Rare Print of Censored 1972 Rolling Stones Concert Film Cocksucker Blues Goes on Sale for £25,000

In 1971, The Rolling Stones record­ed their mas­ter­ful dou­ble album Exile on Main Street, under some fab­u­lous cir­cum­stances in the south of France. That same year, they embarked on their first Amer­i­can tour since the 1969 dis­as­ter at Alta­mont tar­nished their brand. Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Robert Frank was there to film it all, and I mean all, with cam­eras back­stage and every­where else, wield­ed by band mem­bers, groupies, and road­ies. The result­ing film, Cock­suck­er Blues (short clip above)—named after an equal­ly elu­sive and deca­dent unre­leased sin­gle—was embar­goed by the band, banned by cen­sors, and only shown in 1979 and then only once every five years there­after, with Frank present, under a strange agree­ment nego­ti­at­ed with much legal wran­gling by Frank, the band, and the courts.

The film’s depic­tion of drug use and debauch­ery is to be expect­ed, but it’s an arti­fact that deserves to be seen on oth­er grounds as well, and it has been by many in boot­leg ver­sions cir­cu­lat­ing for decades. Don DeLil­lo made a point­ed ref­er­ence to the film in the fourth sec­tion of his Great Amer­i­can Nov­el ™, Under­world, and as one of the few crit­ics to review the film has said, it’s a movie as much about late 20th cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca as about the Rolling Stones, “a far truer pic­ture of the USA than any­thing else Frank ever did.” Now, British rare book­seller Peter Har­ring­ton has obtained one of the few qual­i­ty prints of the film and offers it for sale for 25,000 pounds. On the Peter Har­ring­ton web­site, writer Glenn Mitchell cites Ter­ry Southern’s remem­brance of Kei­th Richard’s response to the film. When Robert Frank explained to Richards his idea by say­ing, “it’s vérité,” Richards appar­ent­ly respond­ed, “nev­er mind vérité, I want poet­ry.” “Maybe,” writes Mitchell, “they both got what they want­ed.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gimme Shel­ter: Watch the Clas­sic Doc­u­men­tary of the Rolling Stones’ Dis­as­trous Con­cert at Alta­mont

Jean-Luc Godard Cap­tures The Rolling Stones Record­ing “Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il” (1968)

Watch Phish Play All of The Rolling Stones’ Clas­sic Album, Exile on Main Street, Live in Con­cert

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

Noam Chomsky Calls Postmodern Critiques of Science Over-Inflated “Polysyllabic Truisms”

To the delight and sat­is­fac­tion of hun­dreds of our read­ers, we recent­ly fea­tured an inter­view in which Noam Chom­sky slams post­mod­ernist intel­lec­tu­als like Slavoj Zizek and Jacques Lacan as “char­la­tans” and posers. The turn against post­mod­ernism has been long in com­ing, a back­lash the polit­i­cal right has made the­ater of for years, but that thinkers on the polit­i­cal left, like anar­chist Chom­sky, Marx­ist Vivek Chib­ber, and self-described “old left­ist” Alan Sokal have pur­sued with just as much vig­or (and more rig­or). In the inter­view clip above, Chom­sky makes a blan­ket cri­tique of what the inter­view­er calls the “left crit­i­cism of sci­ence” as impe­ri­al­ist, racist, sex­ist, etc. His answers shed quite a bit of light on what Chom­sky per­ceives as the polit­i­cal ram­i­fi­ca­tions of post­mod­ern thought as well as the ori­gins of the dis­course.

Chom­sky char­ac­ter­izes left­ist post­mod­ern aca­d­e­mics as “a cat­e­go­ry of intel­lec­tu­als who are undoubt­ed­ly per­fect­ly sin­cere” (I sus­pect this is a bit of unchar­ac­ter­is­tic politesse on his part). Nonethe­less, in his cri­tique, such thinkers use “poly­syl­lab­ic words and com­pli­cat­ed con­struc­tions” to make claims that are “all very inflat­ed” and which have “a ter­ri­ble effect on the third world.” Chom­sky argues (as does Chib­ber) that “in the third world, pop­u­lar move­ments real­ly need seri­ous intel­lec­tu­als to par­tic­i­pate. If they’re all rant­i­ng post­mod­ernists… well, they’re gone.” His assess­ment of post­mod­ern cri­tiques of sci­ence echoes his crit­i­cism of Zizek and Lacan. (Chom­sky appears to use the words “poly­syl­lab­ic” and “mono­syl­lab­ic” as terms for jar­gon vs. ordi­nary lan­guage.):

It’s con­sid­ered very left wing, very advanced. Some of what appears in it sort of actu­al­ly makes sense, but when you repro­duce it in mono­syl­la­bles, it turns out to be tru­isms. It’s per­fect­ly true that when you look at sci­en­tists in the West, they’re most­ly men, it’s per­fect­ly true that women have had a hard time break­ing into the sci­en­tif­ic fields, and it’s per­fect­ly true that there are insti­tu­tion­al fac­tors deter­min­ing how sci­ence pro­ceeds that reflect pow­er struc­tures. All of this can be described lit­er­al­ly in mono­syl­la­bles, and it turns out to be tru­isms. On the oth­er hand, you don’t get to be a respect­ed intel­lec­tu­al by pre­sent­ing tru­isms in mono­syl­la­bles.

This last point is some­thing Chom­sky elab­o­rates on as the impe­tus for post-struc­tural­ism in the acad­e­my, say­ing “it’s pret­ty easy to fig­ure out what’s going on. Sup­pose you’re a lit­er­ary schol­ar…. If you do your work seri­ous­ly, that’s fine, but you don’t get any prizes for it.” He makes the claim that human­i­ties schol­ars use mys­ti­fy­ing jar­gon and cook up “the­o­ry” in order to com­pete with the­o­ret­i­cal physi­cists and math­e­mati­cians, who get prizes, grants, and pres­tige for advanc­ing incred­i­bly com­pli­cat­ed sci­en­tif­ic work.

Even more than this gen­er­al accu­sa­tion against the­o­rists in the human­i­ties, Chom­sky makes the polit­i­cal point that French intel­lec­tu­als in Paris, “the cen­ter of the rot,” were the last group of left­ists to be ded­i­cat­ed, “flam­ing” Stal­in­ists and Maoists. In order to save face, such peo­ple had to sud­den­ly become “the first peo­ple in the world to have dis­cov­ered the gulags.” It’s a very damn­ing char­ac­ter­i­za­tion, and one he could no doubt sup­port, as he does all of his claims, with a dizzy­ing num­ber of spe­cif­ic exam­ples, though he declines to name names here. He does, how­ev­er, ref­er­ence Alan Sokal and Jean Bricmont’s sad­ly out-of-print  Intel­lec­tu­al Impos­tures, a book that patient­ly expos­es French post-struc­tural­ist thinkers’ abuse of sci­en­tif­ic con­cepts. (Sokal, a physics pro­fes­sor, famous­ly punked a well-regard­ed human­i­ties jour­nal in the mid-nineties with a pho­ny arti­cle).

Chom­sky’s cranky con­trar­i­an­ism is noth­ing new, and some of his polemic recalls the ana­lyt­ic case against “con­ti­nen­tal” phi­los­o­phy or Karl Pop­per’s case against pseu­do-sci­ence, although his invest­ment is polit­i­cal as much as philo­soph­i­cal. The inter­view­er then moves on to reli­gion. Chomsky’s thoughts on that sub­ject are gen­er­al­ly nuanced and fair-mind­ed, but we don’t get to hear them here, alas, though he’s had plen­ty to say else­where.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Noam Chom­sky Slams Žižek and Lacan: Emp­ty ‘Pos­tur­ing’

Clash of the Titans: Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er on Dutch TV, 1971

Noam Chom­sky Spells Out the Pur­pose of Edu­ca­tion

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

Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s … John Lydon in a Butter Commercial?

A few days ago we post­ed an exple­tive-laced let­ter that John Lydon, for­mer­ly known as “John­ny Rot­ten,” faxed to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006 to make it clear that the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of the Sex Pis­tols would have noth­ing to do with their induc­tion. “We’re not your mon­key,” he wrote. At least one read­er felt edi­fied. “Thanks JR,” he said, “for not sell­ing out.”

So we thought it would be a fun time to bring back Lydon’s 2008 com­mer­cial for Coun­try Life But­ter. The ad, which report­ed­ly net­ted Lydon a cool $8 mil­lion, plays on the incon­gruity between two very British things: the icon­ic punk rock­er and a rather bucol­ic-sound­ing brand of but­ter. The com­mer­cial places Lydon in a series of unchar­ac­ter­is­tic sit­u­a­tions — read­ing the news­pa­per in a gen­tle­men’s smok­ing room, wav­ing the Union Jack as the Queen’s motor­cade goes by, run­ning from cows in the Eng­lish coun­try­side — as he says to the view­er, “Do I buy Coun­try Life But­ter because it’s British?” Do I buy Coun­try Life because I yearn for the British coun­try­side? Or because it’s made only from British milk? Nah. I buy Coun­try Life because I think it’s the best.”

Lydon drew a great deal of crit­i­cism for his deci­sion to appear in the ad, but he has been stead­fast­ly unapolo­getic. “The advert was for a British prod­uct,” he told The Sun last year. “All Britain. Fan­tas­tic. We don’t seem to believe in our­selves as a coun­try any more. And I found great empa­thy with that. Plus it was the most mad­dest thing to con­sid­er doing. I thought it was very anar­chic of the dairy com­pa­ny to want to attach them­selves to me. And they treat­ed me with the utmost respect and I love them for­ev­er as it all allowed me to set up my record label and put out this record.”

Lydon was refer­ring to This Is PiL, the first album in 20 years from his post-punk band Pub­lic Image Ltd. He report­ed­ly used some of the mon­ey from the com­mer­cial to bring the group back togeth­er for rehearsals, record the album and launch their 2012 tour. “The mon­ey,” he said, “got us out of no end of trou­bles.” And any­way, Lydon has always had a sense of humor when it comes to the finan­cial demands of life. His 1996 reunion with the Sex Pis­tols was offi­cial­ly named the “Filthy Lucre Tour.”

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

John­ny Rotten’s Cor­dial Let­ter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pis­tols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock: A Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Punk, MOCA’s Series of Punk Doc­u­men­taries, Begins with Black Flag

Mal­colm McLaren on The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Punk Meets High Fash­ion in Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Exhi­bi­tionPUNK: Chaos to Cou­ture

Can Science Fiction Save the Liberal Arts? (Asks The New Republic)

Both the lit­er­ary and sci­ence fic­tion worlds have come out in the past few weeks with poignant trib­utes and acco­lades for recent­ly deceased Scot­tish writer Iain Banks. The remem­brances from both quar­ters are very well deserved, and very rare. Banks was an unusu­al kind of artist; he main­tained a high­ly respect­ed pres­ence as both a writer of real­ist lit­er­ary fic­tion (as Iain Banks) and superbly well-craft­ed, high­ly imag­i­na­tive sci­ence fic­tion (as Iain M. Banks). In the brief video inter­view above, you can hear Banks recount the ori­gin of the two names and make an impas­sioned case for sci­ence fic­tion as “the most impor­tant genre” of fic­tion.

Banks’ accom­plish­ments are all the more extra­or­di­nary giv­en that so-called lit­er­ary fic­tion and so-called genre writing—sci-fi, hor­ror, romance, etc.—have for so long occu­pied entire­ly dif­fer­ent cul­tur­al spheres, worlds, to use the words of Thomas Pyn­chon, as dif­fer­ent as “the hot­house and the street.” There were the obvi­ous exceptions—the work of Franz Kaf­ka, Drac­u­la and Franken­stein, 1984, Fahren­heit 451—that slipped through the gates, grand­fa­thered in as lega­cy cas­es or exem­plars of “Spec­u­la­tive Fic­tion,” the respectable term for genre writ­ing deemed “seri­ous” by aca­d­e­mics and the literati. Lit­er­ary schol­ar Fred­er­ic Jame­son has long been a fan of sci-fi. Crit­i­cal the­o­rist Felix Guatari once wrote a sci­ence fic­tion film script. Again, more excep­tions.

All of this has changed. After the suc­cess of pop­u­lar cul­ture stud­ies pro­grams in the free­wheel­ing post­mod­ern 90s, even the most tra­di­tion­al depart­ments have begun turn­ing toward genre fiction—the cur­rent pop­u­lar obses­sion with vam­pires and zom­bies, for example—as a means of re-invig­o­rat­ing the lib­er­al arts and reclaim­ing rel­e­vance. (I myself once helped an aca­d­e­m­ic press acquire and pub­lish a fun col­lec­tion called Bet­ter Off Dead: The Evo­lu­tion of the Zom­bie as Post-Human.)

FedFundingCharts

Is this a cyn­i­cal piece of strat­e­gy to mar­ket strug­gling human­i­ties pro­grams to increas­ing­ly busi­ness- and sci­ence-mind­ed stu­dents? A gen­er­a­tional turnover in the pro­fes­so­rate? An attempt to expand the mar­ket share of the human­i­ties in the over­all pic­ture of uni­ver­si­ty fund­ing? In a recent arti­cle in the New Repub­lic, sci­ence edi­tor Judith Shule­vitz argues, like Banks, that sci-fi is a genre of fic­tion that the acad­e­my should take more and more seri­ous­ly on prac­ti­cal grounds—sci-fi writ­ers show us the future of tech­nol­o­gy more accu­rate­ly than any tech­nol­o­gist. Shulavitz also writes that doing so will raise the pro­file, and fund­ing, of human­i­ties pro­grams.

As you can see from the charts above, the arts and sci­ences have reached a dire fund­ing asym­me­try. Shule­vitz quotes Vladimir Nabokov, who wrote, “There is no sci­ence with­out fan­cy and no art with­out fact” as part of her case for the impor­tance of lit­er­a­ture to the “prac­ti­cal arts” and vice-ver­sa. I don’t know if I’m entire­ly con­vinced, but Shulevitz’s argu­ment is wor­thy of con­sid­er­a­tion, unless you believe, with Oscar Wilde, that “all art is quite use­less” and in no need of an apolo­get­ics or a defense to bureau­crats.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Sci­ence Fic­tion Clas­sics Avail­able on the Web (Updat­ed)

Andy Sam­berg Announces Death of Lib­er­al Arts, Cool­ness of Sci­ence Majors at Har­vard Class Day

Ser­i­al Entre­pre­neur Damon Horowitz Says “Quit Your Tech Job and Get a Ph.D. in the Human­i­ties”

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

Mr. Rogers Takes Breakdancing Lessons from a 12-Year-Old (1985)

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Feb­ru­ary 13th, 1985 shall be remem­bered as a tru­ly beau­ti­ful day in the neigh­bor­hood, for that is the date on which Fred Rogers learned to break­dance (sort of).

In no time at all, 12-year-old instruc­tor Jer­maine Vaughn had Mr. Rogers wav­ing, moon­walk­ing and learn­ing how to press play on a boom box so he could demon­strate some “very fan­cy things” regard­ing the first pil­lar of hip hop. (“I’d nev­er be able to do that,” his pupil says admir­ing­ly, and pre­sum­ably truth­ful­ly.)

The tele­vi­sion icon’s leg­endary sin­cer­i­ty is on dis­play through­out, even in this pirat­ed ver­sion, which swaps out the wimpy orig­i­nal track in favor of NWA’s 1989 “Fuck Tha Police,” a move that would’ve pleased Eddie Mur­phy’s Mr. Robin­son.

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

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mr. Rogers Goes to Wash­ing­ton

See Ste­vie Won­der Play “Super­sti­tion” and Ban­ter with Grover on Sesame Street in 1973

Ayun Hal­l­i­day will always be Fred Rogers’ tele­vi­sion neigh­bor. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Selling Cool: Lou Reed’s Classic Honda Scooter Commercial, 1984

In the ear­ly 1980s the Hon­da Motor Com­pa­ny was try­ing to get peo­ple to think of its new Hon­da Elite scoot­ers as a cool way of get­ting around. To that end, the com­pa­ny enlist­ed a series of celebri­ties, includ­ing Miles Davis, Grace Jones and Devo, to appear in its ad cam­paign. The most notable piece in the cam­paign, by far, was a one-minute TV com­mer­cial in 1984 star­ring for­mer Vel­vet Under­ground front­man Lou Reed.

The film was shot in what was then a very rough-and-tum­ble Low­er East Side of Man­hat­tan. Direc­tor Steve Horn, hired by the Port­land, Ore­gon-based agency Wieden & Kennedy, under­ex­posed and overde­vel­oped the film to give it a grainy, doc­u­men­tary appear­ance. Edi­tor Lawrence Bridges, well-known for his work on Michael Jack­son’s “Beat It” video, was hired to piece it all togeth­er.

Bridges found the task of set­ting the images to Reed’s clas­sic 1972 song “Walk on the Wild Side” extreme­ly daunt­ing. The idea of using that song in a com­mer­cial seemed like a sac­ri­lege. “The gen­er­a­tion being adver­tised to at that point was prob­a­bly the most cyn­i­cal and sus­pi­cious toward the medi­um to date,” writes Bridges at Vimeo, “and, more­over, I had this mon­u­men­tal piece of music that I had to hon­or. For me, the answer was to make it into an ‘under­ground’ film.”

Bridges used tech­niques he had learned from French New Wave films and that he had exper­i­ment­ed with in MTV videos. “I got to work and used the junk cuts,” says Bridges, “includ­ing flash frames and run outs and whip pans that would nor­mal­ly end up being left on the floor for an assis­tant to clean up. I did all the things I’d done in music videos, like tak­ing a shot and divid­ing it ran­dom­ly in jump cuts, and all oth­er man­ner of post-pro­duc­tion tech­niques we used in music videos when we had less footage than the length of the actu­al video.”

When it was fin­ished, Bridges and his col­leagues arranged a meet­ing with a mar­ket­ing man­ag­er from Hon­da. It was a nerve-rack­ing encounter.  “The client was a very shrewd, prac­ti­cal per­son and I knew that he was averse to con­spic­u­ous­ly dar­ing cre­ative work,” says Bridges. “This grit­ty, almost avant-garde spot, set in pre-gen­tri­fied Low­er Man­hat­tan with every art film trope you could imag­ine might have put con­sid­er­able demands on his charm.” Instead, Bridges recalls, when the com­mer­cial was fin­ished play­ing the man from Hon­da broke the ten­sion by say­ing, “We need to be THAT scoot­er com­pa­ny.”

The spot made a huge splash on Madi­son Avenue. Its influ­ence could be seen all over the next gen­er­a­tion of com­mer­cials. But it did­n’t sell many scoot­ers. “For all its impact on the adver­tis­ing indus­try,” writes Ran­dall Rothen­berg in Where the Suck­ers Moon: The Life and Death of an Adver­tis­ing Cam­paign, “the Lou Reed com­mer­cial did lit­tle for Hon­da. Young Amer­i­cans had lit­tle inter­est in scoot­ers, no mat­ter how hip they were made out to be.”

NOTE: To see some of the ear­li­er scoot­er ads cre­at­ed for Hon­da by the Los Ange­les-based Dai­ley & Asso­ciates, you can fol­low these links: DevoMiles DavisGrace Jones and Adam Ant.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch’s Sur­re­al Com­mer­cials

Fellini’s Fan­tas­tic TV Com­mer­cials

Ing­mar Bergman’s Soap Com­mer­cials Wash Away the Exis­ten­tial Despair

Virginia Woolf and Friends Dress Up as “Abyssinian Princes” and Fool the British Royal Navy (1910)

WoolfDreadnought

Click image for larg­er ver­sion

On Feb­ru­ary 7th, 1910, Vir­ginia Woolf (then Vir­ginia Stephen) and five of her Blooms­bury companions—painter Dun­can Grant, Woolf’s broth­er Adri­an, Antho­ny Bux­ton, Guy Rid­ley, and Horace de Vere Cole—boarded the pride of the British Roy­al Navy, the HMS Dread­nought, dressed in black­face and out­landish stage cos­tumes. (In the pho­to above, from left to right.) In what became known as “The Dread­nought Hoax,” the six con­vinced the Dread­nought’s offi­cers that they were the “Emper­or of Abyssinia” (now Ethiopia) and his entourage, and they were received with high hon­ors.

The hoax, mas­ter­mind­ed by Cole, began when he sent a telegram to the ship telling the crew to expect a vis­it from some North African dig­ni­taries. Once on board, the group spoke in accent­ed Latin (quot­ing the Aeneid) and gib­ber­ish. Woolf kept qui­et so as to dis­guise her gen­der. One of the offi­cers on the ship was a cousin of Vir­ginia and Adri­an, but he failed to rec­og­nize them. It wasn’t a flaw­less per­for­mance on either side: at one point, Bux­ton sneezed and almost lost his mus­tache, and the Navy, unable to find an Abyssin­ian flag, flew the flag of Zanz­ibar instead.

The “princes” asked for prayer mats, pre­sent­ed the offi­cers with fake mil­i­tary hon­ors, and exclaimed “bun­ga, bun­ga!” each time they were shown some mar­vel of the ship. The Dread­nought was then, in the words of Woolf’s nephew and biog­ra­ph­er, Quentin Bell, “the flag­ship of the Home Fleet, the most for­mi­da­ble, the most mod­ern, and the most secret man o’ war then afloat.” (This inci­dent is said to be the ori­gin of the ludi­crous phrase “bun­ga, bun­ga,” most asso­ci­at­ed with the exploits of the recent­ly con­vict­ed Sil­vio Berlus­coni.) The next day, Cole anony­mous­ly sent the pho­to­graph at the top to The Dai­ly Mir­ror, reveal­ing the hoax. Accord­ing to Woolf schol­ar Mairead Case—who sees the inci­dent as a pre­cur­sor to Woolf’s gen­der-bend­ing nov­el Orlan­do—the Mir­ror described the “Abyssini­ans” thus:

All the princes wore vari-coloured silk sash­es as tur­bans, set off with dia­mond aigrettes, white gib­bah tunics, over which were cast rich flow­ing robes and round their necks were sus­pend­ed gold chains and jew­eled neck­laces … They also all wore patent leather boots which, Ori­en­tal fash­ion, tapered to a point, the ends pro­ject­ing ful­ly six inch­es beyond the toes. White gloves cov­ered the princes’ hands, and over the gloved fin­gers, they wore gold wed­ding rings – heavy, plain cir­clets, which looked very impres­sive.

DreadnoughtHoaxCartoonDailyMirrorFebruary1910

In a recent­ly dis­cov­ered let­ter, Cole wrote to a friend that the hoax was “glo­ri­ous” and “shriek­ing­ly fun­ny.” The group intend­ed to mock what they saw as an out­mod­ed Vic­to­ri­an impe­ri­al­ism, and they suc­ceed­ed, at least in the pop­u­lar press. The Mir­ror pub­lished the car­toon above and the Roy­al Navy was a laugh­ing­stock for weeks after­ward. None of this pseu­do-racist prankster­ism (which reflect­ed just as bad­ly on the offi­cers) struck the actu­al Emper­or of Ethiopia—Mene­lik II—as par­tic­u­lar­ly fun­ny. When he vis­it­ed Eng­land lat­er that year, he was taunt­ed in the streets by chil­dren shout­ing “Bun­ga! Bun­ga!” and denied per­mis­sion to inspect the navy’s fleet for fear that his vis­it might cause fur­ther embar­rass­ment.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Look­ing Inside Darwin’s Room (and Also Where Vir­ginia Woolf, Lord Byron, & Kipling Did Their Thing)

F. Scott Fitzger­ald in Drag (1916)

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

Two Scenes from Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, Recreated in Lego

Stan­ley Kubrick, among the many oth­er skills that made him per­haps the best-known auteur of the sec­ond half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, could craft an imme­di­ate­ly mem­o­rable scene. More­over, he could con­struct entire films out of noth­ing but imme­di­ate­ly mem­o­rable scenes. This goes espe­cial­ly for his Cold War black com­e­dy Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned to Stop Wor­ry­ing and Love the Bomb, whose fans tend to quote to each oth­er not indi­vid­ual lines but entire five‑, ten‑, fif­teen-minute stretch­es from the movie. One such oft-reen­act­ed scene, the phone con­ver­sa­tion in which Pres­i­dent Merkin Muf­fley warns ine­bri­at­ed Pre­mier Dim­itri Kisov of the U.S. bombers head­ed toward Rus­sia appears at the top of the post, in the orig­i­nal black-and-white, with the orig­i­nal voic­es of Peter Sell­ers, Peter Bull, and George C. Scott, and — with noth­ing in front of the cam­era but Lego bricks and Lego men.

Just above, you can see Sell­ers’ per­for­mance as the tit­u­lar eccen­tric, alien hand-syn­drome-suf­fer­ing doc­tor phys­i­cal­ly ren­dered in Lego. Dr. Strangelove fans know the scene comes late in the film, when a long series of errors and acts of unrea­son on all sides has made immi­nent the moment of mutu­al­ly assured destruc­tion. “I had to take out the famous scene of Slim Pick­ens rid­ing the bomb and the nuclear holo­caust cred­its to have this video view­able, because those scenes were tak­en direct­ly from the movie,” explains these videos’ cre­ator, a Youtube user by the name of XXxO­PRIMExXX. “I was hop­ing to have the Slim Pick­ens scene done in Lego by now but I just nev­er had enough time or effort to do it, maybe some time in the future.” Let me say that, if I have con­fi­dence in any­one to get that job done, I have con­fi­dence in some­one with the sta­mi­na to suc­cess­ful­ly build a Lego War Room.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

Clas­sic Pho­tographs Remade Lego Style

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 Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Annotated Photographs of Beat Writers Featured in The Allen Ginsberg Festival, Starting Today

BurroughsKerouac

Start­ing today, the Con­tem­po­rary Jew­ish Muse­um (CJM) begins its four-day cel­e­bra­tion of Allen Gins­berg with The Allen Gins­berg Fes­ti­val in San Fran­cis­co, pro­duced in coop­er­a­tion with The Beat Muse­um, City Lights Book­store, and sev­er­al oth­er orga­ni­za­tions. The fes­ti­val, which runs from the 11th to the 14th of this month, cel­e­brates Ginsberg’s life and art with a host of events (some free, some rang­ing from $10 to $15 for admis­sion). While the lit­er­ary tours, pan­el dis­cus­sions, and lec­tures promise to be a treat for those lucky enough to attend, per­haps the cen­ter­piece of the Gins­berg Fes­ti­val is an exhi­bi­tion of the poet’s anno­tat­ed pho­tographs, on view at CJM until Sep­tem­ber 8th.

The pho­tos, which moved through NYU’s Grey Art Gallery ear­li­er this year, show Gins­berg and his beat bud­dies in inti­mate and unguard­ed moments, such as the snap above of William Bur­roughs and Jack Ker­ouac. In his tidy script hand­writ­ing, Gins­berg writes below the pho­to:

“Now Jack as I warned you far back as 1945, if you keep going home to live with your ‘Memère’ you’ll find your­self wound tighter and tighter in her apron strings till you’re an old man and can’t escape…” William Seward Bur­roughs camp­ing as an André Gide-ian sophis­ti­cate lec­tur­ing the earnest Thomas Wolfean All-Amer­i­can youth Jack Ker­ouac who lis­tens sober­ly dead-pan to “the most intel­li­gent man in Amer­i­ca” for a fun­ny second’s cha­rade in my liv­ing room 206 East 7th Street Apt 16, Man­hat­tan, one evening Fall 1953

Fla­vor­wire has com­piled 25 of these pho­tos, includ­ing the por­trait of the young mer­chant marine, Allen Gins­berg, below, which he anno­tates as, “Allen Gins­berg, util­i­ty man S.S. John Blair just back from Galve­ston-Dakar dol­drums trip, I hand­ed my cam­era to the radio-man on the ship’s fan­tail, smok­ing what? In New York har­bor, cir­ca Octo­ber 30, 1947.”

Ginsberg47

As the CJM page notes, “the late 1940s and ear­ly 1950s marked a cru­cial peri­od for Allen Gins­berg as he found his poet­ic and sex­u­al voic­es simul­ta­ne­ous­ly.” The pho­tos in this exhib­it doc­u­ment not only Gins­berg find­ing him­self, but also find­ing him­self among a group of men—Burroughs, Ker­ouac, Neal Cas­sady, Gre­go­ry Corso—whose rest­less­ness and eru­dite enthu­si­asm changed the course of twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry lit­er­a­ture.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Very First Record­ing of Allen Gins­berg Read­ing His Epic Poem “Howl” (1956)

Allen Ginsberg’s “Celes­tial Home­work”: A Read­ing List for His Class “Lit­er­ary His­to­ry of the Beats”

Allen Ginsberg’s Per­son­al Recipe for Cold Sum­mer Borscht

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

Johnny Rotten’s Cordial Letter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Next to the Sex Pistols, You’re ‘a Piss Stain’

johnny rotten hall of fame

The Sex Pis­tols cer­tain­ly weren’t the first to balk at show­ing up to receive a tro­phy at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induc­tion cer­e­mo­ny. They were, how­ev­er, notable for the style in which they declined to attend. When word came in ear­ly 2006 that the Pis­tols would be induct­ed, the band’s singer John Lydon, whose stage name was “John­ny Rot­ten,” faxed the Hall of Fame a hand­writ­ten note. “Next to the SEX-PISTOLS rock and roll and that hall of fame is a piss stain,” wrote Lydon. “Your muse­um. Urine in wine. Were not com­ing. Were not your mon­key and so what?” You can read the rest above, or watch below as a bemused Jann Wen­ner, co-founder of the muse­um, reads the let­ter out loud dur­ing the cer­e­mo­ny.

via Let­ters of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock: A Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Punk, MOCA’s Series of Punk Doc­u­men­taries, Begins with Black Flag

Mal­colm McLaren on The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Punk Meets High Fash­ion in Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Exhi­bi­tion PUNK: Chaos to Cou­ture

Download a Free Course from “The Great Courses” Through Audible.com’s Free Trial Program

great-courses-on-audible

Hard­ly a day goes by where I’m not doing one of two things — lis­ten­ing to an audio book from Audible.com, or lis­ten­ing to a lec­ture from The Great Cours­es (for­mer­ly known as The Teach­ing Com­pa­ny). So, I was nat­u­ral­ly pleased when the two com­pa­nies announced a part­ner­ship yes­ter­day. From now on, Audi­ble sub­scribers can down­load courses/lectures from The Great Cours­es, and they’re pret­ty cheap. For exam­ple, mem­bers of Audi­ble’s Gold plan can pur­chase a pol­ished 36-hour course, such as How to Lis­ten to and Under­stand Great Music, for rough­ly $15. Not bad, espe­cial­ly con­sid­er­ing that it would cost expo­nen­tial­ly more to buy it direct­ly through the Great Cours­es’ web site. If you’ve nev­er tried out Audi­ble or The Great Cours­es, then you may want to sign up for Audible’s 30-Day Free Tri­al. It will let you down­load any one course for free. NB: Audi­ble is an Amazon.com sub­sidiary, and we’re a mem­ber of their affil­i­ate pro­gram.

If none of the above sounds any good, well, you could always lose your­self in our col­lec­tions of 900 Free Audio Books and 1700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es and Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

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

The Art of Liv­ing: A Free Stan­ford Course Explores Time­less Ques­tions

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