Mr. Rogers Goes to Congress and Saves PBS: Heartwarming Video from 1969

What kind of delu­sion­al self-aggran­diz­er, called to tes­ti­fy before a Unit­ed States Sen­ate Sub­com­mit­tee, uses it as an oppor­tu­ni­ty to quote the lyrics of a song he’s writ­ten… in their entire­ty!?

Sounds like the work of a cer­tain rapper/prospective polit­i­cal can­di­date or per­haps some daffy buf­foon as brought to life by Ben Stiller or Will Fer­rell.

Only children’s tele­vi­sion host Fred Rogers could pull such a stunt and emerge unscathed, nay, even more beloved, as he does above in doc­u­men­tary footage from 1969.

Mis­ter Rogers’ impulse to recite What Do You Do With the Mad That You Feel to then-chair­man of the Sub­com­mit­tee on Com­mu­ni­ca­tions, Sen­a­tor John Pas­tore, was ulti­mate­ly an act of ser­vice to the Cor­po­ra­tion for Pub­lic Broad­cast­ing and its child view­ers.

New­ly elect­ed Pres­i­dent Richard Nixon opposed pub­lic tele­vi­sion, believ­ing that its lib­er­al bent could only under­mine his admin­is­tra­tion. Deter­mined to strike first, he pro­posed cuts equal to half its $20 mil­lion annu­al oper­at­ing bud­get, a mea­sure that would have seri­ous­ly hob­bled the fledg­ling insti­tu­tion.

Mr. Rogers appeared before the Com­mit­tee armed with a “philo­soph­i­cal state­ment” that he refrained from read­ing aloud, not wish­ing to monop­o­lize ten min­utes of the Committee’s time. Instead, he sought Pas­tore’s promise that he would give it a close read lat­er, speak­ing so slow­ly and with such lit­tle out­ward guile, that the tough nut Sen­a­tor was moved to crack, “Would it make you hap­py if you did read it?”

Rather than tak­ing the bait, Rogers touched on the ways his show’s bud­get had grown thanks to the pub­lic broad­cast­ing mod­el. He also hipped Pas­tore to the qual­i­ta­tive dif­fer­ence between fre­net­ic kid­die car­toons and the vast­ly more thought­ful and emo­tion­al­ly healthy con­tent of pro­gram­ming such as his. Mr. Roger’s Neigh­bor­hood was a place where such top­ics as hair­cuts, sib­ling rela­tion­ships, and angry feel­ings could be dis­cussed in depth.

Rogers’ emo­tion­al intel­li­gence seems to hyp­no­tize Pas­tore, whose chal­leng­ing front was soon dropped in favor of a more respect­ful line of ques­tion­ing. By the end of Rogers’ heart­felt, non-musi­cal ren­di­tion of What Do You Do… (it’s much pep­pi­er in the orig­i­nal), Pas­tore has goose­bumps, and the Cor­po­ra­tion for Pub­lic Broad­cast­ing has its 2 mil’ back in the bag.

What do you do with the mad that you feel

When you feel so mad you could bite?

When the whole wide world seems oh, so wrong…

And noth­ing you do seems very right?

What do you do? Do you punch a bag?

Do you pound some clay or some dough?

Do you round up friends for a game of tag?

Or see how fast you go?

It’s great to be able to stop

When you’ve planned a thing that’s wrong,

And be able to do some­thing else instead

And think this song:

I can stop when I want to

Can stop when I wish.

I can stop, stop, stop any time.

And what a good feel­ing to feel like this

And know that the feel­ing is real­ly mine.

Know that there’s some­thing deep inside

That helps us become what we can.

For a girl can be some­day a woman

And a boy can be some­day a man.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mr. Rogers Intro­duces Kids to Exper­i­men­tal Elec­tron­ic Music by Bruce Haack & Esther Nel­son (1968)

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

Pup­pet Mak­ing with Jim Hen­son: A Price­less Primer from 1969

Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s new play, Fawn­book, debuts as part of the Bad The­ater Fes­ti­val in NYC tomor­row night. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Hear Marcel Duchamp Read “The Creative Act,” A Short Lecture on What Makes Great Art, Great

Hear­ing some­one dis­cuss the nature of art can eas­i­ly grow tire­some — indeed, it has, as a sub­ject, become some­thing of a short­hand for the tire­some. But Mar­cel Duchamp, the French painter, sculp­tor, con­cep­tu­al artist, and chess enthu­si­ast, could do it right. He did it by get­ting straight to the point, a suc­cinct­ness most famous­ly demon­strat­ed in Foun­tain, the sim­ple, every­day porce­lain uri­nal he signed and sub­mit­ted as a work of art for dis­play. The fact that the art world soon put Foun­tain (and its sim­i­lar, mass-pro­duced descen­dants) quite lit­er­al­ly on a pedestal makes an obser­va­tion about art more clean­ly than thou­sands of words on the role of the artist in mod­ern soci­ety ever could.

But where–whether you paint on a can­vas, chis­el into a block of stone, or make a pur­chase at the plumb­ing store down the street–does this impulse to make art come from? Do artists con­scious­ly cre­ate their work, act­ing out cre­ative deci­sions made with­in, or do they mere­ly give form to artis­tic impuls­es received from… else­where? And what do we talk about when we talk about the work of art the artist ulti­mate­ly pro­duces?

Duchamp, con­cise as ever, addressed the issue in 1957 when he gave the eight-minute lec­ture “The Cre­ative Act” which you can hear above (or on the full Sur­re­al­ism Reviewed album avail­able on Spo­ti­fy below). He iden­ti­fies one impor­tant part of the process as what he calls the “art coef­fi­cient.”

“In the cre­ative act,” Duchamp says, “the artist goes from inten­tion to real­iza­tion through a chain of total­ly sub­jec­tive reac­tions. His strug­gle toward the real­iza­tion is a series of efforts, pains, sat­is­fac­tion, refusals, deci­sions, which also can­not and must not be ful­ly self-con­scious, at least on the aes­thet­ic plane. The result of this strug­gle is a dif­fer­ence between the inten­tion and its real­iza­tion, a dif­fer­ence which the artist is not aware of.” This gap between what the artist “intend­ed to real­ize and did real­ize,” Duchamp calls the art coef­fi­cient, “an arith­meti­cal rela­tion between the unex­pressed but intend­ed and the unin­ten­tion­al­ly expressed.”

But none of it mat­ters, in Ducham­p’s think­ing, unless some­one else actu­al­ly thinks about the work of art. “No work of art — no bal­loon dog, no poem men­tion­ing cold-water flats, no four-minute-and-thir­ty-three-sec­ond per­for­mance by silent musi­cians — is a great work until pos­ter­i­ty says so,” writes the Paris Review’s Rebec­ca Bates in a post on the lec­ture (and a “sort-of Dadaist Mad Libs” recent­ly made out of it). She quotes Duchamp in a 1964 inter­view with Calvin Tomkins: “The artist pro­duces noth­ing until the onlook­er has said, ‘You have pro­duced some­thing mar­velous.’ The onlook­er has the last word in it.” Accord­ing to Ducham­p’s per­cep­tions, we, as pos­ter­i­ty, as the onlook­ers, have the last word on all work, even Ducham­p’s own. So go ahead and yam­mer a bit about the nature of art; doing so not only keeps the art alive, but made it art in the first place.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­cel Duchamp, Chess Enthu­si­ast, Cre­at­ed an Art Deco Chess Set That’s Now Avail­able via 3D Print­er

Anémic Ciné­ma: Mar­cel Duchamp’s Whirling Avant-Garde Film (1926)

When Bri­an Eno & Oth­er Artists Peed in Mar­cel Duchamp’s Famous Uri­nal

Col­in Mar­shall writes else­where on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Map of Middle-Earth Annotated by Tolkien Found in a Copy of Lord of the Rings

tolkien map

Image via Blackwell’s Rare Books

Back in April, we high­light­ed for you a trove of 110 illus­tra­tions by J.R.R. Tolkien, offer­ing a rare glimpse of the author’s artis­tic tal­ents. Tolkien did­n’t just like to write books, as we saw. He also liked to draw illus­tra­tions for these books, which helped him to con­cep­tu­al­ize the fan­ta­sy worlds he was cre­at­ing.

Just this month, Houghton Mif­flin released a new book called The Art of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, which brings togeth­er more than 180 draw­ings, inscrip­tions, maps, and plans–all drawn by Tolkien as part of his world­build­ing cre­ative process. Most were nev­er pub­lished until now.

And then we get this: a new­ly-dis­cov­ered map anno­tat­ed by Tolkien. Found in a copy of The Lord of the Rings that orig­i­nal­ly belonged to Pauline Baynes (the artist who illus­trat­ed Tolkien’s nov­els in print), the map intrigu­ing­ly con­nects Tolkien’s fan­ta­sy world to real places on our globe. Accord­ing to The Guardian, anno­ta­tions on the map (click here to view the mate­ri­als in a larg­er for­mat) sug­gests that “Hob­biton is on the same lat­i­tude as Oxford [where Tolkien taught], and implies that the Ital­ian city of Raven­na could be the inspi­ra­tion behind the fic­tion­al city of Minas Tirith.” Bel­grade, Cyprus, and Jerusalem also get list­ed as ref­er­ence points. Dis­cov­ered by Blackwell’s Rare Books, the rare map will be put on the mar­ket for an ask­ing price of £60,000.

You can learn more about this map, con­sid­ered “per­haps the finest piece of Tolkien ephemera to emerge in the last 20 years,” over at The Guardian.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

110 Draw­ings and Paint­ings by J.R.R. Tolkien: Of Mid­dle-Earth and Beyond

Dis­cov­er J.R.R. Tolkien’s Per­son­al Book Cov­er Designs for The Lord of the RingsTril­o­gy

The Only Draw­ing from Mau­rice Sendak’s Short-Lived Attempt to Illus­trate The Hob­bit

Hear J.R.R. Tolkien Read From The Lord of the Rings and The Hob­bit

Sovi­et-Era Illus­tra­tions Of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hob­bit (1976)

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

Fender Marcus Miller Jazz Bass with authentic Marcus Miller signature under the pickguard. Serial no. Q074671 Made in Japan Features: - Natural - Maple fingerboard - 3 pick guards: original 3-ply black, white and chrome - Two-band active EQ - Badass® Bass II™ bridge More information: http://www.fender.com/en-NL/series/artist/marcus-miller-jazz-bass-maple-fingerboard-natural-3-ply-black-pickguard

Pho­to by Sebas­ti­aan term Burg via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

At the low­er range of hear­ing, it’s said humans can hear sound down to about 20 Hz, beneath which we encounter a murky son­ic realm called “infra­sound,” the world of ele­phant and mole hear­ing. But while we may not hear those low­est fre­quen­cies, we feel them in our bod­ies, as we do many sounds in the low­er fre­quen­cy ranges—those that tend to dis­ap­pear when pumped through tin­ny ear­buds or shop­ping mall speak­ers. Since bass sounds don’t reach our ears with the same excit­ed ener­gy as the high fre­quen­cy sounds of, say, trum­pets or wail­ing gui­tars, we’ve tend­ed to dis­miss the instruments—and players—who hold down the low end (know any famous tuba play­ers?).

In most pop­u­lar music, bass play­ers don’t get near­ly enough credit—even when the bass pro­vides a song’s essen­tial hook. As Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones joked at his Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induc­tion cer­e­mo­ny in 1995, “thank you to my friends for remem­ber­ing my phone num­ber.” And yet, writes Tom Barnes at Mic, “there’s sci­en­tif­ic proof that bassists are actu­al­ly one of the most vital mem­bers of any band…. It’s time we start­ed treat­ing bassists with the respect they deserve.” Research into the crit­i­cal impor­tance of low fre­quen­cy sound explains why bass instru­ments most­ly play rhythm parts and leave the fan­cy melod­ic noodling to instru­ments in the upper range. The phe­nom­e­non is not spe­cif­ic to rock, funk, jazz, dance, or hip hop. “Music in diverse cul­tures is com­posed this way,” says psy­chol­o­gist Lau­rel Train­or, direc­tor of the McMas­ter Uni­ver­si­ty Insti­tute for Music and the Mind, “from clas­si­cal East Indi­an music to Game­lan music of Java and Bali, sug­gest­ing an innate ori­gin.”

Train­or and her col­leagues have recent­ly pub­lished a study in the Pro­ceed­ings of the Nation­al Acad­e­my of Sci­ences sug­gest­ing that per­cep­tions of time are much more acute at low­er reg­is­ters, while our abil­i­ty to dis­tin­guish changes in pitch gets much bet­ter in the upper ranges, which is why, writes Nature, “sax­o­phon­ists and lead gui­tarists often have solos at a squeal­ing reg­is­ter,” and why bassists tend to play few­er notes. (These find­ings seem con­sis­tent with the physics of sound waves.) To reach their con­clu­sions, Train­er and her team “played peo­ple high and low pitched notes at the same time.” Par­tic­i­pants were hooked up to an elec­troen­cephalo­gram that mea­sured brain activ­i­ty in response to the sounds. The psy­chol­o­gists “found that the brain was bet­ter at detect­ing when the low­er tone occurred 50 MS too soon com­pared to when the high­er tone occurred 50 MS too soon.”

The study’s title per­fect­ly sum­ma­rizes the team’s find­ings: “Supe­ri­or time per­cep­tion for low­er musi­cal pitch explains why bass-ranged instru­ments lay down musi­cal rhythms.” In oth­er words, “there is a psy­cho­log­i­cal basis,” says Train­or, “for why we cre­ate music the way we do. Vir­tu­al­ly all peo­ple will respond more to the beat when it is car­ried by low­er-pitched instru­ments.” Uni­ver­si­ty of Vien­na cog­ni­tive sci­en­tist Tecum­seh Fitch has pro­nounced Train­or and her co-authors’ study a “plau­si­ble hypoth­e­sis for why bass parts play such a cru­cial role in rhythm per­cep­tion.” He also adds, writes Nature:

For loud­er, deep­er bass notes than those used in these tests, peo­ple might also feel the res­o­nance in their bod­ies, not just hear it in their ears, help­ing us to keep rhythm. For exam­ple, when deaf peo­ple dance they might turn up the bass and play it very loud, he says, so that “they can lit­er­al­ly ‘feel the beat’ via tor­so-based res­o­nance.”

Painful­ly awk­ward rev­el­ers at wed­dings, on cruise ships, at high school reunions—they just can’t help it. Maybe even this danc­ing owl can’t help it. Some of us keep time bet­ter than oth­ers, but most of us feel and respond phys­i­cal­ly to low-fre­quen­cy rhythms.

Bass instru­ments don’t only keep time; they also play a key role in a song’s har­mon­ic and melod­ic struc­ture. In 1880, an aca­d­e­m­ic music text­book informed its read­ers that “the bass part… is, in fact, the foun­da­tion upon which the melody rests and with­out which there could be no melody.” As true as this was at the time—-when acoustic pre­cur­sors to elec­tric bass, syn­the­siz­ers, and sub-bass ampli­fi­ca­tion pro­vid­ed the low end—it’s just as true now. And bass parts often define the root note of a chord, regard­less of what oth­er instru­ments are doing. As a bass play­er, notes Sting, “you con­trol the har­mo­ny,” as well as anchor­ing the melody. It seems the impor­tance of rhythm play­ers, though over­looked in much pop­u­lar appre­ci­a­tion of music, can­not be over­stat­ed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Drums & Bass Make the Song: Iso­lat­ed Tracks from Led Zep­pelin, Rush, The Pix­ies, The Bea­t­les to Roy­al Blood

Hear Iso­lat­ed Tracks From Five Great Rock Bassists: McCart­ney, Sting, Dea­con, Jones & Lee

The Sto­ry of the Bass: New Video Gives Us 500 Years of Music His­to­ry in 8 Min­utes

7 Female Bass Play­ers Who Helped Shape Mod­ern Music: Kim Gor­don, Tina Wey­mouth, Kim Deal & More

The Neu­ro­science of Drum­ming: Researchers Dis­cov­er the Secrets of Drum­ming & The Human Brain

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

 

 

David Lynch Draws a Map of Twin Peaks (to Help Pitch the Show to ABC)

Twin Peaks Map

“How did this even get on the air?” Both the die-hard fans and bewil­dered haters asked that ques­tion about Twin Peaks, David Lynch and Mark Frost’s sur­re­al tele­vi­sion dra­ma that famous­ly aired on ABC prime­time in 1990 and 1991. That such an uncon­ven­tion­al vision — and one real­ized, at least through­out the first sea­son, with such thor­ough com­mit­ment — ever made it to the main­stream air­waves now seems like a his­tor­i­cal achieve­ment in and of itself. So how, giv­en the stul­ti­fy­ing rig­ors of the enter­tain­ment indus­try, did Lynch and Frost actu­al­ly sell this pack­age of cryp­tic dreams, back­ward speech, small-town sav­agery, a mur­dered home­com­ing queen, and damn fine cher­ry pie?

First, Lynch drew a map. Know­ing that no TV exec­u­tive would under­stand Twin Peaks with­out under­stand­ing Twin Peaks, the fic­tion­al Wash­ing­ton town which gives the sto­ry its set­ting and title, he drew what you see above. Nigel Holmes includ­ed it in his out-of-print Pic­to­r­i­al Maps, com­ment­ing that “the peaks of the title, and the town they name, are clear­ly vis­i­ble as white-topped moun­tains ris­ing out of the mod­eled land­scape.

By cre­at­ing a sense of place, Lynch made the town all the more believ­able. A straight­for­ward map would have been dull by com­par­i­son and might have sug­gest­ed that there was some­thing intrin­si­cal­ly inter­est­ing about the geog­ra­phy of the place. What was much more impor­tant to con­vey was the mood of the sto­ry, and it’s nice­ly cap­tured in Lynch’s quirky draw­ing.”

The book also includes a quote from Lynch him­self, on the util­i­ty of the map: “We knew where every­thing was, and it helped us decide what mood each place had, and what could hap­pen there. Then the char­ac­ters just intro­duced them­selves to us and walked into the sto­ry.” As any Twin Peaks fan will notice, the map iden­ti­fies a host of loca­tions ref­er­enced in the show, such as White Tail and Blue Pine moun­tains (the peaks them­selves), Ghost­wood Nation­al For­est, and Lucky High­way 21. But “can you locate Spark­wood and 21, One-Eyed Jack’s and The Great North­ern?” asks fan site Wel­come to Twin Peaks. And if the much-dis­cussed 21st-cen­tu­ry Twin Peaks revival comes to fruition, will it dust off this trusty ref­er­ence doc­u­ment and revive the askew but deep sense of place we (or at least some us) savored the first time around?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Title Sequence, Recre­at­ed in an Adorable Paper Ani­ma­tion

Play the Twin Peaks Video Game: Retro Fun for David Lynch Fans

Ele­men­tary School Stu­dents Per­form in a Play Inspired by David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

Col­in Mar­shall writes else­where on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Stream 61 Hours of Orson Welles’ Classic 1930s Radio Plays: War of the Worlds, Heart of Darkness & More

oson welles spotify

There has rarely ever been an artist more ful­ly in com­mand of as many dif­fer­ent art forms as Orson Welles dur­ing his height — the late 1930s and ear­ly 40s. He rev­o­lu­tion­ized the stage, radio and cin­e­ma before the age of 26 and became a house­hold name in the process.

Welles’s first brush with nation­al fame came at the age of 20 when he staged an all-black pro­duc­tion of Mac­beth in Harlem. The 1936 play was ground­break­ing both for its strik­ing sets and its dar­ling inter­pre­ta­tion that set Shakespeare’s bloody trag­ic in Haiti. But per­haps the most remark­able aspect of this pro­duc­tion was that it was done entire­ly with non-actors. Through sheer charis­ma and force of will, Welles coaxed and cajoled ter­rif­ic per­for­mances out of day labor­ers and fac­to­ry work­ers.

Two years lat­er, in 1938, Welles end­ed up on the cov­er of TIME Mag­a­zine for his stag­ing of Julius Cae­sar. He set the play in con­tem­po­rary fas­cist Italy. It was a bold choice that turned a 340 year-old play into a work of great polit­i­cal urgency.

That same year, Welles also man­aged to freak out the nation with his bril­liant, wild­ly irre­spon­si­ble adap­ta­tion of War of the Worlds. Welles staged the beloved sci-fi nov­el as if it were a news report. The broad­cast cap­tured the dra­ma and ter­ror of an emerg­ing calami­ty all too well; it caused a pub­lic pan­ic.

Now you can lis­ten to that infa­mous radio play along with 61 hours of oth­er radio plays, all cre­at­ed by Welles for his 1930s radio show, The Mer­cury The­atre on the Air. The Spo­ti­fy playlist, embed­ded below, includes A Christ­mas Car­ol, Heart of Dark­ness and even a rehearsal for Julius Cae­sar. Check it out. And if you need Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, down­load it here.

Or if Spo­ti­fy isn’t your thing, you can lis­ten to anoth­er big col­lec­tion of Welles’s radio dra­mas below at archive.org. Start stream­ing that col­lec­tion here:

The noto­ri­ety of Welles’ radio work land­ed him one of the most gen­er­ous movie con­tracts in Hol­ly­wood stu­dio his­to­ry. This is dou­bly impres­sive because, at this stage in his life, Welles had no idea how to actu­al­ly make a film. The result­ing movie was a barbed, thin­ly veiled film à clef of one of the most pow­er­ful men in Amer­i­ca – William Ran­dolph Hearst. This proved to be a ter­ri­ble career move; Hearst’s wrath derailed Welles’s career for years but it did pro­duce a pret­ty good movie – Cit­i­zen Kane.

Via Cri­te­ri­on

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Young Orson Welles Directs “Voodoo Mac­beth,” the First Shake­speare Pro­duc­tion With An All-Black Cast: Footage from 1936

Orson Welles’ Icon­ic War of the Worlds­Broad­cast (1938)

Lis­ten to Eight Inter­views of Orson Welles by Film­mak­er Peter Bog­danovich (1969–1972)

Watch Orson Welles’ The Stranger Free Online, Where 1940s Film Noir Meets Real Hor­rors of WWII

The Hearts of Age: Orson Welles’ Sur­re­al­ist First Film (1934)

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

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Hear the World’s Oldest Surviving Written Song (200 BC), Originally Composed by Euripides, the Ancient Greek Playwright

Imag­ine if you will that it is the year 4515, and future peo­ple slow­ly begin exca­vat­ing the musi­cal remains of mil­len­nia past. Now add the fol­low­ing wrin­kle to this sce­nario, cour­tesy of clas­sics schol­ar Armand D’Angour: “all that sur­vived of the Bea­t­les songs were a few of the lyrics, and all that remained of Mozart and Verdi’s operas were the words and not the music.” Would it be pos­si­ble to recov­er the rhythms and melodies from these scraps? Wouldn’t this music be for­ev­er lost to his­to­ry?

Not nec­es­sar­i­ly, D’Angour tells us; we could “recon­struct the music, redis­cov­er the instru­ments that played them, and hear the words once again in their prop­er set­ting.” Giv­en the inex­act, spec­u­la­tive nature of much ancient his­to­ry, I imag­ine the recon­struct­ed Bea­t­les might end up sound­ing noth­ing like them­selves, but then again, now that schol­ars have begun to recov­er the music of ancient Greek tragedy from a few frag­ments of text, sure­ly those future his­to­ri­ans could remake “Love Me Do”

Recon­struct­ing Don Gio­vani might be a lit­tle trick­i­er, and that’s often the scale aca­d­e­mics like D’Angour are work­ing with, since not only the love-poems of Sap­pho, but also “the epics of Homer” and “the tragedies of Sopho­cles and Euripides—were all, orig­i­nal­ly, music. Dat­ing from around 750 to 400 BC, they were com­posed to be sung in whole or part to the accom­pa­ni­ment of the lyre, reed-pipes, and per­cus­sion instru­ments.” This much we all like­ly know to some extent.

D’Angour goes on to describe in detail how schol­ars like him­self use “pat­terns of long and short syl­la­bles” in the sur­viv­ing verse to deter­mine musi­cal rhythm, and new rev­e­la­tions about ancient Greek vocal nota­tion and tun­ing to recon­struct ancient melody.

Orestes

The ear­li­est sur­viv­ing musi­cal doc­u­ment “pre­serves a few bars of sung music” from fifth-cen­tu­ry trage­di­an Euripi­des’ play Orestes. A “noto­ri­ous­ly avant-garde com­pos­er,” Euripides—scholars presume—“violated the long-held norms of Greek folk-singing by neglect­ing word-pitch.” You can see the papyrus frag­ment above, writ­ten around 200 BC in Egypt and called “Katolo­phy­ro­mai” after the first word in the “stasi­mon,” or choral song. Above the words, notice the vocal and instru­men­tal nota­tion schol­ars have used to recon­struct the music. The lines describe Orestes’ guilt after mur­der­ing his moth­er:

I cry, I cry, your mother’s blood that dri­ves you mad, great hap­pi­ness in mor­tals nev­er last­ing, but like a sail of swift ship, which a god shook up and plunged it with ter­ri­ble trou­bles into the greedy and dead­ly waves of the sea.

This trans­la­tion comes from “Greek Recon­struc­tion­ist Pagan­ism” site Bar­ing the Aegis, who also describe the song’s rhythm, Dochmius, and mode, Lydi­an, with a help­ful expla­na­tion for non-spe­cial­ists of what these terms mean. They also fea­ture the live per­for­mance of the stasi­mon at the top of the post, just one inter­pre­ta­tion by Spy­ros Giasafakis and Evi Ster­giou of neo­folk band Dae­mo­nia Nymphe. Below it, hear anoth­er inter­pre­ta­tion by Pet­ros Tabouris and Nikos Kon­stan­tinopou­los. And just below and at the bot­tom of the post are two more ver­sions of the ancient song.

Giv­en Euripi­des’ exper­i­men­tal­ism, we can’t expect that this recon­struct­ed song would be rep­re­sen­ta­tive of most ancient Greek music. “How­ev­er, we can rec­og­nize that Euripi­des adopt­ed anoth­er prin­ci­ple,” set­ting words to falling and ris­ing cadences accord­ing to their emo­tion­al import. As D’Angour puts it, “this was ancient Greek sound­track music,” and it was appar­ent­ly so well-received that his­to­ri­an Plutarch tells a sto­ry about “thou­sands of Athen­ian sol­diers held pris­on­er” in Syra­cuse: “those few who were able to sing Euripi­des’ lat­est songs were able to earn some food and drink.”

As for “the great­est of ancient poet-singers,” Homer, it seems accord­ing to recon­struc­tions by the late Pro­fes­sor Mar­tin West of Oxford that Home­r­ic tunes were “fair­ly monot­o­nous,” explain­ing per­haps why “the tra­di­tion of Home­r­ic recita­tion with­out melody emerged from what was orig­i­nal­ly a sung com­po­si­tion.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the “Seik­i­los Epi­taph,” the Old­est Com­plete Song in the World: An Inspir­ing Tune from 100 BC

Lis­ten to the Old­est Song in the World: A Sumer­ian Hymn Writ­ten 3,400 Years Ago

Hear the World’s Old­est Instru­ment, the “Nean­derthal Flute,” Dat­ing Back Over 43,000 Years

Free Cours­es in Ancient His­to­ry, Lit­er­a­ture & Phi­los­o­phy

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

A Fittingly Strange Animation of What’s Going On Inside Charles Manson’s Mind

In 1968, Charles Man­son lis­tened to The Bea­t­les’ White Album and came away think­ing that Amer­i­ca was on the verge of an apoc­a­lyp­tic race war between whites and blacks. As Man­son imag­ined it, the race war would be trig­gered by a shock­ing, chaot­ic event called “Hel­ter Skel­ter” — a named bor­rowed from a song on the White Album. And, like most mega­lo­ma­ni­acs, Man­son put him­self at the cen­ter of the dra­ma. In the sum­mer of 1969, Man­son had mem­bers of his cult com­mit a series of infa­mous mur­ders in South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, hop­ing that African-Amer­i­cans would be blamed and the race war would begin. Instead, a lengthy police inves­ti­ga­tion led to Man­son’s arrest on Decem­ber 2, 1969 and his con­vic­tion soon there­after, mak­ing him then, and now, one of Amer­i­ca’s noto­ri­ous inmates.

Through the 1980s, Man­son, even though behind bars, remained a very pub­lic fig­ure, giv­ing high pro­file inter­views to Tom Sny­der, Char­lie Rose, and Ger­al­do Rivera. But then, he began to fade from view, for what­ev­er rea­sons. For the past 20 years, we haven’t heard much from him. Until this came along. Above, you can watch Leah Shore’s ani­ma­tion of nev­er-before-heard phone con­ver­sa­tions between Charles Man­son and Mar­lin Maryn­ick (who lat­er pub­lished a best-sell­ing biog­ra­phy called Charles Man­son Now). Fit­ting­ly strange, the ani­ma­tion reminds us of the very odd things going on inside Man­son’s mind. Off kil­ter as ever, he goes in all kinds of unex­pect­ed direc­tions.

via Vice

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Time Neil Young Met Charles Man­son, Liked His Music, and Tried to Score Him a Record Deal

Tim­o­thy Leary’s Wild Ride and the Fol­som Prison Inter­view

Aleis­ter Crow­ley: The Wickedest Man in the World Doc­u­ments the Life of the Bizarre Occultist, Poet & Moun­taineer

Watch Vincent Price Turn Into Edgar Allan Poe & Read Four Classic Poe Stories (1970)

Can you have a Hal­loween with­out Edgar Allan Poe? Sure you can — but here at Open Cul­ture, we don’t rec­om­mend it. So that you need not go Poe-less on this, or any, Hal­loween night, we’ve fea­tured not just his com­plete works free to down­load, but oth­er mate­r­i­al like the ani­mat­ed adap­ta­tion of “The Tell-Tale Heart” as well as ani­ma­tions of his oth­er sto­ries; Poe read­ings by the likes of Christo­pher Lee, James Earl Jones, and Iggy Pop; and Orson Welles’ inter­pre­ta­tion of his work on an Alan Par­sons Project album.

We also believe that you should­n’t have to endure a Price­less Hal­loween — that is to say, a Hal­loween with­out Vin­cent Price. Though he proved his ver­sa­til­i­ty in a wide vari­ety of gen­res through­out his long act­ing career, his­to­ry has remem­bered Price first and fore­most for his work in hor­ror, no doubt thanks in large part to his pos­ses­sion of a voice per­fect­ly suit­ed to the ele­gant­ly sin­is­ter. It also made him an ide­al teller of Poe’s inge­nious­ly macabre tales, which you can expe­ri­ence for your­self in the record­ings we’ve post­ed of Price read­ing Poe, a playlist which also includes read­ings by Price’s equal­ly ver­sa­tile Basil Rath­bone.

Rath­bone may also have got to read Poe, the work, but despite his huge num­ber of roles on stage and screen, he nev­er actu­al­ly played Poe, the man. But Price did, in the spe­cial An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe, the clos­est any of us will get to an audi­ence with the trou­bled, bril­liant, and ter­ri­fy­ing­ly inven­tive writer him­self. In it, Price-as-Poe takes the stage and, over the course of an hour, weaves into his per­for­mance four of his most endur­ing sto­ries: “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Sphinx,” “The Cask of Amon­til­la­do,” and “The Pit and the Pen­du­lum.” Go on, join Edgar Allan Poe in his draw­ing room this Hal­loween by hav­ing Price bring him to life on your screen — it will guar­an­tee you a mem­o­rable hol­i­day evening.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load The Com­plete Works of Edgar Allan Poe on His Birth­day

Watch the 1953 Ani­ma­tion of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” Nar­rat­ed by James Mason

Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” Read by Christo­pher Walken, Vin­cent Price, and Christo­pher Lee

Christo­pher Lee (R.I.P.) Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and From “The Fall of the House of Ush­er”

Iggy Pop Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s Clas­sic Hor­ror Sto­ry, “The Tell-Tale Heart”

5 Hours of Edgar Allan Poe Sto­ries Read by Vin­cent Price & Basil Rath­bone

James Earl Jones Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” and Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”

Hear Orson Welles Read Edgar Allan Poe on a Cult Clas­sic Album by The Alan Par­sons Project

Edgar Allan Poe Ani­mat­ed: Watch Four Ani­ma­tions of Clas­sic Poe Sto­ries

The Fall of the House of Ush­er: Poe’s Clas­sic Tale Turned Into 1928 Avant Garde Film, Script­ed by e.e. cum­mings

Col­in Mar­shall writes else­where on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­maand the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future? Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Charles Darwin’s Kids Draw on Surviving Manuscript Pages of On the Origin of Species

darwin kid 2

Charles Dar­win not only cre­at­ed the the­o­ry of evo­lu­tion, but he appar­ent­ly dab­bled often in human biol­o­gy and sex­u­al­i­ty. To wit: he fathered 10 chil­dren with his cousin Emma Wedg­wood, six boys and four girls. It was this bois­ter­ous brood that filled the Darwin’s house in rur­al Kent, Eng­land, while Charles worked in his study on the first draft of On the Ori­gin of Species by Means of Nat­ur­al Selec­tion, or the Preser­va­tion of Favoured Races in the Strug­gle for Life, his ground­break­ing, world-chang­ing work.

darwin kid 1

Last year we report­ed on the huge effort to dig­i­tize 30,000 pages of the scientist’s writ­ing at the Dar­win Man­u­scripts Project at the Amer­i­can Muse­um of Nat­ur­al His­to­ry. Among Dar­win’s many papers, one thing the dig­i­tiz­ers have found, curi­ous­ly enough, is art­work drawn by his chil­dren, often on pages of Dar­win’s man­u­scripts.

Dar­win had no real use for the orig­i­nal man­u­script once gal­ley proofs came back from the pub­lish­er. So one can imag­ine father Charles giv­ing his kids the only worth­while paper in the house to draw on. It seems flip­pant now, but at the time, it was per­fect­ly nor­mal.

darwin kid 3

Accord­ing to the New York­er, they’ve found 57 draw­ings in total, nine of them on the back of pages from Ori­gin of Species. Only 45 man­u­script pages out of 600 from that book sur­vive, and those nine are because of his kids. You can find a whole sec­tion at the Dar­win Man­u­scripts project web­site ded­i­cat­ed to the draw­ings of the Dar­win kids.

Researchers sur­mise that the major­i­ty of the art comes from three of the 10 chil­dren, Fran­cis, George, and Horace, all of whom went into the sci­ences as adults. The illus­tra­tions are col­or­ful and wit­ty, drawn in pen­cil and some­times col­ored in water­col­or. Birds and but­ter­flies are drawn and col­ored with atten­tion to detail. Some crea­tures are imag­i­nary, like the green fish with legs car­ry­ing an umbrel­la, and there are short sto­ries about fairies and bat­tles too.

Over­all, the draw­ings show a Dar­win who was a fam­i­ly man and not a reclu­sive sci­en­tist. We’re just glad that the kids let dad do his work in rel­a­tive silence.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The British Library Puts Online 1,200 Lit­er­ary Trea­sures From Great Roman­tic & Vic­to­ri­an Writ­ers
What Did Charles Dar­win Read? See His Hand­writ­ten Read­ing List & Read Books from His Library Online

19th Cen­tu­ry Car­i­ca­tures of Charles Dar­win, Mark Twain, H.M. Stan­ley & Oth­er Famous Vic­to­ri­ans (1873)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

The History of Modern Art Visualized in a Massive 130-Foot Timeline

If you vis­it­ed The Tate Mod­ern in recent years, per­haps you saw the large, 130-foot art instal­la­tion cov­er­ing a con­course wall. Cre­at­ed by illus­tra­tor Sara Fanel­li, the “Tate Artist Time­line” pro­vid­ed muse­um­go­ers with a sprawl­ing roadmap show­ing the major artis­tic move­ments and impor­tant artists of the 20th cen­tu­ry, mov­ing from Art Nou­veau to more con­tem­po­rary Graf­fi­ti Art.

artist timeline

Nowa­days, you can revis­it Fanel­li’s edu­ca­tion­al time­line by pur­chas­ing a copy in a hand­some book for­mat. You can also watch the time­line play out in the video above.

Or, hap­pi­ly we’ve been informed by the Tate, there’s now an updat­ed, inter­ac­tive ver­sion installed in the muse­um. The video below gives you a pre­view:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy, from 600 B.C.E. to 1935, Visu­al­ized in Two Mas­sive, 44-Foot High Dia­grams

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy Visu­al­ized

6,000 Years of His­to­ry Visu­al­ized in a 23-Foot-Long Time­line of World His­to­ry, Cre­at­ed in 1871

5‑Minute Ani­ma­tion Maps 2,600 Years of West­ern Cul­tur­al His­to­ry

10 Mil­lion Years of Evo­lu­tion Visu­al­ized in an Ele­gant, 5‑Foot Long Info­graph­ic from 1931

4000 Years of His­to­ry Dis­played in a 5‑Foot-Long “His­tom­ap” (Ear­ly Info­graph­ic) From 1931

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |


  • Great Lectures

  • Sign up for Newsletter

  • About Us

    Open Culture scours the web for the best educational media. We find the free courses and audio books you need, the language lessons & educational videos you want, and plenty of enlightenment in between.


    Advertise With Us

  • Archives

  • Search

  • Quantcast