What Entered the Public Domain in 2013? Zip, Nada, Zilch!

2013whatcouldhavebeencollage2Last year, key works by James Joyce and Vir­ginia Woolf final­ly entered the pub­lic domain, at least in Europe. (Find them in our col­lec­tions of Free eBooks and Free Audio Books.) This year, we got pret­ty much bup­kis, espe­cial­ly if we’re talk­ing about the Unit­ed States. Over at the web­site run by The Cen­ter for the Study of the Pub­lic Domain at Duke Uni­ver­si­ty, they write:

What is enter­ing the pub­lic domain in the Unit­ed States? Noth­ing. Once again, we will have noth­ing to cel­e­brate this Jan­u­ary 1st. Not a sin­gle pub­lished work is enter­ing the pub­lic domain this year. Or next year. In fact, in the Unit­ed States, no pub­li­ca­tion will enter the pub­lic domain until 2019. Even more shock­ing­ly, the Supreme Court ruled in 2012 that Con­gress can take back works from the pub­lic domain. Could Shake­speare, Pla­to, or Mozart be pulled back into copy­right? The Supreme Court gave no rea­son to think that they could not be.

The Cen­ter then goes on to enu­mer­ate the works that would have entered the com­mons had we lived under the copy­right laws that pre­vailed until 1978. Under those laws, “thou­sands of works from 1956 would be enter­ing the pub­lic domain. They range from the films The Best Things in Life Are FreeAround the World in 80 DaysFor­bid­den Plan­et, and The Man Who Knew Too Much, to the Phillip K. Dick’s The Minor­i­ty Report and Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Jour­ney into Night, to sem­i­nal arti­cles on arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence.” Have a look at some of the oth­ers, sev­er­al of which appear in the mosa­ic above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lawrence Lessig’s Last Speech on Free Cul­ture. Watch it Online.

Lawrence Lessig Speaks Once Again About Copy­right and Cre­ativ­i­ty

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National Geographic Photographer Steve McCurry Shoots the Very Last Roll of Kodachrome

Ask a pho­tog­ra­ph­er from the cen­tu­ry that just passed to name his or her favorite film, and the answer, very often, will be Kodachrome.

The crisp emul­sion, beau­ti­ful­ly sat­u­rat­ed col­ors and  archival sta­bil­i­ty of Kodachrome made it a sen­ti­men­tal favorite among pho­tog­ra­phers long after oth­er, more prac­ti­cal col­or films had all but pushed it out of the mar­ket­place. The prob­lem was, the very qual­i­ties that made the film spe­cial stemmed from a high­ly cum­ber­some tech­ni­cal process. Kodachrome was a “non-sub­stan­tive” film, mean­ing the dye cou­plers were not built into the emul­sion, as they are in oth­er col­or films, but had to be added dur­ing devel­op­ment. The process was com­plex, and few labs could afford to offer it. Even before the dig­i­tal rev­o­lu­tion, Kodachrome was an endan­gered species.

So while it came as an emo­tion­al shock to many pho­tog­ra­phers, it was no real sur­prise when the East­man Kodak Com­pa­ny announced in 2009 that it was halt­ing pro­duc­tion of Kodachrome. One of the pho­tog­ra­phers who had long-since moved on to dig­i­tal imag­ing but who was sad­dened by the demise of Kodachrome was Steve McCur­ry, an award-win­ning pho­to­jour­nal­ist for Nation­al Geo­graph­ic who is best known for his haunt­ing 1984 image (shot on Kodachrome) of a 12-year-old Afghan refugee girl with pierc­ing green eyes. When McCur­ry heard the news, he arranged to obtain the very last roll of Kodachrome to come off the assem­bly line at the Kodak plant in Rochester, New York. The chal­lenge, then, was this: What do you do with the last 36 expo­sures of a leg­endary film?

The half-hour doc­u­men­tary above from Nation­al Geo­graph­ic tells the sto­ry of that roll and how McCur­ry used it. The film­mak­ers fol­lowed the pho­tog­ra­ph­er on an odyssey that began at the fac­to­ry in Rochester and end­ed at a lab­o­ra­to­ry (the last Kodachrome lab open) in a small town in Kansas. Over the course of about six weeks, from late May to ear­ly July, 2010, McCur­ry trav­eled halfway around the world to make those final 36 expo­sures. The result­ing pho­tographs iclude street scenes in New York and Kansas, por­traits of a movie star (Robert De Niro) in New York, intel­lec­tu­als and eth­nic tribes­men in India, col­leagues in Turkey and New York, and one of him­self. It’s a remark­able take. Although a few of the shots appear spon­ta­neous, most are the result of care­ful plan­ning. McCur­ry donat­ed all 36 slides to the George East­man House Inter­na­tion­al Muse­um of Pho­tog­ra­phy and Film, but you can see almost all of the pho­tos online at the Van­i­ty Fair Web site. As McCur­ry tells the mag­a­zine:

I’ve been shoot­ing dig­i­tal for years, but I don’t think you can make a bet­ter pho­to­graph under cer­tain con­di­tions than you can with Kodachrome. If you have good light and you’re at a fair­ly high shut­ter speed, it’s going to be a bril­liant col­or pho­to­graph. It had a great col­or palette. It was­n’t too gar­ish. Some films are like you’re on a drug or some­thing. Velvia made every­thing so sat­u­rat­ed and wild­ly over-the-top, too elec­tric. Kodachrome had more poet­ry in it, a soft­ness, an ele­gance. With dig­i­tal pho­tog­ra­phy, you gain many ben­e­fits [but] you have to put in post-pro­duc­tion. [With Kodachrome] you take it out of the box and the pic­tures are already bril­liant.

Relat­ed con­tent:

How Film Was Made: A Kodak Nos­tal­gia Moment

Cornell Launches Archive of 150,000 Bird Calls and Animal Sounds, with Recordings Going Back to 1929

Ornithol­o­gists and bird watch­ers rejoice. After a dozen years, The Cor­nell Lab of Ornithology’s Macaulay Library has ful­ly dig­i­tized its near­ly 150,000 audio record­ings (a total run­ning time of 7,513 hours), rep­re­sent­ing close to 9,000 dif­fer­ent species, such as the very unset­tling-sound­ing Barred Owl (above). While the col­lec­tion also includes the sounds of whales, ele­phants, frogs, pri­mates, and oth­er ani­mals, the pri­ma­ry empha­sis here is on birds (it is a Lab of Ornithol­o­gy, after all), and there is an incred­i­ble range of calls. Cor­nell rec­om­mends some of the high­lights below:

Ear­li­est record­ing: Cor­nell Lab founder Arthur Allen was a pio­neer in sound record­ing. On a spring day in 1929 he record­ed this Song Spar­row sound­ing much as they do today

Youngest bird: This clip from 1966 records the sounds of an Ostrich chick while it is still inside the egg – and the researchers as they watch

Liveli­est wake-up call: A dawn cho­rus in trop­i­cal Queens­land, Aus­tralia is burst­ing at the seams with war­bles, squeals, whis­tles, booms and hoots

Best can­di­date to appear on a John Coltrane record: The indri, a lemur with a voice that is part moan, part jazz clar­inet

Most spines tin­gled: The incom­pa­ra­ble voice of a Com­mon Loon on an Adiron­dacks lake in 1992

Most errat­ic con­struc­tion project: the stac­ca­to ham­mer­ing sounds of a wal­rus under water

Most like­ly to be mis­tak­en for aliens arriv­ing: Birds-of-par­adise make some amaz­ing sounds – here’s the UFO-sound of a Curl-crest­ed Manu­code in New Guinea

Whether you’re an enthu­si­as­tic bird­er, prac­tic­ing sci­en­tist, or sound-sam­ple hunter, you’ll find some­thing to blow your mind at the exten­sive col­lec­tions of the Macaulay Library. Both ama­teur and pro­fes­sion­al nat­u­ral­ists, for exam­ple, can acquire, visu­al­ize, mea­sure, and ana­lyze ani­mal sounds with a free ver­sion of the Cor­nell Lab’s pro­pri­etary inter­ac­tive sound analy­sis soft­ware, Raven.

And admir­ers of the aston­ish­ing vari­ety and beau­ty of the bird-of-par­adise should stay tuned for the Bird-of-Par­adise Project web­site, launch­ing this month. Sign up to receive an email when the full site launch­es. Mean­while, watch the project’s spell­bind­ing trail­er below.

Vis­it the Cor­nell Lab of Ornithol­o­gy’s YouTube page for more fas­ci­nat­ing bird videos.

Relat­ed Con­tent

Para­Hawk­ing in Nepal: What It’s Real­ly Like to Fly with Birds

The Wild King­dom: Brought to You by Mutu­al of Oma­ha (and YouTube)

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

John Hodgman’s Advice for Writers: The Competition is Insane, and Persistence Trumps Talent

If you only know John Hodg­man as the earnest­ly inept “P.C.” of those “I’m a Mac” Apple tele­vi­sion com­mer­cials, you may won­der why you’d go to him for writ­ing advice. Or maybe you’ve read his books The Areas of My Exper­tise, More Infor­ma­tion Than You Require, and That is All. But just because a man can pen three satir­i­cal vol­umes of made-up knowl­edge does­n’t mean he can teach you how to prop­er­ly cast your own ideas into print. No, to do that, Hodg­man draws on his shad­owy past as a lit­er­ary agent, “a bold sev­en-year attempt to con­vince myself I did­n’t want to be a writer.” Remem­ber­ing that stint spent read­ing through piles upon piles of sub­mis­sions, “the most elab­o­rate pro­cras­ti­na­tion tech­nique that I came up with to avoid writ­ing,” he con­firms what we all sus­pect: a great many peo­ple want to write for a liv­ing, “but luck­i­ly, very few of them are sane.” And among that same minor­i­ty, the “medi­um- to low-tal­ent­ed but per­sis­tent” suc­ceed where the “mere­ly super-tal­ent­ed” don’t.

Here we have an adap­ta­tion of a the­o­ry I’ve often heard, liv­ing as I do in Los Ange­les, applied to film and tele­vi­sion: while mil­lions of hope­fuls turn up every year try­ing to make it in The Indus­try, most of them are idiots. Hodg­man deliv­ers his ver­sion of these sage words with a newish look, miles away from the delib­er­ate­ly stodgy, poor­ly-tai­lored appear­ance with which he pitched the dubi­ous virtues of the P.C. Behind his ascot, round­ed mus­tache, and orange-tint­ed avi­a­tor glass­es, he looks like noth­ing so much as a faint­ly dis­rep­utable Hol­ly­wood mogul of the sev­en­ties. But the sub­tle out­landish­ness of his self-pre­sen­ta­tion belies the sense of his advice. What­ev­er your lev­el of tal­ent, put your­self in the run­ning with “the peo­ple who keep sub­mit­ting and keep doing and keep mak­ing.” And make sure that, while writ­ing what you know, you also know what you know.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Hodg­man Presents a Sur­vival Guide for the Com­ing Apoc­a­lypse

John Hodgman@Google

John Hodg­man Riffs on Magi­cians and Their Craft at Mak­er Faire

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.

The First Pizza Ordered by Computer, 1974

By the late 1960s, tech­nol­o­gists were already invent­ing the future we now inhab­it. Arthur C. Clarke peered into the future and saw a wired world where infor­ma­tion and com­mu­ni­ca­tion would be imme­di­ate and bor­der­less. Mar­shall McLuhan fore­saw the rough out­lines of what we now call “social media.” And oth­ers pre­dict­ed that email and ecom­merce were on the not-so-dis­tant hori­zon. It should per­haps then come as no sur­prise that, just a few years lat­er, The Arti­fi­cial Lan­guage Lab­o­ra­to­ry at Michi­gan State devel­oped a way for the com­put­er to start doing some every­day com­merce — like order­ing piz­za.

In 1974 Don­ald Sher­man, whose speech was lim­it­ed by a neu­ro­log­i­cal dis­or­der called Moe­bius Syn­drome, used a new-fan­gled device designed by John Eulen­berg to dial up a pizze­ria. The first call went to Domi­nos, which hung up. They were appar­ent­ly too busy becom­ing a behe­moth. Mer­ci­ful­ly, a humane pizze­ria — Mr. Mike’s — took the call, and his­to­ry was made. It all plays out above, and we hope that Mr. Mike’s is still thriv­ing all these years lat­er.…

via Coudal

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Nichelle Nichols Explains How Martin Luther King Convinced Her to Stay on Star Trek

nichelle-nichols-king

Nichelle Nichols played Lt. Uhu­ra on the orig­i­nal Star Trek series (1966–1969). Dur­ing the days when African-Amer­i­cans were still fight­ing for legal equal­i­ty in Amer­i­ca, her role took on spe­cial impor­tance. Her inclu­sion on the Enter­prise point­ed to a future when Amer­i­cans could live and work togeth­er, putting race aside. And Nichols made his­to­ry when Lt. Uhu­ra and Cap­tain Kirk embraced in the first inter-racial kiss on Amer­i­can tele­vi­sion.

We can part­ly thank Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. for all of this. As Nichols explains below, she gave con­sid­ered leav­ing Star Trek at the end of Sea­son 1, hop­ing to pur­sue a broad­way career. But MLK asked her to recon­sid­er. A big fan of the show, Dr. King under­scored the impor­tance of her char­ac­ter, of what it meant to future African-Amer­i­cans, of how her char­ac­ter, through the pow­er of TV, was open­ing a door that could nev­er be closed. Need­less to say, he per­suad­ed her to stay on the show, and the rest is glo­ri­ous his­to­ry.

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:

Neil deGrasse Tyson Lists 8 (Free) Books Every Intel­li­gent Per­son Should Read

Stephen Col­bert Talks Sci­ence with Astro­physi­cist Neil deGrasse Tyson

Neil deGrasse Tyson Deliv­ers the Great­est Sci­ence Ser­mon Ever

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Listen to Robert Frost Read ‘The Gift Outright,’ the Poem He Recited from Memory at JFK’s Inauguration

The read­ing from Cuban-Amer­i­can poet Richard Blan­co at Pres­i­dent Barack Oba­ma’s sec­ond inau­gu­ra­tion cer­e­mo­ny today fol­lows a tra­di­tion that began 52 years ago, when John F. Kennedy invit­ed his fel­low New Eng­lan­der Robert Frost to read at his inau­gur­al.

Frost was an ear­ly sup­port­er of Kennedy. On his 85th birth­day (March 26, 1959) he was asked by a reporter about the decline of New Eng­land’s cul­tur­al influ­ence in Amer­i­ca. “The next Pres­i­dent of the Unit­ed States will be from Boston,” replied Frost, accord­ing to Poets.org. “Does that sound as if New Eng­land is decay­ing?” At that time Kennedy had yet to for­mal­ly announce his can­di­da­cy, so Frost was asked to explain who he was talk­ing about. “He’s a Puri­tan named Kennedy. The only Puri­tans left these days are the Roman Catholics. There. I guess I wear my pol­i­tics on my sleeve.” When Pres­i­dent-elect Kennedy invit­ed the 86-year-old poet to read a poem at his inau­gu­ra­tion, if it was not too ardu­ous, Frost cabled his response:

IF YOU CAN BEAR AT YOUR AGE THE HONOR OF BEING MADE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, I OUGHT TO BE ABLE AT MY AGE TO BEAR THE HONOR OF TAKING SOME PART IN YOUR INAUGURATION. I MAY NOT BE EQUAL TO IT BUT I CAN ACCEPT IT FOR MY CAUSE–THE ARTS, POETRY, NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME TAKEN INTO THE AFFAIRS OF STATESMEN.

Frost wrote a new poem, “Ded­i­ca­tion,” espe­cial­ly for the occa­sion. But con­di­tions on inau­gu­ra­tion day con­spired against the old poet. A heavy blan­ket of snow fell on Wash­ing­ton the night before, and the sun­light that day was intense. In the harsh glare from the sun and snow, Frost found that he could­n’t read the type­script of his new poem. Kennedy had ear­li­er asked Frost, if he was­n’t going to write a new poem, to con­sid­er read­ing his poem on Amer­i­can his­to­ry, “A Gift Out­right.” So when Frost found that he could­n’t read the new poem, he recit­ed “A Gift Out­right” from mem­o­ry.

In the video above, we hear Frost read­ing the poem, which was writ­ten in the late 1930s and first pub­lished in 1942. Although some have said the audio is from the Kennedy inau­gu­ra­tion, it appar­ent­ly is not, because Frost reads the orig­i­nal text. For the inau­gu­ra­tion, the poet report­ed­ly agreed to Kennedy’s request to make a change in the final line. The phrase “Such as she would become” was changed to a more opti­mistic “Such as she will become.” (You can read the full text of the poem in a new win­dow.) Some­time after the event, Kennedy put Frost’s inau­gur­al appear­ance in per­spec­tive:

I asked Robert Frost to come and speak at the inau­gu­ra­tion because I felt he had some­thing impor­tant to say to those of us who are occu­pied with the busi­ness of gov­ern­ment, that he would remind us that we were deal­ing with life, of hopes and fears of mil­lions of peo­ple. He has said it well in a poem called “Choose Some­thing Like a Star,” in which he speaks of the fairest star in sight and says, “It asks lit­tle of us here./It asks of us a cer­tain height./So when at times the mob is swayed/to car­ry praise or blame too far,/we may choose some­thing like a star/ to stay our mind on and be stayed.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

Robert Frost Recites ‘Stop­ping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’

An Animated Interpretation of Billy Collins’ Poem, “Forgetfulness”

Some twen­ty-five years ago, my act­ing class spent an entire semes­ter on the plays of Anton Chekhov. At the time, it felt very vital, but like so much else I stud­ied in col­lege, what I wound up retain­ing is sad­ly piece­meal. One thing I do remem­ber is the youngest of the Three Sis­ters break­down upon real­iz­ing that they’ll nev­er make it to Moscow. At the heart of this freak-out is her despair that she, and every­one who mat­ters to her, is aging, a con­di­tion she defines as dimin­ish­ment. It seemed a bit over-the-top to me at the time. For god’s sake, she’s only 24. So what if she can’t remem­ber a few words of school­girl Ital­ian? Two and a half decades out, I was mis­re­mem­ber­ing her name as Anya, a momen­tary con­fu­sion eas­i­ly right­ed on my third Google search.

(IRINA. (Sob­bing.) Where? Where has it all gone? Where is it? Oh my God, my God! I have for­got­ten every­thing, for­got­ten every­thing… Every­thing is con­fused in my head… I can’t remem­ber what is the word for win­dow in Ital­ian, or for ceil­ing… I am for­get­ting every­thing, I for­get more every day, and life flies past and nev­er returns, nev­er, and we will nev­er go to Moscow… I see now that we will nev­er go…)

I flashed on this long ago melt­down while watch­ing “For­get­ful­ness,” the love­ly ani­ma­tion of the Bil­ly Collins poem, above. As Collins lists the seem­ing­ly incon­se­quen­tial things lost, it occurred to me that the cen­tral “you” could stand for any­body: you, me, an elder­ly rel­a­tive, Chekhov’s Iri­na. (Not Anya. If we’re to make it to Moscow, we bet­ter get crack­ing.)

We’re lucky to have artists like Chekhov, Collins, and by exten­sion, ani­ma­tor Julian Grey, all pos­sessed of the abil­i­ty to imbue one of mankind’s most depress­ing and time­ly real­i­ties with ten­der­ness and lyri­cism. Per­haps you’ll remem­ber some­one with whom to share “For­get­ful­ness”.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bil­ly Collins Poet­ry to Ani­mat­ed Life

The Ani­ma­tion of Bil­ly Collins’ Poet­ry

Ayun Hal­l­i­day describes some of the places she has been (not Moscow) in No Touch Mon­key! And Oth­er Trav­el Lessons Learned Too Late.

Watch Häxan, the Classic Cinematic Study of Witchcraft Narrated by William S. Burroughs (1922)

Some pic­tures from the silent era, like F.W. Mur­nau’s Nos­fer­atu, could­n’t look more clear­ly like ances­tors of the mod­ern hor­ror film. Trac­ing the dis­tant ori­gins of oth­er forms — of doc­u­men­tary, say — proves a trick­i­er task. Hence the val­ue of a movie like Ben­jamin Chris­tensen’s Häx­an, also known as Witch­craft Through the Ages, which not only mounts a non­fic­tion­al inves­ti­ga­tion into human­i­ty’s per­cep­tion of “witch­es” through­out the ages, but does so with the aid of dra­mat­ic sequences as eerie as any of Count Orlok run­ning amok. Giv­en that Chris­tensen’s metic­u­lous­ly researched his­tor­i­cal cre­ation demand­ed a larg­er bud­get than any oth­er Scan­di­na­vian film to that point, you could also view it as an antecedent of today’s visu­al­ly elab­o­rate, spec­ta­cle-inten­sive block­busters. Like many well-known silent films, Häx­an has under­gone mul­ti­ple releas­es, each run­ning dif­fer­ent lengths, with dif­fer­ent scores. You see above the 1968 ver­sion, which reduces Chris­tensen’s orig­i­nal 104-minute cut to a brisk 77 min­utes and accom­pa­nies it with a jaun­ty, rich­ly incon­gru­ous five-piece jazz score by Daniel Humair.

Atop the music we hear the his­to­ry of the per­se­cu­tion of  “witch­es,” from the prim­i­tive era to medieval times to then-mod­ern times, when the idea of the “hys­ter­i­cal woman” gained pur­chase in the zeit­geist. Nar­rat­ing this sto­ry in the 1968 ver­sion is none oth­er than writer and Beat icon William S. Bur­roughs, who, despite his flam­boy­ant­ly artis­tic per­son­al­i­ty, deliv­ers an ulti­mate­ly sober analy­sis. The film takes the posi­tion that witch­craft, far from a real­i­ty in and of itself, aris­es and re-aris­es as an inven­tion of the super­sti­tious, the irra­tional, and those dis­in­clined to under­stand the nature of men­tal ill­ness. If that sub­ject sounds more suit­able for an aca­d­e­m­ic paper, remem­ber that this research comes deliv­ered by the bold visu­al strokes of pro­to-hor­ror silent film, close read­ing of the fif­teenth-cen­tu­ry inquisi­tor’s trea­tise Malleus Malefi­carum, and the man who wrote Naked Lunch.

via Bib­liok­lept

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Quin­tes­sen­tial Vam­pire Film Nos­fer­atu Free Online as Hal­loween Approach­es

The Pix­ies’ Black Fran­cis Cre­ates Sound­track for Famous Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Film, The Golem

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.

Day of Light: A Crowdsourced Film by Multimedia Genius Brian Eno

Over the past sev­er­al years, we’ve seen exper­i­men­tal artists adapt grace­ful­ly (or cash in, if you’re cyn­i­cal) to the user-gen­er­at­ed world we live in now. While the pre­dictably unpre­dictable Flam­ing Lips have been at the inter­ac­tive media game for a while in their own weird way, we’ve also seen Bjork branch out into mul­ti­me­dia with the Bio­phil­ia iPhone/iPad app to accom­pa­ny the album of the same name, and last week we cov­ered Philip Glass’s for­ay into the app mar­ket with his Glass Machine remix­ing app.

Not ever to be out­done, producer/composer/multimedia genius Bri­an Eno released his own app last year, Scape, which allows users to gen­er­ate their own ambi­ent com­po­si­tions on their i‑devices. Scape’s release came just before that of Eno’s lat­est ambi­ent album, Lux, a col­lec­tion of sound­scapes that were ini­tial­ly installed in art gal­leries and air­port ter­mi­nals. On the album’s release date this past Novem­ber, Eno had more in store for fans. He streamed the entire album online at four dif­fer­ent times dur­ing the same day: sun­rise, day­light, sun­set, and night.

Lis­ten­ers were invit­ed to upload pho­tos of each time of day, under the gen­er­al theme of “play of light” (a title Eno con­sid­ered for the album). Eno and his team then curat­ed their favorite images, from all over the globe, and edit­ed them togeth­er into the short film above, enti­tled “Day of Light.” The idea, he says, was to “make a col­lab­o­ra­tive, gen­er­a­tive work… to see what hap­pened if you just made a space for it to hap­pen in.” Judge the results for your­self. Does this prod­uct from the minds and eyes of the Eno col­lec­tive add up to more than the sum of its parts?

Relat­ed Con­tent

Bri­an Eno on Cre­at­ing Music and Art As Imag­i­nary Land­scapes (1989)

Bri­an Eno Once Com­posed Music for Win­dows 95; Now He Lets You Cre­ate Music with an iPad App

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

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

Take R.E.M.‘s 1991 bal­lad “Los­ing My Reli­gion” and rework it from minor to major scale, and here’s what you get — some­thing that’s, as one Vimeo com­menter called it, “rec­og­niz­able enough to be nostalgic…unique enough to be shared!” Oth­er songs dig­i­tal­ly reworked by MajorScaled TV include “Rid­ers on the Storm” by The Doors, Metal­li­ca’s “Noth­ing Else Mat­ters,” and Djan­go Rein­hardt’s “Minor Swing.” Fol­low MajorScaled TV on Face­book for even­tu­al addi­tions to the col­lec­tion.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it,” Reworked in Major Key, Becomes a Cheer­ful Pop Song

R.E.M. Reveals the Secrets Behind Their Emo­tion­al­ly-Charged Songs: “Los­ing My Reli­gion” and “Try Not to Breathe”

R.E.M Plays “Radio Free Europe” on Their Nation­al Tele­vi­sion Debut on The David Let­ter­man Show (1983)

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