can­vas The Roll Call became, for a time, the most famous image in the coun­try. It broke its female artist into the male-dom­i­nat­ed world of paint­ing, and seemed, for an even short­er time, to her­ald a new era rich with high-pro­file female painters. “Every­one waits and waits for the rev­o­lu­tion to hap­pen,” Glad­well says, already into his char­ac­ter­is­tic sto­ry­telling mode, “and it nev­er hap­pens.”

Lehrer reacts to Glad­well’s choice of the sto­ry of “the first woman to break through in a male-dom­i­nat­ed field” with the obvi­ous ques­tion: “Is that a coin­ci­dence?” It is absolute­ly not a coin­ci­dence, Glad­well replies, going on to con­nect the phe­nom­e­non in ques­tion to not just mod­ern fig­ures like Hillary Clin­ton but Barack Oba­ma, Julia Gillard, and Mar­garet Thatch­er as well, and in the pod­cast itself sure­ly many oth­ers besides. He also hints at an episode lat­er in the sea­son that begins with an obscure Elvis Costel­lo song — and a “ter­ri­ble” one at that, he adds — and uses it “as a way of find­ing out how cre­ativ­i­ty works, and how an awful lot of what we con­sid­er works of genius had an incred­i­bly cir­cuitous path to great­ness,” end­ing up at a gallery look­ing at Cézannes.

You can sign up for episode updates at the offi­cial Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry site. The show comes as a prod­uct of Panoply, the pod­cast net­work of The Slate Group, and its first sea­son promis­es slick pro­duc­tion in addi­tion to the kind of com­pelling sto­ries and mem­o­rable social-sci­ence insights with which Glad­well has made him­self famous. And we should­n’t ignore his tal­ent for mar­ket­ing, either, ful­ly in evi­dence from noth­ing more than the tagline he speaks in the trail­er: “Because some­times the past deserves a sec­ond chance.” All this togeth­er sounds like more than a good rea­son to give his pod­cast a first one.

Revi­sion­ist His­to­ry is list­ed in our new col­lec­tion, The 150 Best Pod­casts to Enrich Your Mind.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Pod­cast His­to­ry of Our World Will Take You From Cre­ation Myths to (Even­tu­al­ly) the Present Day

The His­to­ry of the World in 46 Lec­tures From Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty

Jump Into the “Pod­cast­ing Renais­sance” with These Intel­li­gent Shows (and Tell Us Your Favorites)

Mal­colm Glad­well: What We Can Learn from Spaghet­ti Sauce

Mal­colm Glad­well: Tax­es Were High and Life Was Just Fine

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

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

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

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

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

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

via Elec­tron­ic Beats

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

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

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

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

Online archives, gal­leries, and libraries offer Vegas-sized buf­fets for the sens­es (well two of them, any­way). All the art and pho­tog­ra­phy your eyes can take in, all the music and spo­ken word record­ings your ears can han­dle. But per­haps you’re still miss­ing some­thing? “Geordies bang­ing spoons” maybe? Or “Tawang lamas blow­ing conch shell trum­pets… Ton­gan tribes­men play­ing nose flutes…,” the sound of “the Assamese wood­worm feast­ing on a win­dow frame in the dead of night”?

No wor­ries, the British Library’s got you cov­ered and then some. In 2009, it “made its vast archive of world and tra­di­tion­al music avail­able to every­one, free of charge, on the inter­net,” amount­ing to rough­ly 28,000 record­ings and, The Guardian esti­mates “about 2,000 hours of singing, speak­ing, yelling, chant­i­ng, blow­ing, bang­ing, tin­kling and many oth­er verbs asso­ci­at­ed with what is a unique­ly rich sound archive.”

But that’s not all, oh no! The com­plete archive, titled sim­ply and author­i­ta­tive­ly “Sounds,” also hous­es record­ings of accents and dialects, envi­ron­ment and nature, pop music, “sound maps,” oral his­to­ry, clas­si­cal music, sound record­ing his­to­ry, and arts, lit­er­a­ture, and per­for­mance (such as J.R.R. Tolkien’s short dis­course on “Wire­less,” ani­mat­ed in the video below).

The 80,000 record­ings avail­able to stream online rep­re­sent just a selec­tion of the British Library’s “exten­sive col­lec­tions of unique sound record­ings,” but what a selec­tion it is. In the short video at the top of the post, The Wire Mag­a­zine takes us on a mini-tour of the phys­i­cal archive’s metic­u­lous dig­i­ti­za­tion meth­ods. As with all such wide-rang­ing col­lec­tions, it’s dif­fi­cult to know where to begin.

One might browse the range of unusu­al folk sounds on aur­al dis­play in the World & Tra­di­tion­al music sec­tion, cov­er­ing every con­ti­nent and a daunt­ing meta­cat­e­go­ry called “World­wide.” For a more spe­cif­ic entry point, Elec­tron­ic Beats rec­om­mends a col­lec­tion of “around 8,000 Afropop tracks” from Guinea, record­ed on “the state-sup­port­ed Syli­phone label” and “released between 1958 and 1984.”

Edison Disc Phonograph

Oth­er high­lights include “Between Two Worlds: Poet­ry & Trans­la­tion,” an ongo­ing project begun in 2008 that fea­tures read­ings and inter­views with “poets who are bilin­gual or have Eng­lish as a sec­ond lan­guage, or who oth­er­wise reflect the project’s theme of dual cul­tures.” Or you may enjoy the exten­sive col­lec­tion of clas­si­cal music record­ings, includ­ing “Hugh Davies exper­i­men­tal music,” or the “Oral His­to­ry of Jazz in Britain.”

The cat­e­go­ry called “Sound Maps” orga­nizes a diver­si­ty of recordings—including region­al accents, inter­views with Holo­caust sur­vivors, wildlife sounds, and Ugan­dan folk music—by ref­er­ence to their loca­tions on Google maps.

Not all of the mate­r­i­al in “Sounds” is sound-based. Record­ing and audio geeks and his­to­ri­ans will appre­ci­ate the large col­lec­tion of “Play­back & Record­ing Equip­ment” pho­tographs (such as the 1912 Edi­son Disc Phono­graph, above ), span­ning the years 1877 to 1992. Also, many of the recordings—such as the won­der­ful first ver­sion of “Dirty Old Town” by Alan Lomax and the Ram­blers, with Ewan Mac­Coll and Peg­gy Seeger (below)—feature album cov­ers, front and back, as well as disc labels.

The record­ings in the Archive are unfor­tu­nate­ly not down­load­able (unless you are a licensed mem­ber of a UK HE/FE insti­tu­tion), but you can stream them all online and share any of them on your favorite social media plat­form. Per­haps the British Library will extend down­load priv­i­leges to all users in the future. For now, brows­ing through the sheer vol­ume and vari­ety of sounds in the archive should be enough to keep you busy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Alan Lomax Sound Archive Now Online: Fea­tures 17,000 Blues & Folk Record­ings

Cor­nell Launch­es Archive of 150,000 Bird Calls and Ani­mal Sounds, with Record­ings Going Back to 1929

1,000 Record­ings to Hear Before You Die: Stream a Huge Playlist of Songs Based on the Best­selling Book

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

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Ursula K. Le Guin Names the Books She Likes and Wants You to Read

ursula k le guin writing advice

Image by Gor­thi­an, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

I’m sure I speak for many when I say that Ursu­la K. Le Guin’s nov­els and sto­ries changed what I thought sci­ence fic­tion could be and do. Raised on H.G. Wells, Isaac Asi­mov, Robert Hein­lein, and oth­er most­ly-white-male-cen­tered clas­sic sci-fi, I found Le Guin’s lit­er­ary thought exper­i­ments star­tling and refresh­ing. Now it seems like almost a mat­ter of course that sci­ence fic­tion and fan­ta­sy nar­ra­tives come from a diver­si­ty of peo­ples and per­spec­tives. But Le Guin remains the first to wake me from a dog­mat­ic slum­ber about the poten­tial of spec­u­la­tive fic­tion to imag­ine not only future tech­nolo­gies, but also expan­sive future iden­ti­ties.

Nov­els like The Left Hand of Dark­ness, The Dis­pos­sessed, and The Lathe of Heav­en reflect Le Guin’s very broad range of inter­ests in pol­i­tics and the human­i­ties and social sci­ences. She began her career as an aca­d­e­m­ic study­ing Renais­sance French and Ital­ian lit­er­a­ture, and her fic­tion syn­the­sizes years of care­ful read­ing in anthro­pol­o­gy, psy­chol­o­gy, soci­ol­o­gy, his­to­ry, and East­ern and West­ern phi­los­o­phy. Like­wise, though she has been much influ­enced by tra­di­tion­al hard sci­ence fic­tion, Le Guin’s lit­er­ary loves are wide and deep. All that’s to say she’s as admirable and inter­est­ing a read­er as she is a writer. When she prais­es a book, I pay atten­tion. Thanks to her genial, loqua­cious online pres­ence for many years, her fans have had ample oppor­tu­ni­ty to find out what she’s read­ing and why.

Le Guin recent­ly made a few lists of books she likes, and made sure to pref­ace each one with a dis­claimer: “This list is not ‘my favorite books.’ It’s just a list of books I’ve read or re-read, recent­ly, that I liked and want­ed to tell peo­ple about.” She leaps from genre to genre, writ­ing mini-reviews of each book and link­ing each one to Powell’s, the inde­pen­dent book­store in her beloved city of Port­land, Ore­gon. Below, we’ve excerpt­ed some of Le Guin’s “Books I’ve Liked” from each list, along with her com­men­tary. Click on each date head­ing to see her com­plete lists of rec­om­men­da­tions.

Decem­ber 2006

See­ing, by José Sara­m­a­go. A sequel to his amaz­ing nov­el Blind­ness. Sara­m­a­go is not easy to read. He punc­tu­ates most­ly with com­mas, doesn’t pararaph often, doesn’t set off con­ver­sa­tion in quotes —; man­ner­isms I wouldn’t endure in a less­er writer; but Sara­m­a­go is worth it. More than worth it. Tran­scen­dent­ly worth it. Blind­ness scared me to death when I start­ed it, but it ris­es won­der­ful­ly out of dark­ness into the light. See­ing goes the oth­er way and is a very fright­en­ing book.

Chang­ing Ones, by Will Roscoe. An exam­i­na­tion of how gen­der has been con­struct­ed in Native Amer­i­can soci­eties. Respon­si­bly researched, very well writ­ten, gen­er­ous in spir­it, nev­er over­sim­pli­fy­ing a com­plex sub­ject, this is a won­der­ful­ly enlight­en­ing book.

Age of Bronze: The Sto­ry of the Tro­jan War. I: A Thou­sand Ships, and II: Sac­ri­fice by Eric Shanow­er. A graph­ic nov­el —; the first two vol­umes of a pro­ject­ed series. The draw­ing is excel­lent, the lan­guage live­ly, and the research awe­some. Shanow­er goes back to the very ori­gins of the war to fol­low the ear­ly careers of the var­i­ous heroes —; Agamem­non and Menelaus, Achilles, Odysseus, Hec­tor, Paris, Aeneas, and their fam­i­lies, par­ents, wives, lovers, chil­dren… Thus, by the end of Book Two, the actu­al siege of Troy, which the Ili­ad tells one part of, is yet to begin. I see a loom­ing prob­lem: the bat­tles (of which there have been a good many already) are visu­al­ly all alike, and there’s end­less­ly more to come —; bat­tle scenes in Homer are bru­tal­ly monot­o­nous and inter­minable (as war is). But these two vol­umes are visu­al­ly and nar­ra­tive­ly var­ied, and give a fas­ci­nat­ing back­ground­ing and inter­pre­ta­tion to the great sto­ries.

June 2007

The Yid­dish Police­men’s Union, by Michael Chabon. Of course if you haven’t read Kava­lier and Clay yet, go read it at once, what on earth have you been wait­ing for? Then read this. It is even a lit­tle cra­zier, maybe. Crazy like a genius.

Suf­fer the Lit­tle Chil­dren, by Don­na Leon. The 16th of Leon’s Venet­ian mys­tery nov­els is one of the finest. I reviewed this book for the Man­ches­ter Guardian

Some young adult books I like — I had to read a lot of them this spring, and these stood out:

The High­er Pow­er of Lucky by Susan Patron. This one has already won the New­bery Award and gone to Kid­dilit Book­sellers Heav­en for­ev­er, so it does­n’t need my endorse­ment… but it’s a love­ly, fun­ny, sweet book, set in a tru­ly god­for­sak­en desert town in Cal­i­for­nia.

Weed­flower by Cyn­thia Kado­ha­ta. A nov­el that goes with its young hero­ine to one of the prison camps where our gov­ern­ment sent all our cit­i­zens of Japan­ese ances­try in 1942 after Pearl Har­bor. It’s a beau­ti­ful book, under­stat­ed and strong and ten­der. If you read it you won’t for­get it.

Sep­tem­ber 2007

Charles Mann, 1491. A bril­liant sur­vey of what we know about the human pop­u­la­tions of the Amer­i­c­as before the arrival of the Euro­peans, and a brief, often scathing his­to­ry of how we’ve han­dled our knowl­edge. The author is not an arche­ol­o­gist or anthro­pol­o­gist, but he has done his home­work, and is a fine reporter and sum­ma­riz­er, writ­ing with clar­i­ty and flair, easy to read but nev­er talk­ing down. Dis­cussing intense­ly con­tro­ver­sial sub­jects such as dates of set­tle­ment and pop­u­la­tion sizes, he lets you know where he stands, but presents both sides fair­ly. A fas­ci­nat­ing, mind-expand­ing book.

Michael Pol­lan, The Omni­vore’s Dilem­ma. I have nev­er eat­en an Ida­ho pota­to since I read Pol­lan’s arti­cle about what pota­to fields are “treat­ed” with, in his ear­li­er book The Botany of Desire. This one is scary in a dif­fer­ent way. It prob­a­bly won’t stop you from eat­ing any­thing, indeed it is a real cel­e­bra­tion of (real) food; but the first sec­tion is as fine a descrip­tion of the blind, incal­cu­la­ble pow­er of Growth Cap­i­tal­ism as I ever read. (Did you know that cat­tle can’t digest corn, and have to be chem­i­cal­ly poi­soned in order to pro­duce “corn­fed beef”? So, there being lots and lots of grass, why feed them corn? Read the book!) There are some depress­ing bits in the sec­tion on “organ­ic” food, too, but the last sec­tion, where he hunts and gath­ers his din­ner, is fun­ny and often touch­ing.

Bar­bara Ehren­re­ich, Nick­el and Dimed. Ehren­re­ich tries to get by on min­i­mum wage, in three dif­fer­ent towns, work­ing as a wait­ress, a house clean­er, in a Wal-Mart… Yes, it came out eight years ago, and yes, it’s just as true now, if not truer. (I just read in my home­town paper that 47% of work­ing peo­ple in Port­land have to rely on food stamps. Not “wel­fare queens” — peo­ple with jobs, work­ing peo­ple.) She writes her sto­ry with tremen­dous verve and exact­ness. It reads like a nov­el, and leaves you all shook up.

August 2008

[Le Guin devot­ed this list to “Some Graph­ic Nov­els,” and wrote about her dif­fi­cul­ty find­ing good “grown-up stuff.” Though most of it was not to her taste (“gross-out vio­lence, or hor­ror, or twee, or sex­ist, or oth­er­wise not down my alley”), she kept “hop­ing, because the form seems to me such a huge­ly promis­ing and adven­tur­ous one.” Below are two graph­ic nov­els she did like. Anoth­er, Age of Bronze, she men­tioned above in her 2006 list.]

Mar­jane Satrapi’s Perse­po­lis I and II, and her oth­er books. (The movie of Perse­po­lis was charm­ing but it real­ly didn’t add much to the book.) I admire her draw­ing, which is decep­tive­ly sim­ple but very sub­tly designed, using the pure con­trast-pow­er of black-and-white. The draw­ings and the text com­bine so seam­less­ly that I’m not aware of look­ing back and forth between them, I’m just tak­ing it all in at once — Which I think is pret­ty much my ide­al for a graph­ic nar­ra­tive?

Joann Sfar’s The Rabbi’s Cat I and II. Three con­nect­ed sto­ries in each vol­ume. The first two sto­ries in the first vol­ume are pure delight. They are fun­ny and wise and show you a world you almost cer­tain­ly nev­er knew exist­ed. The rab­bi is a dear, the rabbi’s daugh­ter is a dear, and the rabbi’s cat is all cat, all through, all the way down. (I won­dered why Sfar drew him so strange­ly, until I looked at the pho­to­graph of Sfar’s cat on the cov­er.) The sec­ond vol­ume isn’t quite as great, but the first sto­ry in it is awful­ly fun­ny and well drawn, with the most irre­sistible lion, and it’s all enjoy­able. Sfar’s imag­i­na­tion and col­or are won­der­ful. His pub­lish­er should be pil­lo­ried in Times Square for print­ing the art in Vol II so small that you lit­er­al­ly need a mag­ni­fy­ing glass to read some of the con­ti­nu­ity. — I gath­er that Sfar and Satrapi are friends. Are we on the way to hav­ing a great school of graph­ic nov­els by For­eign­ers Liv­ing in Paris?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ursu­la Le Guin Gives Insight­ful Writ­ing Advice in Her Free Online Work­shop

Hear Ursu­la K. Le Guin’s Pio­neer­ing Sci-Fi Nov­el, The Left Hand of Dark­ness, as a BBC Radio Play

Hear Ursu­la K. Le Guin’s Sto­ry, “The End” Dra­ma­tized: A Rare Audio Treat

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

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A Clever Supercut of Writers Struggling with Writer’s Block in 53 Films: From Barton Fink to The Royal Tenenbaums

Quite patient­ly, Ben Watts cut apart and stitched togeth­er scenes from 53 films (find a com­plete list here) show­ing char­ac­ters suf­fer­ing through writer’s block. Adap­ta­tion, Bar­ton Fink, Shake­speare in Love, The Roy­al Tenen­baums, and, yes, Throw Mom­ma From the Train–they’re among the films fea­tured in the 4‑minute super­cut above. If you give the clip a lit­tle time, you’ll see that the super­cut has an arc to it. It tells a tale, and has an end­ing that Hol­ly­wood would love.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via AV Club

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch a 44-Minute Super­cut of Every Woody Allen Stam­mer, From Every Woody Allen Film

A Mes­mer­iz­ing Super­cut of the First and Final Frames of 55 Movies, Played Side by Side

Books in the Films of Wes Ander­son: A Super­cut for Bib­lio­philes

A Great Com­pi­la­tion of “The Lick” Found in Music Every­where: From Coltrane & Stravin­sky, to Christi­na Aguil­era

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Young Patti Smith Rails Against the Censorship of Her Music: An Animated, NSFW Interview from 1976

The lat­est install­ment from Blank on Blank’s series of ani­mat­ed videos drops us inside the bohemi­an Por­to­bel­lo Hotel in Lon­don. It’s May, 1976, and we hear a young Pat­ti Smith rail­ing against the cen­sor­ship of her music, using some colorful–that is to say, NSFW–words. She talks Rim­baud. The poet­ry and com­bat of rock. The dreams and hal­lu­ci­na­tions that feed her music. The stuff that would even­tu­al­ly earn her the cred to be called The God­moth­er of Punk.

The audio is part of a longer, two-hour inter­view with Mick Gold, which is avail­able through Ama­zon and iTunes. Enjoy.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith’s List of Favorite Books: From Rim­baud to Susan Son­tag

Pat­ti Smith’s Cov­er of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” Strips the Song Down to its Heart

Watch Pat­ti Smith Read from Vir­ginia Woolf, and Hear the Only Sur­viv­ing Record­ing of Woolf’s Voice

Pat­ti Smith Reads Her Final Words to Robert Map­plethor­pe

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Call Me Burroughs: Hear William S. Burroughs Read from Naked Lunch & The Soft Machine in His First Spoken Word Album (1965)

william_s_burroughs

Image by Chris­ti­aan Ton­nis, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Where did you first hear the voice of William S. Bur­roughs? Weary yet vig­or­ous, flat yet pow­er­ful, wry yet haunt­ing, it has, to a good-sized seg­ment of sev­er­al gen­er­a­tions now, defined a cadence for the coun­ter­cul­ture. Many of those enthu­si­asts (most of whom would have come to know the grand old man of the Beat Gen­er­a­tion’s post­mod­ernist wing through his writ­ing, like the nov­els Naked Lunch and Junky) had their first gen­uine Bur­roughs lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence through the record album Call Me Bur­roughs, first released in 1965, and more recent­ly re-issued by Supe­ri­or Viaduct.

In these ses­sions, record­ed in the base­ment of The Eng­lish Book­shop in Paris, Bur­roughs reads from Naked Lunch as well as Nova Express, the third book in the “Nova Tril­o­gy” that the author con­sid­ered a “math­e­mat­i­cal con­tin­u­a­tion” of his best-known work. Both emerged as the fruits of the “cut-up” tech­nique of lit­er­ary com­po­si­tion Bur­roughs devel­oped with artist Brion Gysin, cre­at­ing new texts out of decon­tex­tu­al­ized and reassem­bled pieces of exist­ing text found in the mass media.

“Bur­roughs believed that lan­guage and image were viral and that the mass-dis­sem­i­na­tion of infor­ma­tion was part of an arch-con­spir­a­cy that restrict­ed the full poten­tial of the human mind,” writes Glenn O’Bri­an at Elec­tron­ic Beats. “With cut-up, Bur­roughs found a means of escape; an anti­dote to the sick­ness of ‘con­trol’ mes­sages that mutat­ed their orig­i­nal con­tent. If mass media already func­tioned as an enor­mous bar­rage of cut-up mate­r­i­al, the cut-up method was a way for the artist to fight back using its same tac­tics.”

Call Me Bur­roughs, which at one point became a deep-out-of-print col­lec­tor’s item, has now come avail­able free on Spo­ti­fy. (You can down­load its free soft­ware here.) You can also stream it on Youtube. Coun­ter­cul­ture chron­i­cler Bar­ry Miles notes that the Bea­t­les all had copies (and Paul McCart­ney, par­tic­u­lar­ly impressed with it, went on to hire its pro­duc­er him­self), and “art deal­er Robert Fras­er bought ten copies to give to friends such as Bri­an Jones and Mick Jag­ger. Mar­i­anne Faith­ful and Kei­th Richards’ deal­er had copies, as did numer­ous painters and writ­ers.” So what­ev­er inspi­ra­tion you draw from this “tal­is­man of cool in Green­wich Vil­lage in the mid-1960s,” as Greil Mar­cus once called it, you’ll cer­tain­ly join a long line of dis­tin­guished lis­ten­ers.

Call Me Bur­roughs will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

via Elec­tron­ic Beats

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs Reads & Sings His Exper­i­men­tal Prose in a Big, Free 7‑Hour Playlist

How William S. Bur­roughs Used the Cut-Up Tech­nique to Shut Down London’s First Espres­so Bar (1972)

William S. Bur­roughs Teach­es a Free Course on Cre­ative Read­ing and Writ­ing (1979)

William S. Bur­roughs Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death”

How David Bowie, Kurt Cobain & Thom Yorke Write Songs With William Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Tech­nique

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

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The Birth of London’s 1950s Bohemian Coffee Bars Documented in a Vintage 1959 Newsreel

I live in Seoul, by some mea­sures the most cof­fee shop-sat­u­rat­ed city in the world. But mod­ern cof­fee life here (which I recent­ly wrote about for the Los Ange­les Review of Books) only real­ly devel­oped after Star­bucks came to town around the turn of the 21st cen­tu­ry. We’ve now got more Star­bucks loca­tions per capi­ta than any­where else, and even so, the home­grown Kore­an chains well out­num­ber those under the green mer­maid. To under­stand how the cof­fee-house cul­ture we know across the world today took its shape, we have to look back to Lon­don in the late 1950s, specif­i­cal­ly as cap­tured in the Look at Life news­reel on the city’s bohemi­an cof­fee house boom just above.

“Cof­fee is big busi­ness,” says its nar­ra­tor, over a mon­tage of neon signs adver­tis­ing places like The Cof­fee House, Las Vegas Cof­fee Bar, Heav­en & HELL Cof­fee Lounge, and La Roca. “The cof­fee bar boom in Britain began in 1952, when the first espres­so machine arrived from Italy and was set up here, in Lon­don’s Soho.” The city’s many entre­pre­neurs vig­or­ous­ly seized the oppor­tu­ni­ty — maybe too vig­or­ous­ly, since “for every three cof­fee bars that opened up, two closed down.” They had­n’t planned on a few dif­fer­ent fac­tors, includ­ing over­head high enough that “if a char­ac­ter sits for half an hour over one cup of cof­fee, his share of the rent, heat, light, and ser­vice mount to the point where the man­age­ment is pay­ing him.”

They should’ve count­ed them­selves lucky that the likes of me and my gen­er­a­tion weren’t alive back then to, on a sim­i­lar­ly sin­gle cof­fee, spend half the day typ­ing on our lap­tops. But Lon­don’s mid­cen­tu­ry cof­fee hous­es soon learned to diver­si­fy, offer­ing Look at Life plenty–in its vivid col­ors and with its broad sense of humor–of life to look at: we see cof­fee bars hop­ping with live music and those who dance to it; juke­box cof­fee bars geared toward pom­padoured hip­sters; the film indus­try-beloved cof­fee bar in which T.S. Eliot once wrote the immor­tal line, “I have mea­sured out my life with cof­fee spoons”; an “invis­i­ble cof­fee house” behind whose false news­stand front “curi­ous char­ac­ters con­gre­gate”; the Moka, which William S. Bur­roughs once shut down with his cut-up tech­niques; and even the famous Le Macabre, dec­o­rat­ed with count­less skele­tal memen­tos mori.

The news­reel also finds its way to a cof­fee shop estab­lished by a news­pa­per where “uni­ver­si­ty stu­dents and oth­er assort­ed eggheads meet to put the world right — or more often left,” which reminds me of Guardian Cof­fee, a pop-up cof­fee house in a ship­ping-con­tain­er com­plex in Lon­don’s Shored­itch (in some sense, the Soho of the 21st cen­tu­ry) co-run by the epony­mous news­pa­per, which I vis­it­ed on my last trip to Eng­land. The Guardian Cof­fee exper­i­ment has since end­ed, but the Guardian has retained its inter­est in the bev­er­age itself, as evi­denced by recent arti­cles like Rosie Spinks’ “The Caf­feine Curse: Why Cof­fee Shops Have Always Sig­naled Urban Change.”

“As the cof­fee shop has become a byword for what every­one hates about urban change and gen­tri­fi­ca­tion – first come the cre­atives and their cof­fee shops, then the young pro­fes­sion­als, then the lux­u­ry high-ris­es and cor­po­rate chains that push out orig­i­nal res­i­dents – it’s worth ask­ing if that charge is fair,” Spinks writes. “As the func­tion of the cof­fee house in Lon­don has evolved over time, was its ear­ly iter­a­tion so rad­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent than the ones many of us type and sip away in today?” And what­ev­er form they take, cof­fee hous­es remain, as Look at Life calls them, “bright — or dim — fan­ci­ful, imag­i­na­tive new addi­tions to the British scene.” Or the Amer­i­can scene, or the Kore­an scene, or indeed the glob­al scene.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Curi­ous Sto­ry of London’s First Cof­fee­hous­es (1650–1675)

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: London’s First Cafe Cre­ates Ad for Cof­fee in the 1650s

J.S. Bach’s Com­ic Opera, “The Cof­fee Can­ta­ta,” Sings the Prais­es of the Great Stim­u­lat­ing Drink (1735)

The His­to­ry of Cof­fee and How It Trans­formed Our World

Black Cof­fee: Doc­u­men­tary Cov­ers the His­to­ry, Pol­i­tics & Eco­nom­ics of the “Most Wide­ly Tak­en Legal Drug”

How William S. Bur­roughs Used the Cut-Up Tech­nique to Shut Down London’s First Espres­so Bar (1972)

Hip­sters Order­ing Cof­fee

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

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Glass: The Oscar-Winning “Perfect Short Documentary” on Dutch Glassmaking (1958)

You’ll find many a bold claim on Wikipedia, even on the page for Bert Haanstra’s Glass, a 1958 short doc­u­men­tary on glass­mak­ing in the Nether­lands, which, as of this writ­ing, men­tions that the film “is often acclaimed to be the per­fect short doc­u­men­tary.” Just the sort of thing you’d want to take with a grain of salt, right? But if you watch Glass itself, which won the 1959 Acad­e­my Award for Doc­u­men­tary Short Sub­ject, you might find your­self join­ing in on that sup­posed cho­rus of acclaim.

Prashant Par­vat­neni at The Essen­tial Mys­tery calls Glass “at once a pas­sion­ate cel­e­bra­tion of human labour and crafts­man­ship and a bit­ing cri­tique of the mech­a­nis­tic mass-pro­duc­tion of objects. On the very sur­face this doc­u­men­tary can appear as a demon­stra­tive film keen­ly elu­ci­dat­ing the very basic process­es that go into the mak­ing of hand­made glass­ware and jux­ta­pos­ing it with the process of bot­tle-mak­ing in a mech­a­nised fac­to­ry.

Yet this very jux­ta­po­si­tion cou­pled with a Haanstra’s strong styl­is­tic inter­ven­tion takes the film into a polem­i­cal space.” Tak­ing a slight­ly dif­fer­ent tone, Colos­sal’s Christo­pher Job­son high­lights the jazz of the tra­di­tion­al half, and the “whim­si­cal score of more syn­the­sized music” in the mod­ern half. “Also,” he adds, “there’s a ton of great smok­ing!”

Job­son does­n’t men­tion that these guys also some­how man­age to keep smok­ing even while blow­ing glass — an impres­sive feat indeed, and just one of the impres­sive qual­i­ties on dis­play in Glass’ brief run­time. Even­tu­al­ly, the footage turns back from the fac­to­ry to the work­shop, and soon it begins oscil­lat­ing between the two, cut­ting to the jazzy rhythm and even mak­ing the machines and work­men into musi­cal instru­ments of a kind. The Dutch glass­mak­ing indus­try has sure­ly changed in the past half-cen­tu­ry, but stu­dents of Dutch film can’t ignore the work of Haanstra, who in addi­tion to this and oth­er doc­u­men­taries short and long, direct­ed fea­tures includ­ing Fan­fare, still one of the most pop­u­lar films in the Nether­lands ever. But as any film his­to­ri­an might sus­pect — and here comes anoth­er bold claim — Glass will out­live them all.

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

via Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why Man Cre­ates: Saul Bass’ Oscar-Win­ning Ani­mat­ed Look at Cre­ativ­i­ty (1968)

Oscar-Win­ning Ani­mat­ed Short, The Dot and the Line, Cel­e­brates Geom­e­try and Hard Work (1965)

Watch the Funky, Oscar-Win­ning Ani­mat­ed Film Fea­tur­ing the Music of Herb Alpert & the Tijua­na Brass (1966)

36 Free Oscar Win­ning Films Avail­able on the Web

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

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Discovering Electronic Music: 1983 Documentary Offers a Fun & Educational Introduction to Electronic Music

The late six­ties and sev­en­ties pro­duced an explo­sion of elec­tron­ic music that arrived on the scene as an almost entire­ly new art form. So much so that when com­pos­er Wendy Car­los released an album of Bach com­po­si­tions played on the Moog syn­the­siz­er, it was as though she had invent­ed anoth­er genre of music, rather than played baroque pieces on a new instru­ment. We had fore­moth­ers like Delia Der­byshire, exper­i­men­tal bands like Sil­ver Apples and Sui­cide, inno­va­tors like Bri­an Eno and David Bowie and Kraftwerk, dis­co pio­neers like Gior­gio Moroder and Don­na Sum­mer… the list of elec­tron­ic musi­cians at work cre­at­ing the genre before the 1980s could go on and on.

You won’t learn any of that from the 1983 doc­u­men­tary above, Dis­cov­er­ing Elec­tron­ic Music, which is not at all to damn the short film; on the con­trary, what this pre­sen­ta­tion offers us is some­thing entire­ly dif­fer­ent from the usu­al sur­vey course in great men and women of com­mer­cial music. With an under­stat­ed, ped­a­gog­i­cal tone, Dis­cov­er­ing Elec­tron­ic Music gen­tly leads its view­ers through a thought­ful intro­duc­tion to elec­tron­ic music itself—what it con­sists of, how it dif­fers from acoustic music, what kind of equip­ment pro­duces it, and how that equip­ment works.

There are many musi­cians fea­tured here, but none of them stars. They demon­strate, with com­pe­ten­cy and pro­fes­sion­al­ism, the ways var­i­ous elec­tron­ic instru­ments and (now seem­ing­ly pre­his­toric) com­put­er sys­tems work. We do hear lots of clas­si­cal music played on syn­the­siz­ers, though not by the enig­mat­ic and reclu­sive Wendy Car­los. And we hear mod­ern com­po­si­tions as well, though few you’re like­ly to rec­og­nize, from “Jean-Claude Ris­set, Dou­glas Leedy, F.R. Moore, Stephan Soomil, Rory Kaplan, Ger­al Strang and more for­got­ten genius­es of ear­ly elec­tron­ic music,” writes Elec­tron­ic Beats.

Ear­ly in the film, its pre­sen­ter talks about the specif­i­cal­ly mod­ern appeal of elec­tron­ic music: com­posers can work direct­ly with sound like a sculp­tor or painter, rather than com­pos­ing on paper and wait­ing to hear that writ­ten music per­formed by musi­cians. Much of Dis­cov­er­ing Elec­tron­ic Music shows us com­posers and musi­cians doing just that, with the thor­ough­ly mat­ter-of-fact man­ner of the most com­pelling­ly dry pub­lic tele­vi­sion doc­u­men­taries and with the strange­ly sooth­ing qual­i­ty com­mon to both Mr. Rogers’ Neigh­bor­hood and Bob Ross’s paint­ing lessons. Like the sound of the ana­log syn­the­siz­ers and antique com­put­er sequencers it fea­tures, the doc­u­men­tary has an eerie beau­ty all its own.

Find more doc­u­men­taries in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

via Elec­tron­ic Beats

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Moog Syn­the­siz­er Changed the Sound of Music

The His­to­ry of Elec­tron­ic Music in 476 Tracks (1937–2001)

Two Doc­u­men­taries Intro­duce Delia Der­byshire, the Pio­neer in Elec­tron­ic Music

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

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