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How to Make Comics: A Four-Part Series from the Museum of Modern Art


A paint­ing? “Mov­ing. Spir­i­tu­al­ly enrich­ing. Sub­lime. ‘High’ art.” The com­ic strip? “Vapid. Juve­nile. Com­mer­cial hack work. ‘Low’ art.” A paint­ing of a com­ic strip pan­el? “Sophis­ti­cat­ed irony. Philo­soph­i­cal­ly chal­leng­ing. ‘High’ art.” So says Calvin of Bill Wat­ter­son­’s Calvin and Hobbes, whose ten-year run con­sti­tutes one of the great­est artis­tic achieve­ments in the his­to­ry of the news­pa­per com­ic strip. The larg­er medi­um of comics goes well beyond the fun­ny pages, as any num­ber of trend pieces have told us, but as an art form it remains less than per­fect­ly under­stood.  Per­haps, as else­where, one must learn by doing: hence “How to Make Comics,” a “four-part jour­ney through the art of comics” from the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art.

Cre­at­ed by comics schol­ar and writer Chris Gavaler, this edu­ca­tion­al series begins with the broad­est pos­si­ble ques­tion: “What Are Comics?” That sec­tion offers two answers, the first being that comics are “car­toons in the fun­nies sec­tions of news­pa­pers and the pages of com­ic books” telling sto­ries “about super­heroes or talk­ing ani­mals” — or they’re longer-for­mat “graph­ic nov­els,” which “can be more seri­ous and include per­son­al mem­oirs.”

The sec­ond, broad­er answer con­ceives of comics as noth­ing more spe­cif­ic than “jux­ta­posed images. Any work of art that divides into two or more side-by-side parts is for­mal­ly a com­ic. So if an artist cre­ates two images and places them next to each oth­er, they’re work­ing in the comics form.”

That sec­ond def­i­n­i­tion of comics includes, say, Andy Warhol’s Jacque­line Kennedy III — a work of art that con­ve­nient­ly hap­pens to be owned by MoMA. The muse­um’s visu­al resources fig­ure heav­i­ly into the whole “How to Make Comics,” in which Gavaler explains not just the process of cre­at­ing comics but the rela­tion­ship between comics and oth­er (often longer insti­tu­tion­al­ly approved) forms of art. And to what­ev­er degree they jux­ta­pose images, the works of art in MoMA’s online col­lec­tion — rich as so many of them are with action, char­ac­ter, nar­ra­tive, humor, and even words — offer inspi­ra­tion to com­ic artists bud­ding and expe­ri­enced alike. The bet­ter part of two cen­turies into its devel­op­ment, this thor­ough­ly mod­ern medi­um has the pow­er to incor­po­rate ideas from any oth­er art form; the high-and-low dis­tinc­tions can take care of them­selves. Enter “How to Make Comics” here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Free Online Course on Mak­ing Com­ic Books, Com­pli­ments of the Cal­i­for­nia Col­lege of the Arts

Fol­low Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Barry’s 2017 “Mak­ing Comics” Class Online, Pre­sent­ed at UW-Wis­con­sin

Watch Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Barry’s Two-Hour Draw­ing Work­shop

Down­load Over 22,000 Gold­en & Sil­ver Age Com­ic Books from the Com­ic Book Plus Archive

Down­load 15,000+ Free Gold­en Age Comics from the Dig­i­tal Com­ic Muse­um

MoMA’s Online Cours­es Let You Study Mod­ern & Con­tem­po­rary Art and Earn a Cer­tifi­cate

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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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A Guitarist Rocks Out on Guitars Made from Shovels, Cigar Boxes, Oil Cans & Whisky Barrels

When Kei­th Richards felt he’d gone as far as he could go with the six-string gui­tar, he took one string off and played five, a trick he learned from Ry Cood­er. These days, the trend is to go in the oppo­site direc­tion, up to sev­en or eight strings for high­ly tech­ni­cal pro­gres­sive met­al com­po­si­tions and down­tuned “djent.” Tra­di­tion­al­ists may balk at this. A five-string, after all, is a mod­i­fi­ca­tion eas­i­ly accom­plished with a pair of wire-cut­ters. But odd­ly shaped eight-string gui­tars seem like weird­ly roco­co extrav­a­gances next to your aver­age Stra­to­cast­er, Tele, or Les Paul.

Ideas we have about what a gui­tar should be, how­ev­er, come most­ly from the mar­ket­ing and pub­lic rela­tions machin­ery around big brand gui­tars and big name gui­tarists. The truth is, there is no Pla­ton­ic ide­al of the gui­tar, since no one is quite sure where the gui­tar came from.

It’s most eas­i­ly rec­og­nized ances­tors are the oud and the lute, which them­selves have ancient her­itages that stretch into pre­his­to­ry. The six-string arrived rather late on the scene. In the renais­sance, gui­tars had eight strings, tuned in four “cours­es,” or pairs, like the mod­ern 12-string, and baroque gui­tars had 10 strings in five cours­es.

Clos­er in time to us, “the jazz gui­tarist George Van Eps had a sev­en-string gui­tar built for him by Epi­phone Gui­tars in the late 1930s,” notes one brief his­to­ry, “and a sig­na­ture Gretsch sev­en-string in the late 60s and ear­ly 70s…. Sev­er­al oth­ers began using sev­en-string gui­tars after Van Eps.” Russ­ian folk gui­tars had sev­en strings before the arrival of six-string Span­ish clas­si­cal instru­ments (two hun­dred years before the arrival of Korn).

Mean­while, in the hills, hol­lars, and deltas of the U.S. south, folk and blues musi­cians built gui­tars out of what­ev­er was at hand, and fit as many, or as few, strings as need­ed. From these instru­ments came the pow­er­ful­ly sim­ple, time­less licks Keef spent his career emu­lat­ing. Gui­tarist Justin John­son has cul­ti­vat­ed an online pres­ence not only with his slick elec­tric slide play­ing, but also with his trib­utes to odd, old-time, home­made gui­tars. At the top, he plays a three-string shov­el gui­tar, doing Kei­th two bet­ter.

Fur­ther up, some “Porch Swing Slidin’” with a six-string cig­ar box-style gui­tar engraved with a por­trait of Robert John­son. Above, hear a stir­ring ren­di­tion of George Harrison’s “While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps” on an oil can and a slide solo on a whiskey bar­rel gui­tar. Final­ly, John­son rocks out Ray Charles on a three string cig­ar box gui­tar, made most­ly out of ordi­nary items you might find around the shed.

You might not be able to pluck out Renais­sance airs or com­pli­cat­ed, sweep-picked arpeg­gios on some of these instru­ments, but where would even the most com­plex pro­gres­sive rock and met­al be with­out the raw pow­er of the blues dri­ving the evo­lu­tion of the gui­tar? Final­ly, below, see John­son play a hand­made one-string Did­dley Bow (and see the mak­ing of the instru­ment as well). Orig­i­nal­ly a West African instru­ment, it may have been the very first gui­tar.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Kei­th Richards Demon­strates His Famous 5‑String Tech­nique (Used on Clas­sic Stones Songs Like “Start Me Up,” “Honky Tonk Women” & More)

Meet Brushy One String, the One String Gui­tar Play­er Who Will Blow Your Mind

The His­to­ry of the Gui­tar: See the Evo­lu­tion of the Gui­tar in 7 Instru­ments

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

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Gustav Klimt’s Iconic Painting The Kiss: An Introduction to Austrian Painter’s Golden, Erotic Masterpiece (1908)

Not long ago I stayed in a hotel by the train sta­tion of a small Kore­an city. In the room hung a repro­duc­tion of Gus­tav Klimt’s Die Umar­mung, or The Embrace. This at first struck me as just anoth­er piece of cul­tur­al­ly incon­gru­ous décor — a phe­nom­e­non hard­ly unknown in this coun­try — but then I real­ized that its sen­si­bil­i­ty was­n’t entire­ly inap­pro­pri­ate. For the room was in what belonged, broad­ly speak­ing, to the cat­e­go­ry of South Kore­a’s “love hotels,” and Klimt, as Great Art Explained cre­ator James Payne puts it, “placed sex­u­al­i­ty at the fore­front of his work.” The artist had that in com­mon with Sig­mund Freud, his fel­low denizen of fin de siè­cle Vien­na.

With paint­ings like Die Umar­mung, Klimt pushed the bound­aries of what Freud called “the mis­un­der­stood and much-maligned erot­ic.” Payne cites those very words in his new video on Klimt’s much bet­ter-known work Der Kuss, or The Kiss.

Com­plet­ed in 1908, the paint­ing shows both the artist’s pen­chant for “alle­go­ry and sym­bol­ism” car­ried over from his younger days, as well as his mature abil­i­ty to trans­form alle­go­ry and sym­bol­ism “into a new lan­guage that was more overt­ly sex­u­al and more dis­turb­ing.” For these and oth­er rea­sons — its near­ly life-size dimen­sions, its lib­er­al use of actu­al gold — The Kiss has for more than a cen­tu­ry been an un-ignor­able work of art, even “an icon for the post-reli­gious age.”

As in his oth­er fif­teen-minute videos, Payne man­ages to dis­cuss both tech­nique and con­text. Here the “delib­er­ate con­trast between the real­is­ti­cal­ly ren­dered flesh and the two-dimen­sion­al abstract orna­men­ta­tion cre­ates an effect almost like pho­to mon­tage.” The fig­ures’ clothes offer “a visu­al metaphor for the emo­tion­al and phys­i­cal expres­sion of erot­ic love,” and their close fram­ing echoes Japan­ese wood­block prints, from which Payne notes that Klimt (like Van Gogh) drew great inspi­ra­tion. He also traces the aes­thet­ic roots of The Kiss through Edvard’s Munch’s epony­mous paint­ing, and Auguste Rod­in’s even ear­li­er sculp­ture. “Once con­sid­ered porno­graph­ic and deviant,” Klimt’s was lat­er “put on dis­play in one of the impe­r­i­al palaces” — and even today, on the oth­er side of the world and in a much hum­bler con­text, it retains its roman­tic pow­er.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gus­tav Klimt’s Haunt­ing Paint­ings Get Re-Cre­at­ed in Pho­tographs, Fea­tur­ing Live Mod­els, Ornate Props & Real Gold

Art His­to­ry School: Learn About the Art & Lives of Toulouse-Lautrec, Gus­tav Klimt, Frances Bacon, Edvard Munch & Many More

Great Art Explained: Watch 15 Minute Intro­duc­tions to Great Works by Warhol, Rothko, Kahlo, Picas­so & More

New Dig­i­tal Archive Will Fea­ture the Com­plete Works of Egon Schiele: Start with 419 Paint­ings, Draw­ings & Sculp­tures

Explore 7,600 Works of Art by Edvard Munch: They’re Now Dig­i­tized and Free Online

The Sto­ry Behind Rodin’s The Kiss

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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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Albert Camus on the Responsibility of the Artist: To “Create Dangerously” (1957)

Lit­er­ary state­ments about the nature and pur­pose of art con­sti­tute a genre unto them­selves, the ars poet­i­ca, an antique form going back at least as far as Roman poet Horace. The 19th cen­tu­ry poles of the debate are some­times rep­re­sent­ed by the duel­ing notions of Per­cy Shel­ley — who claimed that poets are the “unac­knowl­edged leg­is­la­tors of the world” — and Oscar Wilde, who famous­ly pro­claimed, “all art is quite use­less.” These two state­ments con­ve­nient­ly describe a con­flict between art that involves itself in the strug­gles of the world, and art that is involved only with itself.

In the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, Albert Camus put the ques­tion some­what dif­fer­ent­ly in a 1957 speech enti­tled “Cre­ate Dan­ger­ous­ly.”

Of what could art speak, indeed? If it adapts itself to what the major­i­ty of our soci­ety wants, art will be a mean­ing­less recre­ation. If it blind­ly rejects that soci­ety, if the artist makes up his mind to take refuge in his dream, art will express noth­ing but a nega­tion.

And yet, grandiose ideas about the artist’s role seemed absurd in the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, when the ques­tion becomes whether artists should exist at all. “Such amaz­ing opti­mism seems dead today,” writes Camus. “In most cas­es the artist is ashamed of him­self and his priv­i­leges, if he has any. He must first of all answer the ques­tion he has put to him­self: is art a decep­tive lux­u­ry?”

Women artists have also had to con­sid­er the ques­tion, of course. Brain Pick­ings’ Maria Popo­va quotes Audre Lorde’s call for artists to “uphold their respon­si­bil­i­ty toward ‘the trans­for­ma­tion of silence into lan­guage and action.” Ursu­la Le Guin believed that art expand­ed the imag­i­na­tion, and thus the pos­si­bil­i­ties for human free­dom. Both of these writ­ers were polit­i­cal­ly engaged artists, and so it’s lit­tle won­der that we find sim­i­lar sen­ti­ments in Camus’ speech from decades ear­li­er.

To make art, Camus writes, is to make choic­es. Artists are already involved, as Shel­ley declared, in shap­ing the world around them, whether they acknowl­edge it or not:

Real­i­ty can­not be repro­duced with­out exer­cis­ing a selec­tion… The only thing need­ed, then, is to find a prin­ci­ple of choice that will give shape to the world. And such a prin­ci­ple is found, not in the real­i­ty we know, but in the real­i­ty that will be — in short, the future. In order to repro­duce prop­er­ly what is, one must depict also what will be.

The most elo­quent, endur­ing expres­sions of future think­ing are that which we call art. Even art that seeks to depict the fleet­ing­ness of nature freezes itself for pos­ter­i­ty.

Art, in a sense, is a revolt against every­thing fleet­ing and unfin­ished in the world. Con­se­quent­ly, its only aim is to give anoth­er form to a real­i­ty that it is nev­er­the­less forced to pre­serve as the source of its emo­tion. In this regard, we are all real­is­tic and no one is. Art is nei­ther com­plete rejec­tion nor com­plete accep­tance of what is. It is simul­ta­ne­ous­ly rejec­tion and accep­tance, and this is why it must be a per­pet­u­al­ly renewed wrench­ing apart. 

To under­stand art as pur­pose­less­ly divorced from the world is to mis­un­der­stand it, Camus argues. This is the mis­un­der­stand­ing of “a fash­ion­able soci­ety in which all trou­bles [are] mon­ey trou­bles and all wor­ries [are] sen­ti­men­tal wor­ries” — the self-sat­is­fied bour­geois soci­ety “about which Oscar Wilde, think­ing of him­self before he knew prison, said that the great­est of all vices was super­fi­cial­i­ty.”

Art for art’s sake is the doc­trine of a “soci­ety of mer­chants… the arti­fi­cial art of a fac­ti­tious and self-absorbed soci­ety,” Camus declared. “The log­i­cal result of such a the­o­ry is the art of lit­tle cliques.” Or, to a degree Camus could not have imag­ined, we have the enter­tain­ment indus­tri­al com­plex of art for com­merce’s sake, which in the 21st cen­tu­ry can make it near­ly impos­si­ble for art to thrive. (As actor Stel­lan Skars­gård recent­ly said in pub­lic com­ments, the prob­lem with the film indus­try is “that we have for decades believed that the mar­ket should rule every­thing.”)

There­fore, the ques­tion before Camus, and no less before artists today, is how to “cre­ate dan­ger­ous­ly” in a soci­ety “that for­gives noth­ing.” The ques­tion of whether or not art serves a pur­pose is a false one, he sug­gests, since “every pub­li­ca­tion is a delib­er­ate act,” and there­fore pur­pose­ful. The real ques­tion, for Camus the philoso­pher, “is sim­ply to know — giv­en the strict con­trols of count­less ide­olo­gies (so many cults, such soli­tude!) — how the enig­mat­ic free­dom of cre­ation remains pos­si­ble.” If only arriv­ing at such knowl­edge were so sim­ple. Camus’ lec­ture has recent­ly been trans­lat­ed by San­dra Smith and pub­lished in the short vol­ume, Cre­ate Dan­ger­ous­ly: The Pow­er and Respon­si­bil­i­ty of the Artist. You can read a sec­tion of the lec­ture at Lithub.

Camus’ speech was pre­sent­ed on Decem­ber 14, 1957 at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Upp­sala in Swe­den, short­ly after he won the Nobel Prize.

via Brain Pick­ings

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Hear Albert Camus Deliv­er His Nobel Prize Accep­tance Speech (1957)

See Albert Camus’ His­toric Lec­ture, “The Human Cri­sis,” Per­formed by Actor Vig­go Mortensen

Albert Camus: The Mad­ness of Sin­cer­i­ty — 1997 Doc­u­men­tary Revis­its the Philosopher’s Life & Work

Albert Camus Explains Why Hap­pi­ness Is Like Com­mit­ting a Crime—”You Should Nev­er Admit to it” (1959)

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

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Facebook Whistleblower Offers an Unprecedented Look at How the Company “Chooses Profits Over Safety”

On Sun­day night, Frances Hau­gen, a for­mer Face­book data sci­en­tist, appeared on 60 Min­utes and revealed that she left the com­pa­ny with a trove of pri­vate Face­book research–research which shows, she con­tends, that the com­pa­ny know­ing­ly ampli­fies hate, mis­in­for­ma­tion and polit­i­cal unrest, all to keep peo­ple engaged and out­raged, and thus their adver­tis­ing mon­ey machine rolling. And that’s just the tip of the ice­berg.

Ini­tial­ly, she gave the com­pa­ny’s leaked doc­u­ments to the Wall Street Jour­nal, and they became the basis of the pod­cast series The Face­book Files. Accord­ing to the Jour­nal, “Time and again, the doc­u­ments show, Facebook’s researchers have iden­ti­fied the platform’s ill effects. Time and again, despite con­gres­sion­al hear­ings, its own pledges and numer­ous media exposés, the com­pa­ny didn’t fix them. The doc­u­ments offer per­haps the clear­est pic­ture thus far of how broad­ly Facebook’s prob­lems are known inside the com­pa­ny, up to the chief exec­u­tive him­self.”

Watch the 60 Min­utes inter­view above. Then stream the Face­book Files on WSJ’s site, Spo­ti­fy and/or Apple. The episodes all appear below:

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

Episode 6

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Sacha Baron Cohen Links the Decline of Democ­ra­cy to the Rise of Social Media, “the Great­est Pro­pa­gan­da Machine in His­to­ry”

The Prob­lem with Face­book: “It’s Keep­ing Things From You”

The Case for Delet­ing Your Social Media Accounts & Doing Valu­able “Deep Work” Instead, Accord­ing to Prof. Cal New­port

New Ani­ma­tion Explains Sher­ry Turkle’s The­o­ries on Why Social Media Makes Us Lone­ly

Lyn­da Bar­ry on How the Smart­phone Is Endan­ger­ing Three Ingre­di­ents of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Lone­li­ness, Uncer­tain­ty & Bore­dom

 

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The Medieval Ban Against the “Devil’s Tritone”: Debunking a Great Myth in Music Theory

Music lives deep with­in us, in the mar­row of our evo­lu­tion­ary bones, tap­ping into “this very prim­i­tive sys­tem,” says British musi­col­o­gist John Deathridge, “which iden­ti­fies emo­tion on the basis of a vio­la­tion of expectan­cy.” In oth­er words, our brains are pre­dis­posed to hear cer­tain com­bi­na­tions of sounds as sooth­ing and oth­ers as dis­turb­ing. When we plot those sounds on a staff, we find one of the most dis­so­nant, yet intrigu­ing, com­bi­na­tions, what can be called an aug­ment­ed 4th or dimin­ished 5th but isn’t quite either one. But it’s much bet­ter known by its medieval nick­name, “the devil’s tri­tone” (or “devil’s inter­val”), a sequence of notes so sin­is­ter, they were once banned in the belief that they might con­jure Lucifer him­self…. Or so the sto­ry goes.

The truth is less sen­sa­tion­al. “To the cha­grin of many a musi­cian want­i­ng to tap into a badass rebel streak in music’s DNA,” James Ben­nett writes at WQXR, “there aren’t any records to sug­gest any rogue medieval com­posers took a hike to Perdi­tion after using this spooky, dev­il­ish inter­val.” In oth­er words, no one seems to have been tor­tured, impris­oned, or excom­mu­ni­cat­ed for a musi­cal arrange­ment, all inter­net asser­tions to the con­trary notwith­stand­ing. But the asso­ci­a­tion with the dev­il is his­tor­i­cal. In the 18th cen­tu­ry, the tri­tone acquired the name dia­bo­lus in musi­ca, or “the dev­il in music,” part of a mnemon­ic: “Mi con­tra fa est dia­bo­lus in musi­ca” or “mi against fa is the dev­il in music.”

If you’re already versed in music the­o­ry, you’ll find this tech­ni­cal expla­na­tion of the “devil’s inter­val” by musi­cian Jer­ry Tachoir help­ful. In the video above, bass play­er Adam Neely debunks the myth of the dev­il’s tri­tone as an actu­al curse. But his expla­na­tion is more than “one long, ‘Um, Actu­al­ly,’ ” he says. Instead, he tells us why the tri­tone is a musi­cal bless­ing, and was thought of as such a thou­sand years ago. His expla­na­tion also gets a lit­tle tech­ni­cal, but his visu­al and musi­cal demon­stra­tions make it fair­ly easy to fol­low, and if you don’t absorb the the­o­ry, you’ll pick up the true his­to­ry of the “dev­il’s tri­tone,” begin­ning with the Greek thinker Aris­tox­enus of Tar­en­tum, one of the first to write about the uncom­fort­able dis­so­nance of a note sit­ting between two oth­ers.

The tri­tone is what musi­col­o­gist Carl E. Gard­ner called a “depen­dent” chord, one char­ac­ter­is­tic of ten­sion. We may not reg­is­ter it con­scious­ly, but it primes our brains with anx­ious expec­ta­tion. “The rea­son it’s unset­tling is that it’s ambigu­ous, unre­solved,” says Ger­ald Moshell, Pro­fes­sor of Music at Trin­i­ty Col­lege in Hart­ford, Conn. “It wants to go some­where. It wants to set­tle here, or [there]. You don’t know where it’ll go, but it can’t stop where it is.” We hear this irres­o­lu­tion, this “dev­il” of musi­cal doubt in com­po­si­tions rang­ing from The Simp­sons theme to the cho­rus of Pearl Jam’s “Even­flow” to Camille Saint-Saëns’ “Danse macabre,” a piece of music that may not actu­al­ly con­jure evil, but sure sounds like it could if it want­ed to.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How to Lis­ten to Music: A Free Course from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty

John Coltrane Draws a Pic­ture Illus­trat­ing the Math­e­mat­ics of Music

How Ornette Cole­man Freed Jazz with His The­o­ry of Har­molod­ics

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

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DEVO Co-Founder Jerry Casale Muses on Songwriting & Social Protest: Stream the Nakedly Examined Music Interview Online

This week’s Naked­ly Exam­ined Music pod­cast fea­tures a dis­cus­sion of song­writ­ing and social protest with Jer­ry Casale, the co-front­man of Devo since its for­ma­tion in 1973.

Jer­ry devel­oped the idea of “devo­lu­tion” with his friend Bob Lewis in the late ’60s when attend­ing Kent State Uni­ver­si­ty, and by his own account was rad­i­cal­ized to polit­i­cal action by the Kent State shoot­ings in 1970. This took the form of what was orig­i­nal­ly a part­ner­ship with Mark Moth­ers­baugh to cre­ate visu­al art, but this quick­ly became a musi­cal part­ner­ship as well. Mark had used his syn­the­siz­er skills to ape British pro­gres­sive rock, while Jer­ry was more influ­enced by blues, hav­ing played bass in The Num­bers Band and oth­er out­fits. The two start­ed record­ing inde­pen­dent­ly, bring­ing in Mark’s broth­er Bob (“Bob 1”) to play lead gui­tar and lat­er adding Jer­ry’s broth­er Bob (“Bob 2”) to play rhythm gui­tar and more key­boards as well as drum­mer Alan Myers. Buoyed by her­ald­ed live shows in Ohio that includ­ed a par­tic­u­lar­ly idio­syn­crat­ic and catchy take on The Rolling Stones’ “Sat­is­fac­tion,” Devo was signed to a major label and released sev­en albums before com­ing to a grad­ual stop in after their album sales declined in the late ’80s giv­en that Mark was doing more and more music for TV and film.

This cre­at­ed a dilem­ma for Jer­ry, who has regard­ed Devo as his life’s work and also regard­ed it as essen­tial­ly a part­ner­ship with Mark. There have been many Devo live reunions (includ­ing one hap­pen­ing now), and there was a full new Devo album in 2010, but that leaves a lot of time to mere­ly col­lect resid­u­als from “Whip It” and run a win­ery in Napa.

In reac­tion to the false­hoods that launched the 2003 Iraq War, Jer­ry record­ed a lim­it­ed-release solo album under the name “Jihad Jer­ry and the Evil­do­ers.” This work has now been repack­aged to accom­pa­ny the release of a brand new sin­gle (attrib­uted to “DEVO’s Ger­ald V. Casale”) called “I’m Gonna Pay U Back,” writ­ten with cur­rent Devo drum­mer Josh Freese and fea­tur­ing gui­tars by Oin­go Boin­go’s Steve Bartek. As Jer­ry has always thought of his videos as inte­gral to his musi­cal out­put, this new song fea­tures an elab­o­rate­ly sto­ry­board­ed and tex­tured video co-direct­ed with Davy Force of Force! Extreme Ani-Mation.

This revival of the Jihad Jer­ry char­ac­ter cre­at­ed to crit­i­cize Amer­i­ca’s para­noid post‑9/11 mind­set allowed Jer­ry to visu­al­ize a con­flict between Jihad Jer­ry and DEVO Jer­ry, in the Naked­ly Exam­ined Music inter­view, host Mark Lin­sen­may­er engages Jer­ry about what these char­ac­ters amount to and how exact­ly irony does (or does not) play into them. It was both a bless­ing and a curse for Devo that their var­i­ous mil­i­taris­tic and/or robot­ic per­sonas were so fun­ny. The humor (and fun dance­abil­i­ty) involved in songs like “Whip It,” “Mon­goloid,” and “Free­dom of Choice” meant they could gain an endur­ing foothold in pop­u­lar cul­ture, but on the oth­er hand, they’ve been dis­missed as mere­ly jokes. Includ­ing them­selves in the cri­tique, acknowl­edg­ing them­selves as sub­ject to the same human foibles, allowed them to cre­ate min­i­mal­ist, anthemic songs that had a self-con­scious stu­pid­i­ty and lam­pooned the pre­ten­sions of art rock. There was a clear con­nec­tion between the musi­cal styles that Devo sport­ed and the mes­sage of this cri­tique: They could all chant in uni­son that we are all degen­er­ate con­formists and use syn­the­siz­ers and jerky rhythms to act out our dehu­man­iza­tion.

Jihad Jer­ry, i.e. Jer­ry wear­ing a the­atri­cal tur­ban and sun­glass­es, was giv­en a spe­cif­ic back­sto­ry involv­ing escap­ing Iran­ian theoc­ra­cy, deter­mined to use music as a weapon to fight prej­u­dice and igno­rance every­where. What­ev­er the virtues of this char­ac­ter as a nar­ra­tive device, it was a mar­ket­ing dis­as­ter, rais­ing ire both with Amer­i­can con­ser­v­a­tives and with Mus­lims who felt they were being mocked, and so the char­ac­ter was retired in 2007. Jer­ry’s Naked­ly Exam­ined Music inter­view dis­cuss­es “The Owl,” a track writ­ten dur­ing Jihad Jer­ry’s ini­tial run, which con­fus­ing­ly has Jihad Jer­ry (a char­ac­ter) speak­ing nar­ra­tive­ly through the voice of a super­hero char­ac­ter “The Owl,” who threat­ens phys­i­cal vio­lence on all boor­ish, self­ish Amer­i­can evil­do­ers. Now, giv­en that there’s a char­ac­ter named Nite Owl in Alan Moore’s com­ic Watch­men, which is explic­it­ly about the men­tal insta­bil­i­ty of those who appoint them­selves the moral and phys­i­cal guardians of soci­ety, it would be nat­ur­al to think that irony is play­ing ask thick­ly in this new por­tray­al as it was for the Devo “smart patrol” char­ac­ters, but in this inter­view, Jer­ry urges us to take the cri­tique at face val­ue, as a straight­for­ward con­dem­na­tion of Amer­i­can arro­gance. Does the cri­tique land bet­ter with­out the explic­it self-incrim­i­na­tion? Or is the fact that Jihad Jer­ry is obvi­ous­ly a joke, the Owl as a super­hero is obvi­ous­ly a joke, and the fact that we’re talk­ing about char­ac­ters talk­ing through char­ac­ters give Jer­ry Casale enough of a frame­work to be able to launch very direct attacks with­out being dis­missed as shrill or con­de­scend­ing?

The lat­ter por­tion of the inter­view turns to a less­er known Devo track “Foun­tain of Filth,” which Jer­ry says he wrote with his broth­er Bob Casale (who passed away in ear­ly 2014) dur­ing the record­ing ses­sions for Devo’s most famous album, 1980s Free­dom of Choice. The song (in the form pre­sent­ed in the pod­cast) was includ­ed in the Hard­core Devo: Vol­ume Two CD in 1991, and was per­formed live for the first time as part of the 2014 Hard­core Devo Live! tour. In Jer­ry’s intro­duc­tion to the song in that con­cert and in this inter­view, he describes the “foun­tain” as all the mis­in­for­ma­tion and oth­er com­mer­cial garbage that makes up much of Amer­i­can media. How­ev­er, the lyrics of the song are ambigu­ous: “I’ve got a hunger that makes me want things… Nowhere are we safe… from the appeal of the eter­nal foun­tain of filth.” Like one of Devo’s well-known songs “Uncon­trol­lable Urge” (writ­ten by Mark with­out Jer­ry), this could be a song not actu­al­ly con­demn­ing the temp­ta­tions, but laugh­ing at pruri­ent hys­te­ria about temp­ta­tion, i.e. a firm­ly iron­ic mis­sive. The tech­nique here is most like­ly irony that cuts in all direc­tions: One can con­demn the over­re­ac­tion while still con­demn­ing the thing it was a reac­tion to, and a prud­ish fear of sex­u­al­i­ty and full immer­sion in it are two sides of the same degen­er­ate (i.e. “de-evolved”) coin.

The inter­view con­cludes with a 2016 sin­gle attrib­uted to Jer­ry Casale with Italy’s Phunk Inves­ti­ga­tion that explic­it­ly states this total­iz­ing condemnation/celebration: “It’s All Devo.” Again, the song was released with an elab­o­rate, evoca­tive video, in this case using the art of Max Papeschi and direc­tion by Mau­r­izio Tem­po­rin.

Get more links relat­ed to this episodes on the Naked­ly Exam­ined Music web­site. Naked­ly Exam­ined Music is a pod­cast host­ed by Mark Lin­sen­may­er, who also hosts The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life Phi­los­o­phy Pod­cast, Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast, and Phi­los­o­phy vs. Improv. He releas­es music under the name Mark Lint.

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Ai Weiwei Creates Hand-Silkscreened Scarves Drawing on a Chinese Paper Cutting Tradition

FYI: Ai Wei­wei has cre­at­ed hand­wo­ven and hand-silkscreened scarves that aes­thet­i­cal­ly draw on a 2,000-year-old Chi­nese paper cut­ting tra­di­tion. “The col­ored, intri­cate­ly cut papers are used as a sto­ry-telling medi­um in fes­tiv­i­ties, for prayers, and as every­day dec­o­ra­tion.” The scarves are 100% silk. You can find ver­sions in blue, red and black. (Here’s Ai Wei­wei sport­ing one in red.) Or find them all here on Taschen’s web site.

Note: Taschen is a part­ner of ours. So if you pur­chase a scarf, it helps sup­port Open Cul­ture.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Who’s Afraid of Ai Wei­wei: A Short Doc­u­men­tary

Artist Ai Wei­wei Gives the Fin­ger to Sym­bols of Author­i­ty Around the World

Free: Down­load 70,000+ High-Res­o­lu­tion Images of Chi­nese Art from Taipei’s Nation­al Palace Muse­um

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Encore! Encore! An Hour of the World’s Most Beautiful Classical Guitar

When it comes to encores, most musi­cians like to slate in a guar­an­teed crowd­pleas­er to send the audi­ence out on a high. Con­ven­tion­al wis­dom holds that an encore should be short, and change the mood cre­at­ed by the piece pre­ced­ing it.

Clas­si­cal gui­tarist Ana Vidović takes a dif­fer­ent approach.

For the last few years, she has con­clud­ed most con­certs by tak­ing audi­ence sug­ges­tions for the piece that will take it on home, view­ing it as an oppor­tu­ni­ty to make an extra con­nec­tion with fans:

It’s like a gift to me, also… some­times I get ner­vous because I don’t know what they will ask me to play and I may not have prac­ticed that par­tic­u­lar piece, but you know, what­ev­er! I think it’s just more of a ges­ture of appre­ci­a­tion. Of course there’s a con­nec­tion through music, but obvi­ous­ly we don’t speak to each oth­er.

The live audi­ence for her March 2021 appear­ance at San Francisco’s St. Mark’s Luther­an Church, above, was unusu­al­ly small due to COVID-19 pro­to­cols — just a few staffers from the Omni Foun­da­tion for the Per­form­ing Arts, an orga­ni­za­tion that brings the world’s finest acoustic gui­tarists to the San Fran­cis­co Bay Area.

Their applause was enthu­si­as­tic, helped by St. Mark’s excel­lent acoustics, but it feels thin in con­trast to the wall of sound that would greet a musi­cian of Vidović’s cal­iber when she per­forms to a packed house.

Despite the extreme­ly inti­mate set­ting, after her final piece, Noc­turno by fel­low Croa­t­ian Slavko Fumic, Vidović observed her own tra­di­tion, open­ing the floor to requests with a bit of a gig­gle:

If you have any encores, please feel free to ask. No, seri­ous­ly, requests! Hope­ful­ly I prac­ticed it … Richard?

One of her lis­ten­ers prompt­ly sug­gests 19th-cen­tu­ry Span­ish com­pos­er Isaac Albéniz’s Asturias, orig­i­nal­ly writ­ten for piano and now con­sid­ered one of the most essen­tial works in the clas­si­cal gui­tar reper­toire.

Although she has been known to polite­ly decline if she’s feel­ing too rusty, on this occa­sion, Vidović oblig­ed, and beau­ti­ful­ly so.

The com­plete pro­gram, which includes her cus­tom­ary healthy dose of her child­hood favorite Bach, is below.

Flute Par­ti­ta in A minor, BWV 1013

by Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach

(Tran­scribed by Val­ter Despalj)

-Alle­mande (3:06)

-Cor­rente (8:40)

Vio­lin Sonata No. 1, BWV 1001

by Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach

(arr. by Manuel Bar­rue­co)

-Ada­gio (12:44)

-Fuga (16:38)

-Sicil­iana (21:19)

-Presto (24:25)

Un Dia de Noviem­bre (27:36)

by Leo Brouw­er

Gran Sonata Eroica, Op. 150 (32:17)

by Mau­ro Giu­liani

Sonata in E major, K. 380, L. 23 (41:39)

Sonata in D minor K.1, L. 366 (46:28)

by Domeni­co Scar­lat­ti

Noc­turno (48:55)

by Slavko Fumic

Encore -

Asturias (53:49)

by Isaac Alb­eniz

San Fran­cis­co has now resumed live con­certs (includ­ing Vidović’s sched­uled return to St. Mark’s in April 2022), but the pan­dem­ic led Omni to expand its mis­sion, with vir­tu­al con­certs by top gui­tarists in var­i­ous loca­tions around the world, includ­ing Xue­fei Yang play­ing in Beijing’s 15th-Cen­tu­ry Zhizhu Tem­ple, Marko Topchii play­ing in Ukraine’s St. Andrew’s Cathe­dral, and David Rus­sell in the monastery of Celano­va, Spain. Watch a playlist of Omni On Loca­tion vir­tu­al events, includ­ing Q&As with per­form­ers here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Andrés Segovia, Father of Clas­si­cal Gui­tar, at the Alham­bra

Hear Musi­cians Play the Only Playable Stradi­var­ius Gui­tar in the World: The “Sabionari”

Watch Clas­si­cal Music Come to Life in Art­ful­ly Ani­mat­ed Scores: Stravin­sky, Debussy, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart & More

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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Japanese Guided Tours of the Louvre, Versailles, the Marais & Other Famous French Places (English Subtitles Included)

“As tourist sea­son here in Paris winds to a close and the air once again becomes crisp, fresh, and new,” writes The Atlantic’s Chelsea Fagan, “we must unfor­tu­nate­ly acknowl­edge that it does not end with­out a few casu­al­ties.” That piece was pub­lished at this time of year, albeit a decade ago, when “tourist sea­son” any­where had a bit more bus­tle. But the world­wide down­turn in trav­el has­n’t done away with the object of her con­cern: Paris Syn­drome, “a col­lec­tion of phys­i­cal and psy­cho­log­i­cal symp­toms expe­ri­enced by first-time vis­i­tors real­iz­ing that Paris isn’t, in fact, what they thought it would be.” This dis­or­der, one often hears, is espe­cial­ly preva­lent among the Japan­ese.

Japan, writes Fagan, is rich with por­tray­als of the French cap­i­tal as a city “filled with thin, gor­geous, unbe­liev­ably rich cit­i­zens. The three stops of a Parisian’s day, accord­ing to the Japan­ese media, are a cafe, the Eif­fel Tow­er, and Louis Vuit­ton.” To some­one who knows it only through such images, a con­fronta­tion with the real Paris — with its ser­vice-indus­try work­ers who treat tourists “like some­thing they recent­ly scraped from the bot­tom of their shoes” to its sub­way cars “filled with grop­ing cou­ples, scream­ing chil­dren, and unimag­in­ably loud accor­dion music” — can trig­ger “acute delu­sions, hal­lu­ci­na­tions, dizzi­ness, sweat­ing, and feel­ings of per­se­cu­tion.”

Not all Japan­ese vis­i­tors to Paris, of course, come down with Paris Syn­drome. Some plunge into an even more over­whelm­ing con­di­tion of love for the City of Light, as might well have been the case with the Youtu­ber France Guide Naka­mu­ra. “I stud­ied art his­to­ry at a uni­ver­si­ty in France and was amazed at how inter­est­ing it was,” he writes on his about page. “When you study art, there is a moment of rev­e­la­tion! Some­thing that was not vis­i­ble until now sud­den­ly appears. It is the ‘plea­sure’ of ‘know­ing’ and ‘under­stand­ing.’ I think this is the ‘core’ of tourism.” It is on that basis that he cre­ates videos like the hour-long Lou­vre tour above, a smooth first-per­son walk through the world’s most famous muse­um that he nar­rates with a high degree of artic­u­la­cy, knowl­edge, and enthu­si­asm.

Expe­ri­enced in lead­ing tours for his coun­try­men, he describes all his videos in his native Japan­ese. But in the case of his Lou­vre tour, you can turn on Eng­lish sub­ti­tles by click­ing the CC but­ton in the tool­bar at the bot­tom of the video. His oth­er pop­u­lar Eng­lish-sub­ti­tled videos include walks through Mont­martre, Marais, and the Latin Quar­ter, as well as cer­tain excur­sions out­side of Paris, such as this vis­it to Ver­sailles. If you do speak Japan­ese, you’ll also be able to enjoy Naka­mu­ra’s many pre­vi­ous videos dig­ging into the nature, his­to­ry, and cul­tur­al con­text of oth­er things French, from neigh­bor­hoods to works of art to con­ve­nience stores, but not, as yet, the Eif­fel Tow­er — or for that mat­ter, Louis Vuit­ton.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Long Vir­tu­al Tour of the Lou­vre in Three High-Def­i­n­i­tion Videos

The Louvre’s Entire Col­lec­tion Goes Online: View and Down­load 480,00 Works of Art

Take Immer­sive Vir­tu­al Tours of the World’s Great Muse­ums: The Lou­vre, Her­mitage, Van Gogh Muse­um & Much More

Hear the First Japan­ese Vis­i­tor to the Unit­ed States & Europe Describe Life in the West (1860–1862)

Down­load Vin­cent van Gogh’s Col­lec­tion of 500 Japan­ese Prints, Which Inspired Him to Cre­ate “the Art of the Future”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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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