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Who Designed the 1980s Aesthetic?: Meet the Memphis Group, the Designers Who Created the 80s Iconic Look

For those who remem­ber the 1980s, it can feel like they nev­er left, so deeply ingrained have their designs become in the 21st cen­tu­ry. But where did those designs them­selves orig­i­nate? Vibrant, clash­ing col­ors and pat­terns, bub­bly shapes; “the geo­met­ric fig­ures of Art Deco,” writes Sara Barnes at My Mod­ern Met, “the col­or palette of Pop Art, and the 1950s kitsch” that inspired design­ers of all kinds came from a move­ment of artists who called them­selves the Mem­phis Group, after Bob Dylan’s “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Mem­phis Blues Again,” a song “played on repeat dur­ing their first meet­ing” in a tiny Milan apart­ment. “I think you’d be hard-pressed to think of any oth­er design phe­nom­e­non that can be locat­ed as specif­i­cal­ly to a group of peo­ple,” says Yale Cen­ter of British Art’s Glenn Adam­son in the Vox explain­er above,

Found­ed in Decem­ber 1980 by design­er Ettore Sottsass — known for his red Olivet­ti Valen­tine type­writer — and sev­er­al like-mind­ed col­leagues, the move­ment made a delib­er­ate attempt to dis­rupt the aus­tere, clean lines of the 70s with work they described as “rad­i­cal, fun­ny, and out­ra­geous.” They flaunt­ed what had been con­sid­ered “good taste” with aban­don. Mem­phis design shows Bauhaus influ­ences — though it reject­ed the “strict, straight lines of mod­ernism,” notes Curbed. It taps the anar­chic spir­it of Dada, with­out the edgy, anar­chist pol­i­tics that drove that move­ment. It is main­ly char­ac­ter­ized by its use of lam­i­nate floor­ing mate­ri­als on tables and lamps and the “Bac­te­rio print,” the squig­gle design which Sottsass cre­at­ed in 1978 and which became “Memphis’s trade­mark pat­tern.”

Mem­phis design shared with mod­ernism anoth­er qual­i­ty ear­ly mod­ernists them­selves ful­ly embraced: “Noth­ing was com­mer­cial­ly suc­cess­ful at the time,” says Bar­bara Radice, Sottsass’s wid­ow and Mem­phis group his­to­ri­an. But David Bowie and Karl Lager­field were ear­ly adopters, and the group’s 80s work even­tu­al­ly made them stars. “We came from being nobod­ies,” says design­er Mar­tine Bedin. By 1984, they were cel­e­brat­ed by the city of Mem­phis, Ten­nessee and giv­en the key to the city. “They were wait­ing for us at the air­port with a band,” Bedin remem­bers. “It was com­plete­ly crazy.” The Mem­phis Group had offi­cial­ly changed the world of art, archi­tec­ture, and design. The fol­low­ing year, Sottsass left the group, and it for­mal­ly dis­band­ed in 1987, hav­ing left its mark for decades to come.

By the end of the 80s, Mem­phis’ look had become pop cul­ture wall­pa­per, inform­ing the sets, titles, and fash­ions of TV sta­ples like Saved by the Bell, which debuted in 1989. “Although their designs didn’t end up in people’s homes,” notes Vox — or at least not right away — “they inspired many design­ers work­ing in dif­fer­ent medi­ums.” Find out above how “every­thing from fash­ion to music videos became influ­enced” by the loud, play­ful visu­al vocab­u­lary of the Mem­phis Group artists, and learn more about the design­ers of “David Bowie’s favorite fur­ni­ture” here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Meet the Mem­phis Group, the Bob Dylan-Inspired Design­ers of David Bowie’s Favorite Fur­ni­ture

The Ulti­mate 80s Med­ley: A Nos­tal­gia-Induc­ing Per­for­mance of A‑Ha, Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, Peter Gabriel, Van Halen & More

Watch Bri­an Eno’s “Video Paint­ings,” Where 1980s TV Tech­nol­o­gy Meets Visu­al Art

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

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When Salvador Dalí Created a Surrealist Funhouse at New York World’s Fair (1939)

Only the vio­lence and dura­tion of your hard­ened dream can resist the hideous mechan­i­cal civ­i­liza­tion that is your ene­my, that is also the ene­my of the ‘..pleasure-..principle’ of all men. It is man’s right to love women with the ecsta­t­ic heads of fish. — Sal­vador Dalí, “Dec­la­ra­tion of the Inde­pen­dence of the Imag­i­na­tion and the Rights of Man to His Own Mad­ness” 

What­ev­er orga­niz­ers of the 1939 New York World’s Fair thought they might get when Sal­vador Dalí was cho­sen to design a pavil­ion, they got a Coney Island of the Sur­re­al­ist mind. The vision was so ini­tial­ly upset­ting, the com­mit­tee felt com­pelled to cen­sor Dalí’s plans. They nixed the idea, for exam­ple, of repro­duc­ing a gigan­tic repro­duc­tion of Boticelli’s Venus with a fish head — as well as fish heads for the many par­tial­ly nude mod­els in Dalí’s exhib­it. These and oth­er changes enraged the artist, and he hired a pilot to drop a man­i­festo over the city in which he declared “the Inde­pen­dence of the Imag­i­na­tion and the Rights of Man to His Own Mad­ness.”

It was all part of the the­ater of the “Dream of Venus,” Dalí’s so-called “fun­house” and pub­lic exper­i­ment play­ing with “the old polar­i­ty between the elite and pop­u­lar cul­tures,” says Montse Aguer, Direc­tor of the Dalí Muse­ums.

This con­flict had “changed into a tense con­fronta­tion between true art and mass cul­ture, with all that the sec­ond ambigu­ous con­cept brought with it con­sumed by the mass­es, but not pro­duced by them.” While Dalí rained down a “screw you” let­ter to the estab­lish­ment, he also seduced the pub­lic away from “the stream­line style that dom­i­nat­ed the Expo in 1939” — the “mod­ern archi­tec­ture, which with time had turned against mod­ern life.”

Rather than a sleek “World of Tomor­row,” vis­i­tors to Dalí’s pavil­ion encoun­tered “a kind of shape­less moun­tain from which sprouts out, like the body of a sticky hedge­hog, a series of soft appendages, some in the shape of arms and hand; oth­ers of cac­tus or tips and oth­ers of crutch­es…. The world of machines, cars and robots had been replaced — or should one say chal­lenged — by a uni­verse of dreams.” Inside the weird struc­ture, a god­dess stretched out on bed, dream­ing two dreams, “wet,” and “dry.” As Dan­ger­ous Minds describes it, once vis­i­tors entered the exhib­it, through a giant pair of legs, they encoun­tered:

Two huge swim­ming pools fea­tured par­tial­ly nude mod­els float­ing around in the water. In one of the pools, a woman dressed in a head-to-toe rub­ber suit that had been paint­ed with piano keys cavort­ed around with oth­er “mer­maids” who “played” her imag­i­nary piano. In fact, the place was filled with scant­ly-clad women lying in beds or perched on top of a taxi being dri­ven by a female look­ing S&M bat­woman. There were func­tion­al tele­phones made of rub­ber as well as an off­putting life-size ver­sion of a cow’s udder that you could touch—if you want­ed to, that is. 

The exhi­bi­tion had been coor­di­nat­ed by archi­tect, artist, and col­lec­tor Ian Wood­ner and New York art deal­er Julien Levy. It was so pop­u­lar “it reopened for a sec­ond sea­son,” notes Messy Nessy, “but once torn down it fad­ed from mem­o­ry and its out­landish­ness became the stuff of urban myth.” In 2002, the pho­tographs here by Ger­man-born pho­tog­ra­ph­er Eric Schaal were redis­cov­ered and col­lect­ed in a book titled Sal­vador Dalí’s Dream of Venus: The Sur­re­al­ist Fun­house from the 1939 World’s Fair. See rare footage from the pavil­ion in the short doc­u­men­tary at the top and read Dalí’s man­i­festo here.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Most Com­plete Col­lec­tion of Sal­vador Dalí’s Paint­ings Pub­lished in a Beau­ti­ful New Book by Taschen: Includes Nev­er-Seen-Before Works

When Sal­vador Dalí Met Alice Coop­er & Turned Him into a Holo­gram: The Meet­ing of Two Kings of Camp (1973)

Sal­vador Dalí Explains Why He Was a “Bad Painter” and Con­tributed “Noth­ing” to Art (1986)

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

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Martin Scorsese Introduces Classic Movies: From Citizen Kane and Vertigo to Lawrence of Arabia and Gone with the Wind

In today’s cin­e­ma cul­ture, there’s only one thing as reli­ably enter­tain­ing as watch­ing a Mar­tin Scors­ese movie: watch­ing Mar­tin Scors­ese talk about the movies of his pre­de­ces­sors. Before becom­ing a direc­tor, one must under­stand what a direc­tor does, an edu­ca­tion deliv­ered to the young Scors­ese prac­ti­cal­ly at a stroke by Cit­i­zen Kane. Watch­ing Orson Welles’ mas­ter­piece (in the orig­i­nal sense), Scors­ese also “began to become aware of edit­ing and cam­era posi­tions,” as he recalls in the clip above.

It comes from an inter­view con­duct­ed by the Amer­i­can Film Insti­tute, which also col­lect­ed the ultra-cinephile New Hol­ly­wood icon’s takes on a series of oth­er clas­sic pic­tures includ­ing John Ford’s The Searchers and Alfred Hitch­cock­’s Rear Win­dow.

In dis­cussing Cit­i­zen Kane these days, of course, a dif­fer­ent Hitch­cock film tends to rush into the dis­cus­sion: Ver­ti­go, which dis­placed Cit­i­zen Kane on the top spot of the lat­est Sight & Sound Crit­ics Poll in 2012. What­ev­er his feel­ings about the com­par­a­tive mer­its of Welles and Hitch­cock, Scors­ese would sure­ly be unlike­ly to balk at this chang­ing of the guard.

When he first saw Ver­ti­go with his friends, as he puts it in the clip just above, “we thought it was good; we did­n’t know why.” Re-watch­ing it in the inter­ven­ing decades, he found its beat­ing heart in “the obses­sion of the char­ac­ter,” James Stew­art’s trau­ma­tized ex-cop bent on re-cre­at­ing the object of his infat­u­a­tion. “The sto­ry does­n’t mat­ter. You watch that film repeat­ed­ly and repeat­ed­ly because of the way he takes you through his obses­sion.”

The late 1950s and ear­ly 60s must have been a fine time for a bud­ding cinephile. Not only could you enter and leave the the­ater at any time, stay­ing as long as you liked — a cus­tom whose plea­sures he empha­sizes more than once — you could walk in on these works of sur­pris­ing cin­e­mat­ic art. But step­ping into David Lean’s Lawrence of Ara­bia, the twen­ty-year-old Scors­ese had to have an inkling of what he was in for. “There it is, up on the screen in 70 mil­lime­ter,” he remem­bers. “The main char­ac­ter is not Ben-Hur, it’s not a saint, it’s not a man strug­gling to come to terms with God and his soul and his heart; it’s a char­ac­ter that real­ly, in a way, comes out of a B movie.” No doubt this por­tray­al of Lawrence as a “self-destruc­tive” and “self-loathing” pro­tag­o­nist at an epic scale did its part to influ­ence what would become Scors­ese’s own cin­e­ma.

Scors­ese also finds much to admire, and even use, in films from before his time. “It’s melo­dra­mat­ic, it’s stereo­types — racial stereo­types — and yet, you know, those char­ac­ters,” he says of Vic­tor Flem­ing’s Gone with the Wind. “There’s com­plex­i­ty to them.” Though its pro­duc­tion “smacks of the nine­teenth cen­tu­ry” (with which Scors­ese him­self has exhib­it­ed his own fas­ci­na­tion in The Age of Inno­cence and Gangs of New York), it stands along­side Casablan­ca as one of “the two high points of the stu­dio sys­tem.” Few expe­ri­ences so forth­right­ly deliv­er “that mag­ic of old Hol­ly­wood,” one vari­ety of the pow­er of cin­e­ma that Scors­ese knows well. But as his remarks on every­thing from Michael Pow­ell and Emer­ic Press­burg­er’s The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp to Tho­rald Dick­in­son’s The Queen of Spades to Nicholas Ray’s John­ny Gui­tar show us, he’s more than acquaint­ed with many oth­er vari­eties besides.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Decay of Cin­e­ma: Susan Son­tag, Mar­tin Scors­ese & Their Lamen­ta­tions on the Decline of Cin­e­ma Explored in a New Video Essay

Mar­tin Scors­ese Names His Top 10 Films in the Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion

Mar­tin Scors­ese Intro­duces Film­mak­er Hong Sang­soo, “The Woody Allen of Korea”

Mar­tin Scors­ese Cre­ates a List of 39 Essen­tial For­eign Films for a Young Film­mak­er

What Makes Cit­i­zen Kane a Great Film: 4 Video Essays Revis­it Orson Welles’ Mas­ter­piece on the 80th Anniver­sary of Its Pre­miere

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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Design Thinking for the Greater Good: A Free Online Course from the University of Virginia

Design Think­ing for the Greater Good: Inno­va­tion in the Social Sec­tor shows how and why human-cen­tered design is a pow­er­ful tool. Offered by the Dar­d­en School of Busi­ness at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia, the course lets stu­dents “view design think­ing suc­cess sto­ries from around the world, in areas as diverse as gov­ern­ment, health care, and edu­ca­tion.” Through­out the course, stu­dents will “learn the tools, tech­niques and mind­set need­ed to use design think­ing to uncov­er new and cre­ative solu­tions in the social sec­tor.”

You can take Design Think­ing for the Greater Good for free by select­ing the audit option upon enrolling. If you want to take the course for a cer­tifi­cate, you will need to pay a fee.

Design Think­ing for the Greater Good has been added to our list of Free Busi­ness Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent  

A Brief His­to­ry of IDEO: A Short Doc­u­men­tary Takes You Inside the Design Firm That Changed the Way We Think about Design

The Smith­son­ian Design Muse­um Dig­i­tizes 200,000 Objects, Giv­ing You Access to 3,000 Years of Design Inno­va­tion & His­to­ry

The Let­ter­form Archive Launch­es a New Online Archive of Graph­ic Design, Fea­tur­ing 9,000 Hi-Fi Images

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Meet the Inventor of Karaoke, Daisuke Inoue, Who Wanted to “Teach the World to Sing”

Daisuke Inoue has been hon­ored with a rare, indeed almost cer­tain­ly unique com­bi­na­tion of lau­rels. In 1999, Time mag­a­zine named him among the “Most Influ­en­tial Asians of the Cen­tu­ry.” Five years lat­er he won an Ig Nobel Prize, which hon­ors par­tic­u­lar­ly strange and ris­i­ble devel­op­ments in sci­ence, tech­nol­o­gy, and cul­ture. Inoue had come up with the device that made his name decades ear­li­er, in the ear­ly 1970s, but its influ­ence has proven endur­ing still today. It is he whom his­to­ry now cred­its with the inven­tion of the karaoke machine, the assist­ed-singing device that the Ig Nobel com­mit­tee, award­ing its Peace Prize, described as “an entire­ly new way for peo­ple to learn to tol­er­ate each oth­er.”

The achieve­ment of an Ig Nobel recip­i­ent should be one that “makes peo­ple laugh, then think.” Over its half-cen­tu­ry of exis­tence, many have laughed at karaoke, espe­cial­ly as osten­si­bly prac­ticed by the drunk­en salary­men of its home­land. But upon fur­ther con­sid­er­a­tion, few Japan­ese inven­tions have been as impor­tant.

Hence its promi­nent inclu­sion in Japa­nol­o­gist Matt Alt’s recent book Pure Inven­tion: How Japan’s Pop Cul­ture Con­quered the World. As Alt tells its sto­ry, the karaoke machine emerged out of San­nomiya, Kobe’s red-light dis­trict, which might seem an unlike­ly birth­place — until you con­sid­er its “some four thou­sand drink­ing estab­lish­ments crammed into a clus­ter of streets and alleys just a kilo­me­ter in radius.”

In these bars Inoue worked as a hiki-katari, a kind of free­lance musi­cian who spe­cial­ized in “sing-alongs, retun­ing their performances­ on­ the ­fly­ to ­match ­the­ singing­ abil­i­ties ­and­ sobri­ety ­levels­ of pay­ing cus­tomers.” This was karaoke (the Japan­ese term means, lit­er­al­ly, “emp­ty orches­tra”) before karaoke as we know it. Inoue had mas­tered its rig­ors to such an extent that he became known as “Dr. Sing-along,” and the sheer demand for his ser­vices inspired him to cre­ate a kind of auto­mat­ic replace­ment he could send to extra gigs. The 8 Juke, as he called it, amount­ed to an 8‑track car stereo con­nect­ed to a micro­phone, reverb box, and coin slot. Pre-loaded with instru­men­tal cov­ers of bar-goers’ favorite songs, the 8 Jukes Inoue made soon start­ed tak­ing in more coins than they could han­dle.

“When I made the first Juke 8s, a broth­er-in-law sug­gest­ed I take out a patent,” Inoue said in a 2013 inter­view. “But at the time, I didn’t think any­thing would come of it.” Hav­ing assem­bled his inven­tion from off-the-shelf com­po­nents, he did­n’t think there was any­thing patentable about it, and unknown to him, at least one sim­i­lar device had already been built else­where in Japan. But what Inoue invent­ed, as Alt puts it, was “the total pack­age of hard­ware and cus­tom soft­ware that allowed karaoke to grow from a local fad into an enor­mous glob­al busi­ness.” Had it been patent­ed, says Inoue him­self, “I don’t think karaoke would have grown like it did.” Would it have grown to have, as Alt puts  it, “profound­ effects­ on­ the­ fantasy­ lives­ of­ Japanese­ and­ West­ern­ers ­both”? And would Inoue have found him­self onstage more than 30 years lat­er at the Ig Nobels, lead­ing a crowd of Amer­i­cans in a round of “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing”?

via Messy Nessy

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Author Rob Sheffield Picks Karaoke Songs for Famous Authors: Imag­ine Wal­lace Stevens Singing the Vel­vet Underground’s “Sun­day Morn­ing”

Japan­ese Bud­dhist Monk Cov­ers Ramones’ “Teenage Lobot­o­my,” “Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” Bea­t­les’ “Yel­low Sub­ma­rine” & More

The 10 Com­mand­ments of Chindōgu, the Japan­ese Art of Cre­at­ing Unusu­al­ly Use­less Inven­tions

This Man Flew to Japan to Sing ABBA’s “Mam­ma Mia” in a Big Cold Riv­er

Karaoke-Style, Stephen Col­bert Sings and Struts to The Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sug­ar”

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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Design Thinking for the Greater Good: A Free Online Course from the University of Virginia

Design Think­ing for the Greater Good: Inno­va­tion in the Social Sec­tor shows how and why human-cen­tered design is a pow­er­ful tool. Offered by the Dar­d­en School of Busi­ness at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia, the course lets stu­dents “view design think­ing suc­cess sto­ries from around the world, in areas as diverse as gov­ern­ment, health care, and edu­ca­tion.” Through­out the course, stu­dents will “learn the tools, tech­niques and mind­set need­ed to use design think­ing to uncov­er new and cre­ative solu­tions in the social sec­tor.”

You can take Design Think­ing for the Greater Good for free by select­ing the audit option upon enrolling. If you want to take the course for a cer­tifi­cate, you will need to pay a fee.

Design Think­ing for the Greater Good has been added to our list of Busi­ness Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent  

A Brief His­to­ry of IDEO: A Short Doc­u­men­tary Takes You Inside the Design Firm That Changed the Way We Think about Design

Free: A Crash Course in Design Think­ing from Stanford’s Design School

Down­load 20 Free eBooks on Design from O’Reilly Media

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Digital Transformation: A Free Online Course from the University of Virginia & Boston Consulting Group

Dig­i­tal Trans­for­ma­tion is a hot top­ic. But what exact­ly is dig­i­tal trans­for­ma­tion, and what does it mean for com­pa­nies? This course devel­oped at the Dar­d­en School of Busi­ness at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia, and led by Dar­d­en fac­ul­ty and Boston Con­sult­ing Group experts, will exam­ine the pace of dig­i­tal change and the imper­a­tive it cre­ates for busi­ness­es. Stu­dents will then exam­ine “what it takes to win in the dig­i­tal age and how to iden­ti­fy key areas to dig­i­tize, includ­ing strat­e­gy, core process­es, and tech­nol­o­gy.”

By the end of this course, stu­dents will be able to:

  • describe the under­ly­ing eco­nom­ics of inno­va­tion, tech­nol­o­gy, and mar­ket dis­rup­tions.
  • weigh the pros and cons of cur­rent dig­i­tal tech­nolo­gies dri­ving advance­ment.
  • uti­lize BCG’s dig­i­tal trans­for­ma­tion frame­work as a “how-to” for dig­i­tiz­ing your orga­ni­za­tion.

You can take Dig­i­tal Trans­for­ma­tion for free by select­ing the audit option upon enrolling. If you want to take the course for a cer­tifi­cate, you will need to pay a fee.

Dig­i­tal Trans­for­ma­tion has been added to our list of Busi­ness Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

For a com­plete list of online cours­es, please vis­it our com­plete col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

For a list of online cer­tifi­cate pro­grams, vis­it 200 Online Cer­tifi­cate & Micro­cre­den­tial Pro­grams from Lead­ing Uni­ver­si­ties & Com­pa­nies, which fea­tures pro­grams from our part­ners Cours­era, Udac­i­ty, Future­Learn and edX.

And if you’re inter­est­ed in Online Mini-Mas­ters and Mas­ter’s Degrees pro­grams from uni­ver­si­ties, see our col­lec­tion: Online Degrees & Mini Degrees: Explore Mas­ters, Mini Mas­ters, Bach­e­lors & Mini Bach­e­lors from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

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Keith Richards Shows Us How to Play the Blues, Inspired by Robert Johnson, on the Acoustic Guitar

To me Robert Johnson’s influ­ence — he was like a comet or a mete­or that came along and, BOOM, sud­den­ly he raised the ante, sud­den­ly you just had to aim that much high­er. 

As Kei­th Richards tells it, the first time he met Bri­an Jones, the two “went around to his apart­ment crash-pad,” where all Jones had was “a chair, a record play­er, and a few records, one of which was Robert John­son.” Jones put on the record, and the moment changed Richards’ life. He wasn’t so much inter­est­ed in the dev­il at the cross­roads. The first ques­tion he asked — “Who’s that?” — was fol­lowed by, “Yeah, but who’s the oth­er guy play­ing with him? That, too, was Robert John­son, play­ing rhythm with his thumb while bend­ing and slid­ing with his fin­gers, the fan­cy gui­tar work that earned him the envy of fel­low blues­men, and led to the rumor his skills came from hell.

“One of the sta­ples of Johnson’s style is his abil­i­ty to sound at times like two gui­tar play­ers,” writes Andy Ale­dort at Gui­tar World, “com­bin­ing dri­ving rhythms on the low­er strings with melod­ic fig­ures with the high­er strings.” Like every oth­er British gui­tarist of his gen­er­a­tion, Richards was enchant­ed. “I’ve nev­er heard any­body before or since use the form and bend it quite so much to make it work for him­self…. The gui­tar play­ing — it was almost like lis­ten­ing to Bach. You know, you think you’re get­ting a han­dle on play­ing the blues, and then you hear Robert John­son….”

The leg­endary blues­man became not only Richards’ hero, but also his teacher. “We all felt there was a cer­tain gap in our edu­ca­tion,” he tells The Guardian, “so we all scram­bled back to the 20s and 30s to fig­ure out how Char­lie Pat­ton did this, or Robert John­son, who, after all, was and still prob­a­bly is the supre­mo.”

Fig­ur­ing out what John­son did still con­sumes his biggest fans. Since his record­ings were inten­tion­al­ly sped up, inter­preters of his music must make their best guess­es about his tun­ings, which “can be bro­ken down into four cat­e­gories: stan­dard tun­ing, open G, open D and drop D,” Ale­dort notes. (There are oth­er argu­ments for alter­nate tun­ings.) Richards fre­quent­ly used open tun­ings like John­son’s before he learned 5‑string open G from Ry Cood­er, on songs, for exam­ple, like “Street Fight­ing Man.” At the top, he gives us his inter­pre­ta­tion of John­son’s “32–20 Blues,” in stan­dard tun­ing.

And just above, Keef offers a brief les­son on how to play the blues, mum­bling and growl­ing over a 12-bar vamp. The music took him over, he says, “it’s just some­thing you’ve got to do. You have no choice. I mean, we had oth­er things to do and every­thing, but once you got bit­ten by the bug, you had to find out how it’s done, and every three min­utes of sound­bite would be like an edu­ca­tion.”

What did their blues heroes think of the Stones? The band nev­er got to meet Robert John­son, of course, but he might have been appre­cia­tive. “I got the chance to sit around with Mud­dy Waters and Bob­by Wom­ack,” says Kei­th, “and they just want­ed to share ideas.” John­son didn’t leave much behind to learn from, but his keen­est stu­dents found exact­ly what they need­ed in his few haunt­ing record­ings.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

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

Cov­er­ing Robert Johnson’s Blues Became a Rite of Rock ‘n’ Roll Pas­sage: Hear Cov­ers by The Rolling Stones, Eric Clap­ton, Howl­in’ Wolf, Lucin­da Williams & More

Robert John­son Final­ly Gets an Obit­u­ary in The New York Times 81 Years After His Death

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

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The World’s First Bass Guitar (1936)

Image via Ebay

The big, stand-up dou­ble bass or “bull fid­dle,” as it’s been called, dates to the 15th cen­tu­ry. The design has evolved, but its four strings and EADG tun­ing have remained stan­dard fea­tures of bass­es for sev­er­al hun­dred years of clas­si­cal and, lat­er, jazz, coun­try, and ear­ly rock and roll. Its boom­ing tone and unwieldy size notwith­stand­ing, the ven­er­a­ble instru­ment is a mem­ber of the vio­lin fam­i­ly. So, when did the four-string bass become a bass gui­tar?

Leo Fender’s 1951 Pre­ci­sion Bass is fre­quent­ly cit­ed as the first — “such a spe­cial instru­ment,” writes the Fend­er com­pa­ny, that “if Clarence Leo Fend­er were to be remem­bered for noth­ing else, sure­ly it would be the Pre­ci­sion — an instru­ment — indeed a whole new kind of instru­ment — that sim­ply did­n’t exist before he invent­ed it.”

Pri­or to Fender’s inno­va­tion, it was thought that the ear­li­est exam­ples of elec­tric bass­es were stand-up mod­els like Regal’s Elec­tri­fied Dou­ble Bass and Rickenbacker’s Elec­tro-Bass-Viol, both dat­ing from 1936.

Image via Ebay

But as his­to­ri­an and writer Peter Blecha found out, the first elec­tric bass gui­tar actu­al­ly appeared that same year, invent­ed in ‘36 by “musician/instructor/basement tin­ker­er” Paul H. Tut­marc, “a pio­neer in elec­tric pick­up design who mar­ket­ed a line of elec­tric lap­steel gui­tars under the Audiovox brand out of the unlike­ly town of Seat­tle.” Through­out the thir­ties and for­ties, notes Gui­tar World, Tut­marc “made a num­ber of gui­tars and ampli­fiers under the Audiovox brand.” In 1935, he invent­ed a “New Type Bull Fid­dle,” an elec­tric stand-up bass. The Seat­tle Post-Intel­li­gencer announced it at the time as good news for the “poor bass-fid­dler… who has to lug his big bull-fid­dle home” at the end of the night.

The fol­low­ing year, Tut­marc com­bined his instru­ment-mak­ing skills into the world’s first bass gui­tar, the Audiovox 736 Elec­tric Bass Fid­dle, a true orig­i­nal and a “rad­i­cal design break­through,” Blecha writes. Tutmarc’s instru­ment solved the bassist’s prob­lems of being inaudi­ble in a big band set­ting and being bare­ly able to car­ry one’s instru­ment to and from a gig. The 736 did not catch on out­side Seat­tle, but it did get out a lot around the city.

Tut­marc “gave the bass to his wife Lor­raine, who used it while per­form­ing with the Tut­marc fam­i­ly band. [He] also sold copies to var­i­ous gospel, Hawai­ian, and coun­try play­ers.” (The bass cost around $65, or $1,150 today, with a sep­a­rate amp that sold for $95.) Now, there are only three known Audiovox 736s in exis­tence: one held by a pri­vate col­lec­tor, anoth­er at Seattle’s Muse­um of Pop Cul­ture, and a third auc­tioned a few years ago on Ebay for $23,000.

Did Leo Fend­er see one of Tut­mar­c’s cre­ations when he invent­ed the first tru­ly mass-mar­ket elec­tric bass gui­tar? Per­haps, but it hard­ly mat­ters. It was Fender’s instru­ment that would catch on — for good — fif­teen years after the Audiovox 736, and it was Tutmarc’s fate to be large­ly for­got­ten by musi­cal his­to­ry, “des­tined to remain obscure,” Blecha writes, “to the extent that, in the wake of Leo Fender’s Pre­ci­sion Bass… the very exis­tence of a pre­vi­ous elec­tric fret­ted bass (played hor­i­zon­tal­ly) was effec­tive­ly for­got­ten.” See an intro­duc­tion and demon­stra­tion of the first bass gui­tar just above.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Behold the First Elec­tric Gui­tar: The 1931 “Fry­ing Pan”

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

Visu­al­iz­ing the Bass Play­ing Style of Motown’s Icon­ic Bassist James Jamer­son: “Ain’t No Moun­tain High Enough,” “For Once in My Life” & More

Leg­endary Stu­dio Musi­cian Car­ol Kaye Presents 150 Free Tips for Prac­tic­ing & Play­ing the Bass

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

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That Far Corner: Frank Lloyd Wright in Los Angeles–A Free Online Documentary

From KCET (the pub­lic broad­cast­er serv­ing SoCal) comes the doc­u­men­tary, That Far Cor­ner: Frank Lloyd Wright in Los Ange­les. “Dur­ing his time spent in South­ern Cal­i­for­nia in the late 1910s and ear­ly 1920s, Frank Lloyd Wright accel­er­at­ed the search for L.A.‘s authen­tic archi­tec­ture that was suit­able to the city’s cul­ture and land­scape. Writer/Director Chris Hawthorne, archi­tec­ture crit­ic for the Los Ange­les Times, explores the hous­es the leg­endary archi­tect built in Los Ange­les. The doc­u­men­tary also delves into the crit­ic’s provoca­tive the­o­ry that these homes were also a means of artis­tic cathar­sis for Wright, who was recov­er­ing from a vio­lent trag­ic episode in his life.” You can watch That Far Cor­ner online. It will also be added to our list of Free Doc­u­men­taries, a sub­set of col­lec­tion 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Frank Lloyd Wright’s Son Invent­ed Lin­coln Logs, “America’s Nation­al Toy” (1916)

12 Famous Frank Lloyd Wright Hous­es Offer Vir­tu­al Tours: Hol­ly­hock House, Tal­iesin West, Falling­wa­ter & More

Frank Lloyd Wright Cre­ates a List of the 10 Traits Every Aspir­ing Artist Needs

Frank Lloyd Wright Reflects on Cre­ativ­i­ty, Nature and Reli­gion in Rare 1957 Audio

The Mod­ernist Gas Sta­tions of Frank Lloyd Wright and Mies van der Rohe

The Frank Lloyd Wright Lego Set

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