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30 Errol Morris Movies That Can Be Streamed Online

Why do I check into Metafil­ter every day? Just so that I don’t miss a post like this. A Metafil­ter com­mu­ni­ty mem­ber who goes by the name of “Going to Maine” has pulled togeth­er a list of Thir­ty Errol Mor­ris movies that can be streamed on YouTube. The list includes some of Mor­ris’ major doc­u­men­taries, but also many excel­lent short films (and inter­views) direct­ed by Mor­ris over the years. Above, you can see “Team Spir­it,” a bizarre lit­tle film Mor­ris made for ESPN about fans who are dead­ly seri­ous about sports. In fact, they take their love of sports right to the grave. Below, you can find var­i­ous oth­er Mor­ris films we’ve fea­tured over the years. They oth­er­wise reside in our col­lec­tion of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of our Free Movies col­lec­tion.

How Benoit Man­del­brot Dis­cov­ered Frac­tals: A Short Film by Errol Mor­ris

Errol Mor­ris Cap­tures Com­pet­i­tive Eat­ing Cham­pi­on “El Wingador”

Watch A Brief His­to­ry of Time, Errol Mor­ris’ Film About the Life & Work of Stephen Hawk­ing

Novem­ber 22, 1963: Watch Errol Mor­ris’ Short Doc­u­men­tary About the Kennedy Assas­si­na­tion

“They Were There” — Errol Mor­ris Final­ly Directs a Film for IBM

11 Excel­lent Rea­sons Not to Vote?

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The Getty Adds Another 77,000 Images to its Open Content Archive

getty_church2

Last sum­mer we told you that the J. Paul Get­ty Muse­um launched its Open Con­tent Pro­gram by tak­ing 4600 high-res­o­lu­tion images from the Get­ty col­lec­tions, putting them into the pub­lic domain, and mak­ing them freely avail­able in dig­i­tal for­mat. We also made it clear — there would be more to come.

Yes­ter­day, the Get­ty made good on that promise, adding anoth­er 77,000 images to the Open Con­tent archive. Of those images, 72,000 come from the Foto Arte Minore col­lec­tion, a rich gallery of pho­tographs of Ital­ian art and archi­tec­ture, tak­en by the pho­tog­ra­ph­er and schol­ar Max Hutzel (1911–1988).

getty tapestryThe Get­ty also dropped into the archive anoth­er 4,930 images of Euro­pean and Amer­i­can tapes­tries dat­ing from the late 15th through the late 18th cen­turies.

All images in the Get­ty Open Con­tent pro­gram — now 87,000 in total — can be down­loaded and used with­out charge or per­mis­sion, regard­less of whether you’re a schol­ar, artist, art lover or entre­pre­neur. The Get­ty only asks that you give them attri­bu­tion.

You can start explor­ing the com­plete col­lec­tion by vis­it­ing the Get­ty Search Gate­way. Images can also be accessed via the Muse­um’s Col­lec­tion web­pages. Be sure to look for the “down­load” link near the images.

For more infor­ma­tion on the Open Con­tent pro­gram, please vis­it this page. For more open con­tent from muse­ums, see the links below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Down­load Over 250 Free Art Books From the Get­ty Muse­um

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

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

The Rijksmu­se­um Puts 125,000 Dutch Mas­ter­pieces Online, and Lets You Remix Its Art

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Sylvia Plath Annotates Her Copy of The Great Gatsby

gatsbyedited

The true fan of a writer desires not just that writer’s com­plete works, even if they all come signed and in first edi­tions. No — the enthu­si­ast most ded­i­cat­ed to their lit­er­ary lumi­nary of choice must have, in addi­tion, the books writ­ten by that author, those owned by that author, prefer­ably anoint­ed with lib­er­al quan­ti­ties of reveal­ing mar­gin­a­lia. In the case of such rel­a­tive­ly recent­ly deceased writ­ers as David Mark­son, the whole of whose well-anno­tat­ed per­son­al library got donat­ed to The Strand short­ly after his pass­ing, you can some­times actu­al­ly come to pos­sess such trea­sures. In the case of poet Sylvia Plath, part of a page of whose copy of F. Scott Fitzger­ald’s The Great Gats­by you see above, you might have a trick­i­er time get­ting your hands on them. Justin Ray’s post at Com­plex, which quotes Plath as call­ing Fitzger­ald “a word painter with a vivid palette” who choos­es words with “jew­el-cut pre­ci­sion,” has more on the book and its mark­ings.

“Plath stud­ied a crap-ton of lit­er­a­ture in school,” Ray writes. “It isn’t imme­di­ate­ly clear whether she was in high school or col­lege when she anno­tat­ed Gats­by,” but when­ev­er she did it, she under­lined “Daisy’s pre­dic­tion of what her daugh­ter will be like” with the word “L’Ennui,” a word she would use to name an ear­ly poem that reflects “a post roman­ti­cism and the death of ide­al­ism, two ideas also in Gats­by, accord­ing to an essay by Anna Jour­ney.” Else­where, you can also read “Princess Daisy,” Park Buck­er’s piece on Plath’s anno­tat­ed Gats­by. “The vol­ume rep­re­sents a fas­ci­nat­ing piece of evi­dence of Fitzgerald’s ris­ing rep­u­ta­tion and influ­ence in the ear­ly 1950s, as well as the aca­d­e­m­ic back­ground and tastes of a major Amer­i­can poet,” writes Buck­er. “Although Sylvia Plath and F. Scott Fitzger­ald rarely inhab­it the same sen­tence, their asso­ci­a­tion should not appear strained. A young, intense poet would nat­u­ral­ly be drawn to the lyric qual­i­ty of Fitzgerald’s prose.” And just imag­ine its val­ue to die-hard fans of both of those trag­ic pil­lars of Amer­i­can let­ters — a group in which, if you’ve read this post and every­thing to which it links, you should per­haps con­sid­er count­ing your­self.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Sylvia Plath Read Fif­teen Poems From Her Final Col­lec­tion, Ariel, in 1962 Record­ing

See F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Hand­writ­ten Man­u­scripts for The Great Gats­by, This Side of Par­adise & More

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Trans­lates The Great Gats­by, the Nov­el That Influ­enced Him Most

83 Years of Great Gats­by Book Cov­er Designs: A Pho­to Gallery

Read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gats­by & Oth­er Major Works Free Online

Gertrude Stein Sends a “Review” of The Great Gats­by to F. Scott Fitzger­ald (1925)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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Orson Welles Tells Some Damn Good Stories in the Orson Welles’ Sketch Book (1955)

On the first episode of Orson Welles’ Sketch Book, the man who made Cit­i­zen Kane remem­bers an anx­i­ety-induc­ing evening ear­ly in his career: hav­ing some­how already gained a rep­u­ta­tion as an enter­tain­ing after-din­ner speak­er, he found him­self stand­ing before a room­ful of what seemed like every movie star in the flesh that he’d ever seen on the screen. Des­per­ate to impress all these celebri­ties who had so impressed him, he pulled out the only amus­ing sto­ry in his reper­toire, only to real­ize halfway through the telling that he could­n’t remem­ber how it end­ed. Luck­i­ly, one of Cal­i­for­ni­a’s earth­quakes struck just before he reached that for­got­ten end­ing, send­ing the whole Hol­ly­wood crowd out the door and let­ting him off the racon­teur hook. By the time he tells the next tale, of his longer-ago, more stress­ful and much more for­ma­tive debut onstage in front of a decid­ed­ly unco­op­er­a­tive Dublin audi­ence, you’ll won­der why he could­n’t han­dle the after-din­ner speak­ing; if any­one has a nat­ur­al sto­ry­teller’s instinct, he does.

The BBC must have thought so, in any case, when they put togeth­er this series of tele­vi­sion com­men­taries from Welles, none of which need more than his then slight­ly unfa­mil­iar face (with­out, he under­scores, the usu­al false nose he wears for roles), his unmis­tak­able voice, and his illus­tra­tions — tak­en, lit­er­al­ly, from his sketch­book. In these six fif­teen-minute broad­casts, which orig­i­nal­ly aired in 1955, Welles talks about not just the inaus­pi­cious begin­nings of his illus­tri­ous work­ing life but his expe­ri­ences with the crit­ics, the police, John Bar­ry­more and Har­ry Hou­di­ni, the infa­mous radio pro­duc­tion of War of the Worlds (which you can hear in our post for its 75th anniver­sary), and bull­fight­ing (see also our post on his friend­ship with Ernest Hem­ing­way). Though inter­est­ing in and of them­selves, he uses these sub­jects to tie togeth­er a vari­ety of rec­ol­lec­tions and obser­va­tions from his life and career: on the fin­er points of pro­duc­ing Shake­speare with voodoo witch-doc­tors, on media-induced gulli­bil­i­ty, on the inva­sion of pri­va­cy, on the art of line prompt­ing. Not set­tling for sta­tus as a cre­ative genius in film, the­ater, and radio, it seems Welles also laid down the exam­ple for a form that would­n’t actu­al­ly arrive for anoth­er fifty years: vlog­ging.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Orson Welles Remem­bers his Stormy Friend­ship with Ernest Hem­ing­way

Orson Welles Explains Why Igno­rance Was His Major “Gift” to Cit­i­zen Kane

Orson Welles’ Last Inter­view and Final Moments Cap­tured on Film

Revis­it Orson Welles’ Icon­ic ‘War of the Worlds’ Broad­cast That Aired 75 Years Ago Today

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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The Origins of Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk: Vintage Footage of Cab Calloway, Sammy Davis Jr., Fred Astaire & More

Michael Jack­son took one giant leap for pop his­to­ry on March 25, 1983 when he gave an ador­ing pub­lic their first taste of his sig­na­ture moon­walk in hon­or of Motown Records’ 25th birth­day. (See below)

Nov­el­ty-wise, it was­n’t quite a Neil Arm­strong moment. Like many artists, Jack­son had many prece­dents from which he could and did draw. He can be cred­it­ed with bring­ing a cer­tain atti­tude to the pro­ceed­ings. The expert prac­ti­tion­ers in the video above are more ebul­lient, tap­ping, slid­ing and pro­to-moon­walk­ing them­selves into a state of rap­ture that feeds off the audi­ence’s plea­sure.

The line-up includes artists lucky enough to have left last­ing foot­prints—Cab Cal­loway, Sam­my Davis Jr., Fred Astaire, as well as those we’d do well to redis­cov­er: Rub­ber­neck Holmes, Earl “Snake­hips” Tuck­er, Buck and Bub­bles.…

Lack­ing the Inter­net, how­ev­er, it does seem unlike­ly that Jack­son would’ve spent much time por­ing over the foot­work of these mas­ters. (He may have tak­en a sar­to­r­i­al cue from their socks.)

Instead, he invest­ed a lot of time break­ing down the street moves, what he referred to in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy as “a ‘pop­ping’ type of thing that black kids had cre­at­ed danc­ing on the street cor­ners in the ghet­to.”

Jack­son’s sis­ter, LaToya, iden­ti­fied for­mer Soul Train and Sol­id Gold dancer Jef­frey Daniel, below, as her broth­er’s pri­ma­ry tutor in this endeav­or. (He went on to co-chore­o­graph Jack­son’s videos for “Bad” and “Smooth Crim­i­nal”.) As to the sto­ry behind his moon­walk, or back­slide as he called it before Jack­son’s ver­sion oblit­er­at­ed the pos­si­bil­i­ty of any oth­er name, Daniel gave props to the same kids Jack­son did.

For those of you who men­tioned it on Twit­ter and in our com­ments, we’ve added Char­lie Chap­lin’s scene in Mod­ern Times.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Keep­ing Jacko in Per­spec­tive

James Brown Gives You Danc­ing Lessons: From The Funky Chick­en to The Booga­loo

Yoko Ono, Age 80, Still Has Moves, Dances with The Beast­ie Boys, Ira Glass, Rober­ta Flack & Friends

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the author of sev­en books, and cre­ator of the award win­ning East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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Sir Patrick Stewart & Sir Ian McKellen Play The Newlywed Game

I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that this is the first time two knight­ed cul­tur­al fig­ures have played The New­ly­wed Game — a ver­sion of that wince (and nos­tal­gia) ‑induc­ing game show that ran from the 1960s through the 1990s. Although Stew­art and McK­ellen aren’t mar­ried, they know each oth­er plen­ty well. They’ve worked togeth­er on stage (in a pro­duc­tion of Wait­ing for Godot) and in film (they’ll be appear­ing togeth­er in an upcom­ing X‑Men movie.) And suf­fice it to say, they’ve formed a tight friend­ship. When Stew­art mar­ried Sun­ny Ozell last year, McK­ellen offi­ci­at­ed at the wed­ding cer­e­mo­ny.

This lit­tle bit took place at a Buz­zFeed Brews event back in Feb­ru­ary. You can watch their full 48 minute appear­ance here. Also find the two in a deep­er con­ver­sa­tion record­ed at the Screen Actors Guild Foun­da­tion just last month.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sir Patrick Stew­art Demon­strates How Cows Moo in Dif­fer­ent Eng­lish Accents

Sir Ian McK­ellen Reads Man­u­al for Chang­ing Tires in Dra­mat­ic Voice

Patrick Stew­art Talks Can­did­ly About Domes­tic Vio­lence in a Poignant Q&A Ses­sion at Comic­palooza

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“The Periodic Table of Storytelling” Reveals the Elements of Telling a Good Story

periodic table storytelling

Dmitri Mendeleev might have designed the orig­i­nal peri­od­ic table – a graph­ic rep­re­sen­ta­tion of all the basic build­ing blocks of the uni­verse – but artist James Har­ris has done some­thing way cool with that tem­plate — the Peri­od­ic Table of Sto­ry­telling.

That’s right. Har­ris has tak­en all the tropes, arche­types and clichés found in movies (not to men­tion TV, com­ic books, lit­er­a­ture, video and even pro­fes­sion­al wrestling) and syn­the­sized them into an ele­gant­ly real­ized chart. Instead of group­ing the ele­ments by noble gas­es or met­als, Har­ris has orga­nized them by sto­ry ele­ments — struc­ture, plot devices, hero arche­types. Each ele­ment is linked to a vast wiki that gives def­i­n­i­tions and exam­ples. For instance, if you click on the ele­ment Chk, you’ll go to a page explain­ing the trope of Chekhov’s Gun. And if you click on Neo, you’ll go to the page for, of course, the Cho­sen One.

Below the chart, Har­ris has even cre­at­ed sto­ry mol­e­cules for a few spe­cif­ic movies. Ghost­busters, for exam­ple, is the com­bi­na­tion of an atom con­sist­ing of 5ma (Five Man Band) and Mad (Mad Sci­en­tist) and one con­sist­ing of Iac (Sealed Evil in a Can) and Hil (Hilar­i­ty Ensues).

So if you’re in film school or if you have a copy of Robert McKee’s Sto­ry on your book­shelf or if you’re one of the rough­ly three dozen peo­ple in the Los Ange­les cof­fee shop where I’m writ­ing this arti­cle who are bang­ing out screen­plays, you need to check this table out. But be warned: it will suck away a good chunk of your day.

via No Film School

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pixar’s 22 Rules of Sto­ry­telling

Ira Glass, the Host of This Amer­i­can Life, Breaks Down the Fine Art of Sto­ry­telling

World’s Small­est Peri­od­ic Table on a Human Hair

“The Peri­od­ic Table Table” — All The Ele­ments in Hand-Carved Wood

Free Online Chem­istry Cours­es

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

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Two Artificial Intelligence Chatbots Talk to Each Other & Get Into a Deep Philosophical Conversation

The folks at the Cor­nell Cre­ative Machines Lab are “inter­est­ed in robots that cre­ate and are cre­ative.” Here’s one such exam­ple of robots get­ting cre­ative. Above, the lab lets two chat­bots (essen­tial­ly com­put­er pro­grams designed to sim­u­late an intel­li­gent con­ver­sa­tion) start chat­ting with one anoth­er. They start by exchang­ing pleas­antries. Then things get deeply philo­soph­i­cal, fair­ly quick­ly.  It’s fun to watch it play out.

via Giz­mo­do

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 100 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es and Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

Learn to Code with Harvard’s Intro to Com­put­er Sci­ence Course And Oth­er Free Tech Class­es

Noam Chom­sky Explains Where Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Went Wrong

 

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Hear Patti Smith Read 12 Poems From Seventh Heaven, Her First Collection (1972)

So it’s Nation­al Poet­ry Month, and the Acad­e­my of Amer­i­can Poets rec­om­mends 30 Ways to Cel­e­brate, includ­ing some old stand­bys like mem­o­riz­ing a poem, read­ing a poem a day, and attend­ing a read­ing. All sen­si­ble, if some­what staid, sug­ges­tions (I myself have been re-read­ing all of Wal­lace Stevens’ work—make of that what you will). Here’s a sug­ges­tion that didn’t make the list: spend some time dig­ging the poet­ry of Pat­ti Smith.

A liv­ing breath­ing leg­end, Smith doesn’t appear in many aca­d­e­m­ic antholo­gies, and that’s just fine. What she offers are bridges from the Beats to the six­ties New York art scene to sev­en­ties punk poet­ry and beyond, with span­drels made from French sur­re­al­ist lean­ings and rock and roll obses­sions. A 1977 Oxford Lit­er­ary Review arti­cle apt­ly describes Smith in her hey­day:

In the late six­ties and ear­ly sev­en­ties Pat­ti Smith was a mem­ber of Warhol’s androg­y­nous beau­ties liv­ing under the flu­o­res­cent lights of New York City’s Chelsea Hotel…Her per­for­mances were sex­u­al bruis­ings with the spasms of Jag­ger and the off-key of Dylan. Her musi­cal poems often came from her poet­i­cal fan­tasies of Rim­baud.

Smith’s work is sen­su­al and wild­ly kinet­ic, as is her process, which she once described as “a real phys­i­cal act.”

When I’m home writ­ing on the type­writer, I go crazy
I move like a mon­key
I’ve wet myself, I’ve come in my pants writ­ing

Emi­ly Dick­en­son she ain’t, but Smith also has an abid­ing love and respect for her lit­er­ary fore­bears, whether now-almost-estab­lish­ment fig­ures like Vir­ginia Woolf or still-some­what-out­ré char­ac­ters like Antonin Artaud and Jean Genet.

Smith’s first pub­lished col­lec­tion of poet­ry, Sev­enth Heav­en, appeared in 1972 and includ­ed trib­utes to Edie Sedg­wick and Mar­i­anne Faith­full. She ded­i­cat­ed the book to gang­ster writer Mick­ey Spillane and Rolling Stones’ muse, and part­ner of both Bri­an Jones and Kei­th Richards, Ani­ta Pal­len­berg.

The book has not been reis­sued, and print copies are rare. Yet, as the afore-quot­ed arti­cle notes, Pat­ti Smith’s is an “oral poet­ics” that “uses much of her voice rhythms.” The line between her work as a punk singer and per­for­mance poet is ephemer­al, per­haps nonex­is­tent—Pat­ti Smith on the page is great, but Pat­ti Smith on stage is greater. Hear for your­self, above, in a 1972 record­ing of Smith read­ing twelve poems from her first col­lec­tion at St. Mark’s Church in New York City. She sounds almost exact­ly like Lin­da Manz from Ter­rence Malick’s Days of Heav­en, a street­wise kid with a roman­tic streak a mile wide.

Over three decades and many more pub­li­ca­tions lat­er, Smith is now a Nation­al Book Award win­ner and a con­sid­er­ably mel­low­er pres­ence, but she has nev­er strayed far from her roots. Above, see her at back at St. Marks in 2011, read­ing her poem “Oath,” first writ­ten in 1966, whose famous first line “Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine” became the unfor­get­table open­ing to her equal­ly unfor­get­table “Glo­ria.” For con­trast, hear her read the same poem below, in 1973, over squalling gui­tar feed­back (and with the famous line begin­ning “Christ died…”). Clas­sic, clas­sic stuff.

See and hear many more of her read­ings on Youtube, and see this site for a par­tial Pat­ti Smith bib­li­og­ra­phy, pub­li­ca­tion his­to­ry, and select­ed archive of poems, essays, and reviews.

Smith’s read­ings of Sev­enth Heav­en will be added to our col­lec­tion of Free Audio Books.

via Fla­vor­wire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

See Pat­ti Smith Give Two Dra­mat­ic Read­ings of Allen Ginsberg’s “Foot­note to Howl”

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

Pat­ti Smith Doc­u­men­tary Dream of Life Beau­ti­ful­ly Cap­tures the Author’s Life and Long Career (2008)

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

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Listen to 21-Year-Old David Letterman’s College Radio Show (1969)

letterman in college

Over thir­ty years at the desk of his very own late-night talk show, mul­ti­ple gen­er­a­tions of fans, the respect of come­di­ans the world over: David Let­ter­man has had, by any mea­sure, an awful­ly good run. Though they had to know it could come soon­er or lat­er, thou­sands of view­ers, since Let­ter­man announced last Thurs­day that he plans to retire in 2015, face the immi­nent prospect of a world with­out the Late Show as they know it. For the young and young-ish among them, many of whom didn’t come into the world them­selves until after Letterman’s 1982 nation­al debut (see video at bot­tom), this con­sti­tutes an entire­ly new and trou­bling­ly less absurd tele­vi­su­al real­i­ty. But the mas­ter com­e­dy host didn’t sim­ply emerge on to the scene, ful­ly formed, those 32 years ago. Any­one who’s watched long enough to notice the fre­quen­cy of Letterman’s ref­er­ences to Indi­anapo­lis, his home­town and the media mar­ket that grant­ed him his first “big” chance as a weath­er­man, knows that he nev­er for­got his roots.

As with many illus­tri­ous careers, Letterman’s hum­ble ear­ly shot fol­lowed even hum­bler, ear­li­er shots. Just above, you can hear the 21-year-old “Dave Letterman”’s broad­cast from April Fool’s Day 1969 on WAGO-AM, the closed-cir­cuit radio sta­tion he helped to found at his future alma mater, Ball State Uni­ver­si­ty. Though only a five-minute clip, this record­ing show­cas­es not just Letterman’s preter­nat­u­al micro­phone pres­ence, but his way with the near-psy­che­del­ic walls of sound effects, seem­ing­ly free-asso­cia­tive speech, and pure wack­i­ness that so came into its own in the late six­ties and ear­ly sev­en­ties. (The Fire­sign The­ater would soon per­fect it.) Let­ter­man fol­low­ers who must know every­thing — and they cer­tain­ly exist — should note that, when he calls a deliri­ous-sound­ing woman in this seg­ment, he calls none oth­er than Michelle Cook, the very first Mrs. Let­ter­man. Though we have yet to learn the iden­ti­ty of Letterman’s Late Show replace­ment, I feel cer­tain, after this lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence, that the Let­ter­man of twen­ty years from now will rise from the ranks of pod­cast­ing. Lis­ten out for him; he may not drop col­or­ful phras­es just like “horse den­tures falling into a rust­ed how­itzer artillery shell,” but you’ll know him when you hear him. Or her.

Below you can watch Bill Mur­ray’s appear­ance on Let­ter­man’s first 1982 show.

via WFMU’s Beware of the Blog

Relat­ed con­tent:

Tom Waits and David Let­ter­man: An Amer­i­can Tele­vi­sion Tra­di­tion

R.E.M Plays “Radio Free Europe” on Their Nation­al Tele­vi­sion Debut on The David Let­ter­man Show (1983)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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