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John, Paul and George Perform Dueling Guitar Solos on The Beatles’ Farewell Song (1969)

It all came to an end with “The End,” the last real track on the Bea­t­les’ final stu­dio album Abbey Road.* Record­ed in July and August of 1969, “The End” takes up the last 2 min­utes and 20 sec­onds of the mas­ter­ful 16-minute med­ley (lis­ten here) that brings Abbey Road to a cli­max. And it fea­tures some of the last great “cos­mic, philo­soph­i­cal lines” (as John Lennon lat­er called them) the Bea­t­les left us to pon­der:

And in the end,
The love you take,
Is equal to the love you make.

The song also gave us some­thing we weren’t accus­tomed to: all four Bea­t­les per­form­ing a solo. Any ardent Bea­t­les fan knows that Ringo Starr nev­er liked drum solos. As Paul recalled years lat­er, “[Ringo] hat­ed drum­mers who did lengthy drum solos. We all did.” Despite this gen­er­al view, McCart­ney thought a solo worked on this final track, and it took a fair amount of “gen­tle per­sua­sion” before Starr relent­ed and gave us the only drum solo per­formed on a Bea­t­les album. You can hear it below.

The End has anoth­er sig­na­ture moment — the moment when Paul, George and John sparred on lead gui­tars, play­ing solos in rapid suc­ces­sion, with­out miss­ing a beat. As you’ll see in the anno­tat­ed video above, Paul kicks things off with a solo that fea­tures some fan­cy string bends. George picks up with some melod­ic slides. And John takes over with his own dis­tor­tion-filled solo. Around it goes three times, until we reach the end.

If you’re into Bea­t­les gui­tar solos, make sure you don’t miss “Here Comes The Sun: The Lost Gui­tar Solo by George Har­ri­son.” It’s delight­ful.

Note: When we call “The End” the last real track on Abbey Road, we’re dis­count­ing “Her Majesty,” the 23-sec­ond song that was tacked on as some­thing of an after­thought. We call Abbey Road the last stu­dio album because it was record­ed after (though released before) Let It Be.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gui­tarist Randy Bach­man Demys­ti­fies the Open­ing Chord of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’

The Bea­t­les: Unplugged Col­lects Acoustic Demos of White Album Songs (1968)

Peter Sell­ers Reads The Bea­t­les’ “She Loves You” in Four Voic­es

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Martin Heidegger Talks About Language, Being, Marx & Religion in Vintage 1960s Interviews


Ger­man philoso­pher Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger, whom read­ers of post-struc­tural­ist the­o­ry have to thank for pop­u­lar­iz­ing the ubiq­ui­tous phrase “always already,” was a very labored writer who coined much of his own ter­mi­nol­o­gy and gave many a trans­la­tor migraines. His prose betrays an obses­sion with the pow­er of lan­guage that many of his stu­dents and suc­ces­sors, such as Jacques Der­ri­da and Michel Fou­cault, inher­it­ed in the con­struc­tion of their own elab­o­rate the­o­ries. While Heidegger’s first book Being and Time (1927) had enor­mous influ­ence on Exis­ten­tial­ist and Phe­nom­e­no­log­i­cal thought, he also wrote exten­sive­ly on tech­nol­o­gy, the­ol­o­gy, and art and poet­ics, engag­ing with the ideas of Edmund Husserl, Kierkegaard, Niet­zsche, and the roman­tic Ger­man poet Friedrich Hӧlder­lin.

In the short film above, see the man him­self in excerpts from a lec­ture and three dif­fer­ent inter­views. The footage comes from a 1975 doc­u­men­tary called Heidegger’s Speech­es. Hei­deg­ger first dis­cuss­es some the­o­ry of lan­guage, quot­ing Goethe, then, in an inter­view, talks about how he came to the cen­tral pre­oc­cu­pa­tion of his philo­soph­i­cal career: the “ques­tion of being,” or Dasein. The third inter­view con­cerns Heidegger’s thoughts on Karl Marx. He quotes Marx’s rad­i­cal dic­tum, “philoso­phers have only inter­pret­ed the world; the point is to change it,” and offers a crit­i­cal per­spec­tive based in hermeneu­tics. In the fourth and final inter­view seg­ment, Hei­deg­ger prof­fers some thoughts on reli­gion and com­mu­nism.

For a much fuller pic­ture of Heidegger’s life and work, watch the BBC doc­u­men­tary above, from their Exis­ten­tial­ist series “Human All Too Human” that begins with Niet­zsche and ends with Sartre. And this page also has video of a num­ber of philoso­phers dis­cussing Heidegger’s work, which left such a last­ing impres­sion on the char­ac­ter of late mod­ern and post­mod­ern thought that it’s hard to find a con­tem­po­rary philoso­pher who doesn’t owe some sort of debt to him.

It may be impos­si­ble to over­state Heidegger’s impor­tance to twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry Euro­pean phi­los­o­phy in gen­er­al, and upon sev­er­al promi­nent Jew­ish thinkers in par­tic­u­lar like his for­mer stu­dent and lover Han­nah Arendt and ethi­cist Emmanuel Lev­inas. But it also must be said that Heidegger’s lega­cy is taint­ed with con­tro­ver­sy. While it’s typ­i­cal­ly good form to sep­a­rate a thinker’s work from his or her per­son­al laps­es, Heidegger’s laps­es of judg­ment, if that’s what they were, are not so easy to ignore. As the doc­u­men­tary above informs us, Hei­deg­ger was a Nazi. A review­er of a recent biog­ra­phy col­or­ful­ly sums up the case this way:

Let’s be clear about this: Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger, a thinker many regard as the most impor­tant philoso­pher of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, was indeed a bona-fide, arm-aloft, palm-out­stretched Nazi. Zeal­ous­ly renew­ing his par­ty mem­ber­ship every year between 1933 and 1945, his com­mit­ment to the Nation­al Social­ist cause was unstint­ing. Nowhere was this more in evi­dence than in his pub­lic role as rec­tor of Freiburg Uni­ver­si­ty, where he praised ‘the inner truth and great­ness’ of Nazism in his 1933 rec­toral address, and lat­er penned a paean to mur­dered Nazi thug Leo Schlageter. Hei­deg­ger was no token fas­cist; he was jack-boot­ed and ready. Wear­ing a swasti­ka on his lapel at all times he, along­side his proud, vir­u­lent­ly anti-Semit­ic wife, also prac­tised pri­vate dis­crim­i­na­tion against Jews, from fel­low exis­ten­tial­ist philoso­pher Karl Jaspers to his one-time men­tor Edmund Husserl. Not that he was with­out friends. In fact his friend­ship with Eugene Fis­ch­er, direc­tor of Berlin Insti­tute for Racial Hygiene, last­ed years.

Heidegger’s Nazi sym­pa­thies are hard­ly evi­dent in his philo­soph­i­cal work, yet it is still dif­fi­cult for many read­ers to rec­on­cile these facts about his life. Some refer to a 1966 Der Spiegel inter­view in which the philoso­pher explained away his Nazism as exi­gent cir­cum­stances. Sort of what we call today a non-apol­o­gy apol­o­gy. Oth­ers, like one­time admir­er Lev­inas, don’t find the task so easy. In a com­men­tary on for­give­ness, Lev­inas once wrote, “One can for­give many Ger­mans, but there are some Ger­mans it is dif­fi­cult to for­give. It is dif­fi­cult to for­give Hei­deg­ger.”

You can find more resources on Hei­deg­ger in our archive of free online phi­los­o­phy cours­es.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Friedrich Niet­zsche & Exis­ten­tial­ism Explained to Five-Year-Olds (in Com­i­cal Video by Red­dit)

Wal­ter Kaufmann’s Lec­tures on Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard and Sartre (1960)

Han­nah Arendt’s Orig­i­nal Arti­cles on “the Banal­i­ty of Evil” in the New York­er Archive

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

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Abandoned Alternate Titles for Two Great Films: Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove and Hitchcock’s Vertigo

Kubrick notebook

We have here a page out of Stan­ley Kubrick­’s note­book, which Lists of Note—the sis­ter site of Let­ters of Note, always a favorite of ours here at Open Cul­ture—post­ed as a col­lec­tion of alter­na­tive titles for Dr. Strangelove. The list includes Dr. Dooms­day, The Dooms­day Machine, Dr. Doomsday and His Nuclear Women, Don’t Knock the Bomb: these ideas came not from an inter­fer­ing stu­dio, but from Kubrick­’s own mind as he worked his way toward the most suit­able name. You can see him get­ting clos­er; while this page does­n’t include the film’s final title, Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned to Stop Wor­ry­ing and Love the Bomb, it does include Dr. Strangelove’s Bomb, Strangelove; Nuclear Wise­man, and the Gib­son­ian-sound­ing The Pas­sion of Dr. Strangelove. I myself will always won­der how Dr. Strangelove’s Secret Uses of Uranus would have played, but when you deal with cin­e­mat­ic crafts­men as detail-ori­ent­ed and reput­ed­ly “per­fec­tion­ist” as Kubrick, you know that their dri­ving desire to get things right extends all the way to their titles and beyond.

This holds just as true for Alfred Hitch­cock. Alone in the Dark, Behind the Mask, The Dark Tow­er, With­out a Trace, all pos­si­ble titles for the movie we now know as Ver­ti­go. When Hitch­cock­’s San Fran­cis­co psy­cho­log­i­cal thriller recent­ly topped Sight and Sound’s crit­ics poll of the great­est films of all time, it sure­ly did so for cin­e­mat­ic mer­its hav­ing noth­ing to do with its name.

But would a Ver­ti­go by any oth­er title feel quite as fresh and grip­ping today, 55 years after it first came out? This goes espe­cial­ly for the pre-thread­bare titles I rat­tled off above, which only account for four of 47 of the sug­ges­tions Para­mount Pic­tures exec­u­tive Sam Frey pitched to Hitch­cock, includ­ing Deceit, Deceit­ful, and, for good mea­sure, Decep­tion. You can read all of them below, or at Lists of Note. I quite like The Face Vari­a­tions, but Hitch­cock knew his project most inti­mate­ly, and thus knew that Ver­ti­go it had to be.

  1. Afraid to Love
  2. Alone in the Dark
  3. The Appari­tion
  4. Behind the Mask
  5. Car­lot­ta
  6. Check­mate
  7. Con­science
  8. Cry from the Rooftop
  9. The Dark Tow­er
  10. Deceit
  11. Deceit­ful
  12. Decep­tion
  13. Don’t Leave Me
  14. Dream With­out End­ing
  15. The Face Vari­a­tions
  16. Foot­steps
  17. For the Last Time
  18. The Hid­den life
  19. In the Shad­ows
  20. The Inves­ti­ga­tor
  21. A Life Is For­ev­er
  22. The Lure
  23. Mal­ice
  24. The Mask and the Face
  25. The Mask Illu­sion
  26. My Madeleine
  27. A Mat­ter of Fact
  28. Nev­er Leave Me
  29. Night Shade
  30. Noth­ing Is For­ev­er
  31. Past, Present and Future
  32. The Phan­tom
  33. The Sec­ond Chance
  34. The Shad­ow
  35. Shad­ow and Sub­stance
  36. Shad­ow on the Stairs
  37. Shock
  38. Steps on the Stairs
  39. Ter­ror
  40. To Live Again
  41. Tonight Is Ours
  42. Too Late My Love
  43. Two Kinds of Women
  44. The Unknown
  45. Want­ed
  46. With­out A Trace
  47. The Wit­ness

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Inside Dr. Strangelove: Doc­u­men­tary Reveals How a Cold War Sto­ry Became a Kubrick Clas­sic

Philoso­pher Slavoj Zizek Inter­prets Hitchcock’s Ver­ti­go in The Pervert’s Guide to Cin­e­ma (2006)

20 Free Hitch­cock Movies Online

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

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CERN Physicist Explains the Origins of the Universe for Beginners with a Short Animated Video

If you have kids, you’re going to get the inevitable ques­tion: Where did the uni­verse come from? And you’re like­ly going to take a long pause before try­ing to present the sci­ence of the big bang. Before you head down that path, know this: CERN physi­cist Tom Whyn­tie has cre­at­ed a new TED-ED video that explains, in three ani­mat­ed min­utes, how the uni­verse began, why it’s expand­ing, and oth­er basic phe­nom­e­na that con­cern cos­mol­o­gists and par­ti­cle physi­cists. Phew. By the time you’re done, you might be eager­ly await­ing a where-do-babies-come-from video. That’s hope­ful­ly some­where in TED-ED’s media pipeline too.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

200 Free Kids Edu­ca­tion­al Resources: Video Lessons, Apps, Books, Web­sites & More

Grow­ing Up in the Uni­verse: Richard Dawkins Presents Cap­ti­vat­ing Sci­ence Lec­tures for Kids (1991)

The Sto­ry Of Men­stru­a­tion: Walt Disney’s Sex Ed Film from 1946

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Legendary Guitarist Andrés Segovia Plays J.S. Bach at the Alhambra, 1976

In 1976 the great clas­si­cal gui­tarist Andés Segovia returned to Grana­da, Spain, the city of his child­hood, to per­form a few pieces on film at the 14th cen­tu­ry Moor­ish palace, the Alham­bra.

In the scene above, the 84-year-old Segovia plays a pair of gavottes from his own tran­scrip­tion of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach’s Suite for Solo Cel­lo No. 6 in D Major, BMV 1012. A gavotte is a kind of folk dance, orig­i­nal­ly from France, that was pop­u­lar dur­ing the Baroque peri­od. Bach often incor­po­rat­ed them into his suites and par­ti­tas. In this per­for­mance, Segovia tran­si­tions from the bright and live­ly Gavotte I to the more restrained Gavotte II at the 1:54 mark.

The scene is from the doc­u­men­tary Andrés Segovia: The Song of the Gui­tar, which is avail­able on a two-film DVD, Andrés Segovia: In Por­trait. For more on Segovia, includ­ing his per­for­mance of Isaac Albéniz’s “The Leg­end of Asturias” from the same film, see our 2011 post: “Andrés Segovia, Father of Clas­si­cal Gui­tar, at the Alham­bra.”

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:

The Art of Mak­ing a Fla­men­co Gui­tar: 299 Hours of Blood, Sweat & Tears Expe­ri­enced in 3 Min­utes

The Genius of J.S. Bach’s “Crab Canon” Visu­al­ized on a Möbius Strip

Glenn Gould Explains the Genius of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach (1962)

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Sex Pistols Frontman Johnny Rotten Weighs In On Lady Gaga, Paul McCartney, Madonna & Katy Perry

Opin­ions may be like that oth­er thing every­one has, but nobody’s got opin­ions like John Lydon, a.k.a. John­ny Rot­ten of the Sex Pis­tols and Pub­lic Image Lim­it­ed. The punk tastemak­er nev­er holds back, and that’s why he’s so much fun in inter­views. Take the clip above, from an appear­ance on the UK’s Absolute Radio. Lydon offers his take on a few artists, some con­tem­po­rary, some aging pop stars. With no evi­dence of irony, he calls Lady Gaga “fan­tas­tic… wit­ty, clever,” and says her song­writ­ing is “bang up there.” Each to his own, I guess. Of Paul McCart­ney (who Lydon calls “McCarthy”), he says the for­mer Bea­t­le recent­ly sang “like an old don­key.” He opines that “Blondie” (does he mean Deb­bie Har­ry? Or are we back to Gaga?) “real­ly is a dob­bin,” and Madon­na is “kind of humor­less.”

It’s all off-the-cuff good fun, noth­ing for­mal, unlike the review above, where Lydon employs his con­sid­er­able crit­i­cal acu­men in a seri­ous review of a very seri­ous film: Katy Perry’s Part of Me. Although “not gen­er­al­ly a film crit­ic,” Lydon lets his gift for sar­cas­tic under­state­ment loose on a few clips from the movie. His review most­ly focus­es on Perry’s image, which seems appro­pri­ate. He’s pleased she shaves her armpits, but not with her var­i­ous dye jobs. He reach­es out to Per­ry in a very heart­felt way after see­ing her father, who is, he says, a “nut­ter.” And oh, there’s so much more, but you should watch it for your­self.

Pub­lic com­men­tary is not some­thing Lydon has only tak­en up in his old age, though he has made a sec­ond career of it late­ly. Last year, Dan­ger­ous Minds dug up a record­ing of a 20-year-old John­ny Rot­ten spin­ning his records for Cap­i­tal Radio in 1977 (below). He plays some Bowie (but he’s not a fan), Can, Cap­tain Beef­heart, John Cale, and plen­ty of dub reg­gae, intro­duc­ing each track with his char­ac­ter­is­tic wit. Appar­ent­ly, Sex Pis­tols man­ag­er Mal­colm McLaren didn’t want him to do it and hat­ed the inter­view and record selec­tions, but John­ny Rot­ten has nev­er been one to do what he’s told. Good for him—it’s an excel­lent lis­ten. You can find a full tran­script and track­list of the ses­sion here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Joe Strummer’s Lon­don Call­ing”: All Eight Episodes of Strummer’s UK Radio Show Free Online

2009 Kate Bush Doc­u­men­tary Dubs Her “Queen of British Pop”

Mal­colm McLaren: The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

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The Beatles’ “Hey Jude” Reworked from Major to Minor Scale; Ella’s “Summertime” Goes Minor to Major

A com­mon­place in rock and pop song­writ­ing: minor keys are sad (or dark or soft) and major keys are hap­py (upbeat, extro­vert­ed, etc.). Want to add some com­plex­i­ty? Set hap­py lyrics in a minor key or vice ver­sa. You don’t need much the­o­ry to grasp the con­cept (apply­ing it effec­tive­ly is anoth­er mat­ter). But even for clas­si­cal­ly trained com­posers, the why of it all is still a bit of a mys­tery. Guardian clas­si­cal music blog­ger Tom Ser­vice sug­gests that since the 17th cen­tu­ry, it’s become learned behav­ior, as is our ten­den­cy to fall into minor thirds when com­mu­ni­cat­ing sad­ness through speech. Whether a nat­ur­al or cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non, there’s no doubt that trans­pos­ing tonal­i­ty can give a song vast­ly dif­fer­ent emo­tion­al res­o­nance.

Which is exact­ly what hap­pened with a recent viral dig­i­tal exper­i­ment: a tweak of R.E.M.’s tor­tured “Los­ing My Reli­gion” from minor to major so upset reli­gious blog­ger Matthew Lin­der, he com­ment­ed that the “change in tonal­i­ty white­wash­es the sor­row­ful song and brings in the Pollyan­naism of REM’s much derid­ed ‘Shiny Hap­py Peo­ple.’” Now I hap­pen to think “Shiny Hap­py Peo­ple” is a com­plete­ly stu­pid yet love­able song, but he does have a point. The tonal­i­ty hack, orig­i­nal­ly per­formed by MajorScaledTV, has also been done sev­er­al times by Ukrain­ian YouTube user MajorVs­Mi­nor, real name Oleg Berg and his daugh­ter Diana. The Bergs take songs like the godaw­ful “Final Count­down” by Europe and make them almost lis­ten­able, or ruin songs like “Hey Jude” (above).

And some­times a fas­ci­nat­ing thing hap­pens. Remem­ber that coun­ter­point between tonal­i­ty and con­tent I not­ed above? In some cas­es, the entire effect of a song depends upon that ten­sion, as is the case with George Gershwin’s “Sum­mer­time” from Por­gy and Bess. In the tweaked Ella Fitzger­ald ver­sion above, the lyrics—“and the liv­ing is easy”—lose their sex­i­ness, their melan­choly under­tones and strained irony, when the tune sounds as hap­py and straight­for­ward as the words. This is not an improve­ment, of course, but an inter­est­ing exam­ple of how form and con­tent push against each oth­er in com­po­si­tions more musi­cal­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed and emo­tion­al­ly com­plex than “Final Count­down.” Once these tweaked ver­sions of pop­u­lar songs lose their appeal as viral curiosi­ties (if they haven’t already), they’re sure to make excel­lent teach­ing tools for musi­col­o­gy pro­fes­sors.

MajorVs­Mi­nor have applied their treat­ment to over two dozen pop­u­lar songs and film and video game themes. Want to know how they do it? Watch Oleg and Diana reveal their secrets in the video above. There’s quite a bit more to their process than Evolver.fm assumed about MajorScaledTV’s REM exper­i­ment.

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

R.E.M.’s “Los­ing My Reli­gion” Reworked from Minor to Major Scale

Bob­by McFer­rin Shows the Pow­er of the Pen­ta­ton­ic Scale

His­to­ry of Rock: New MOOC Presents the Music of Elvis, Dylan, Bea­t­les, Stones, Hen­drix & More

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

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“Hummingbird,” A New Form of Music Notation That’s Easier to Learn and Faster to Read

If you learned to play a musi­cal instru­ment as a kid, you like­ly remem­ber your first encounter with tra­di­tion­al music nota­tion. You remem­ber being baf­fled by the sym­bols denot­ing quar­ter notes, eighth notes, six­teenth notes. Or the dif­fi­cul­ty of read­ing notes locat­ed above or below the staff. The West­ern sys­tem of music nota­tion goes back hun­dreds of years, and it has been befud­dling stu­dents for gen­er­a­tions. Enter Blake West, a piano teacher from Austin, Texas, who enlist­ed his old friend Mike Sall, a data visu­al­iza­tion wiz, to cre­ate a more intu­itive form of music nota­tion. They dubbed it “Hum­ming­bird,” and between the two videos on this page and this com­plete ref­er­ence guide, you’ll get a quick feel for the con­cepts under­ly­ing this new way of read­ing music. On the Hum­ming­bird web­site, you can also find 26 songs — every­thing rang­ing from Bach’s “Ode to Joy” to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” — rewrit­ten in a for­mat that bud­ding music stu­dents will love.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How a Bach Canon Works. Bril­liant.

85,000 Clas­si­cal Music Scores on the Web

Bob­by McFer­rin Shows the Pow­er of the Pen­ta­ton­ic Scale

Lis­ten­ing to Music (Yale) in Our Col­lec­tion 700 Free Online Cours­es

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Bitcoin, the New Decentralized Digital Currency, Demystified in a Three Minute Video

They sound like some­thing out of sci­ence fic­tion, but Bit­coins are get­ting just a lit­tle bit more real every day. They’re intan­gi­ble and invis­i­ble, but bit­coins recent­ly attract­ed some real invest­ment cap­i­tal from the Win­klevoss twins, who first dreamed up the idea for Face­book — or so their law­suit argued.

A bit of back­ground: Bit­coins are a vir­tu­al cur­ren­cy sys­tem. They were pro­grammed by an anony­mous programmer(s?) in 2009. There are a lim­it­ed num­ber of pos­si­ble bit­coins that can ever be traded—21 million—and the “coins” become avail­able incre­men­tal­ly. That process is crowd­sourced (any­body can mint bit­coins) but it requires solv­ing com­plex encryp­tion prob­lems. Most bit­coin min­ers have an army of com­put­er hard­ware to do the work for them.

What can a bit­coin buy? It depends. The currency’s val­ue has been gyrat­ing wild­ly in recent weeks, from a val­ue of just a few dol­lars up to $266 and then back down to about $100. So far bit­coins are accept­ed as cur­ren­cy by some­what shady elec­tron­ics web­sites that claim to be send­ing a mes­sage to big retail­ers: start accept­ing the vir­tu­al cur­ren­cy or miss out on a big mar­ket share (that hasn’t devel­oped yet).

Last week came the announce­ment that Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss—former rivals to Mark Zuckerberg—own one per­cent of all the bit­coins in cir­cu­la­tion, the biggest stake so far. That news inspired debate over what, exact­ly, bit­coins are and whether they’re impor­tant.

They aren’t the first vir­tu­al cur­ren­cy and they aren’t being used wide­ly in com­merce. Some econ­o­mists have weighed in to say that unless peo­ple stop hord­ing bit­coins as an invest­ment and start spend­ing them, they are mean­ing­less. The bit­coin exper­i­ment may show the way to a dig­i­tal cur­ren­cy of the future. But, until it pans out, we rec­om­mend that you hang onto your dol­lars. And if you’re still try­ing to get your arms around the whole con­cept of the bit­coin, we sug­gest spend­ing a few min­utes with the video primer above.

Kate Rix writes about dig­i­tal media and edu­ca­tion. Vis­it her web­site: .

 

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The Always-NSFW Kevin Smith and Jason Mewes Catch Up in Jay and Silent Bob Get Old Podcast

With 1994’s Clerks, Kevin Smith opened up the flood­gates for inde­pen­dent­ly pro­duced, micro-bud­get, dia­logue-inten­sive, curs­ing-inten­sive movies by, for, and about a cer­tain stripe of feck­less Generation‑X twen­tysome­thing. These pic­tures show­cased more aggres­sive­ly foul­mouthed (but, in their way, more ener­getic) ver­sions of the over­grown kids and/or stalled adults whose mean­der­ing lives Richard Lin­klater had dra­ma­tized in Slack­er three years before. (Watch Slack­er online here.) Clerks hit when I had­n’t yet grown out of com­ic book-read­ing pre-ado­les­cence, though I do remem­ber becom­ing aware of Smith’s work from an ad on the back of, yes, a com­ic book. The page adver­tised Mall­rats, Smith’s big-bud­get Clerks fol­lowup; in its cor­ner posed a pair of smirk­ing young long­hairs. “Snootchie bootchies,” read an inex­plic­a­ble voice bub­ble ema­nat­ing from the thin­ner of the two. I had to know: who were those guys? The zeit­geist now rec­og­nizes Jay and Silent Bob, the out­ward­ly dumb but star­tling­ly wise drug deal­ers played by Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith him­self, as hav­ing stolen Clerks’ show. (You can watch one of their fin­er moments in Mall­rats above.)

Smith used the char­ac­ters in Mall­rats as well, and went on to write them into sub­se­quent movies like Chas­ing Amy, Dog­ma, and of course Clerks II and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, their pres­ence uni­fy­ing all these sto­ries into one coher­ent real­i­ty. Cinephiles argue over whether Smith has deliv­ered on his promise as a direc­tor, but some fans think the man has found his true voice as a pod­cast­er. Today, on his own pod­cast net­work, he hosts a stag­ger­ing array of shows, includ­ing SMod­cast, SMoviemak­ers, Hol­ly­wood Bab­ble-On, and Fat Man on Bat­man. Jay and Silent Bob Get Old (Web — iTunes — RSS feed) reunites the 42-year-old Smith and the 38-year-old Mewes for reg­u­lar con­ver­sa­tions about adult­hood, fame, and strug­gles with sobri­ety (in Mewes’ case) and weight (in Smith’s), always fea­tur­ing the most vul­gar jokes imag­in­able. If you haven’t caught up with these guys since the nineties, have a lis­ten to their pod­cast’s so-very-Not-Safe-for-Work first episode above. They’ve even got back into char­ac­ter for Jay and Silent Bob’s Super Groovy Car­toon Movie, which begins its road­show across North Amer­i­ca on April 20.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Free Online: Richard Linklater’s Slack­er, the Clas­sic Gen‑X Indie Film

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

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