Watch Animated Scores of Beethoven’s 16 String Quartets: An Early Celebration of the 250th Anniversary of His Birth

Two years ago we post­ed about a music lover’s life’s work–Stephen Mali­nows­ki aka sma­lin on YouTube–and how he has pro­duced ani­mat­ed, side-scrolling scores to clas­si­cal music. Old­er folks will liken them to neon piano rolls. Youngun’s will see a bit of Gui­tar Hero or Rock Band game design in their march of col­or­ful shapes danc­ing to every­thing from Bach to Debussy.

Mali­nows­ki let us know that he just recent­ly com­plet­ed a major work: adapt­ing all of Beethoven’s String Quar­tets into his par­tic­u­lar, always evolv­ing style. And for this he turned to San Francisco’s Alexan­der String Quar­tet for their record­ings. Says the ani­ma­tor:

I made my first graph­i­cal scores in the 1970s, my first ani­mat­ed graph­i­cal score in 1985, and the first of these for a move­ment of a Beethoven string quar­tet in 2010. In 2014 I began col­lab­o­rat­ing with the Alexan­der String Quar­tet on select­ed move­ments of Beethoven string quar­tets, and in the ear­ly months of 2019 we decid­ed to hon­or the 250th anniver­sary of Beethoven’s birth by extend­ing our col­lab­o­ra­tion to the full set. [Note: that anniver­sary will offi­cial­ly take place next year.]

One impor­tant point: Mali­nows­ki does not choose col­ors ran­dom­ly or because they are pret­ty. Instead, he uses “Har­mon­ic Col­or­ing”:

I’ve assigned blue to be the “home pitch” (the ton­ic, notataed Roman numer­al “I”) because that seemed the most “set­tled,” and cho­sen the blue-toward-red direc­tion as the I‑toward‑V direc­tion because motion toward the dom­i­nant (“V”) seems more “active” com­pared with motion toward the sub­dom­i­nant (“IV”).

This might not make sense just by read­ing it, but head to this page to see how the col­or wheel looks. There you can see how clas­si­cal music has evolved from the Renais­sance (most­ly stay­ing with the sev­en pitch­es in an octave) to the rad­i­cal changes of Brahms and then through Debussy to Stravin­sky, where it is a riot of col­or.

Beethoven wrote 16 string quar­tets between 1798 and 1826, as well as a Große Fuge includ­ed here that only had one move­ment, and gained a noto­ri­ety in its day as being a chaot­ic, inac­ces­si­ble mess. (They were wrong). The last five, known at the Late Quar­tets, were writ­ten in the last three years of his life. He was com­plete­ly deaf by this time, suf­fer­ing from all sorts of med­ical issues, recov­er­ing from brush­es with death, and yet… the Late Quar­tets are con­sid­ered by many to be his mas­ter­pieces, even more notable giv­en that he had come to the quar­tet form lat­er than oth­er com­posers and wracked with doubt about his tal­ents.

The final move­ment of his final string quar­tet (No. 16) was the last com­plete work Beethoven would ever write. At the top of the score he wrote “Must it be? It must be!” Death was at the door.

For those ready to learn or ready to revis­it these chal­leng­ing works, Mali­nows­ki has made it a treat for the eyes as well as the ears. See the com­plete playlist of ani­mat­ed string quar­tets here. Or stream them all, from start to fin­ish, below:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Did Beethoven Com­pose His 9th Sym­pho­ny After He Went Com­plete­ly Deaf?

The Sto­ry of How Beethoven Helped Make It So That CDs Could Play 74 Min­utes of Music

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

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

Patti Smith Sings “People Have the Power” with a Choir of 250 Fellow Singers

…peo­ple have the pow­er

To redeem the work of fools

—Pat­ti Smith

As protest songs go, “Peo­ple Have the Pow­er” by God­moth­er of Punk Pat­ti Smith and her late hus­band Fred Son­ic Smith is a true upper.

The goal was to recap­ture some of the ener­gy they’d felt as youth activists, com­ing togeth­er to protest the Viet­nam War. As Pat­ti declared in an NME Song Sto­ries seg­ment:

… what we want­ed to do was remind the lis­ten­er of their indi­vid­ual pow­er but also of the col­lec­tive pow­er of the peo­ple, how we can do any­thing. That’s why at the end it goes, “I believe every­thing we dream can come to pass, through our union we can turn the world around, we can turn the earth’s rev­o­lu­tion.” We wrote it con­scious­ly togeth­er to inspire peo­ple, to inspire peo­ple to come togeth­er.

Sad­ly, Fred Smith, who died in 1994, nev­er saw it per­formed live. But his wid­ow has car­ried it around the world, and wit­nessed its joy­ful trans­for­ma­tive pow­er.

Wit­ness the glow­ing faces of 250 vol­un­teer singers who gath­ered in New York City’s Pub­lic The­ater lob­by to per­form the song as part of the Onas­sis Fes­ti­val 2019: Democ­ra­cy Is Com­ing last spring.

The event was staged by Choir! Choir! Choir!, a Cana­di­an orga­ni­za­tion whose com­mit­ment to com­mu­ni­ty build­ing vis-à-vis week­ly drop-in singing ses­sions at a Toron­to tav­ern has grown to include some star­ry names and world-renowned venues, rais­ing major char­i­ta­ble funds along the way.

As per Choir! Choir! Choir!’s oper­at­ing instruc­tions, there were no audi­tions. The singers didn’t need to know how to read music, or even sing par­tic­u­lar­ly well, as par­tic­i­pant Elyse Orec­chio described in a blog post:

The man behind me exu­ber­ant­ly deliv­ered his off-pitch notes loud­ly into my ear. But to whine about that sort of thing goes against the spir­it of the night. This was a democ­ra­cy: the people’s cho­rus.

Direc­tor Sarah Hugh­es had been hav­ing “one of those the­ater nerd Sat­ur­days,” and was grab­bing a post-Pub­lic-mati­nee sal­ad pri­or to an evening show uptown, when she bumped into friends who asked if she want­ed to sing with Pat­ti Smith and a com­mu­ni­ty choir:

I’m work­ing on play­wright Chana Porter and com­pos­er Deepali Gupta’s Dear­ly Beloved, a med­i­ta­tion on pro­duc­tive despair for com­mu­ni­ty choir, and have been hav­ing beau­ti­ful, enlight­en­ing expe­ri­ences mak­ing music with large groups of non-singers, so I was curi­ous about what this might be like. 

And it was love­ly. Just singing at all is always very great, even though I am not “good at it.” Singing along with all the oth­er peo­ple in the room felt espe­cial­ly good. 

The Choir! Choir! Choir! lead­ers were gen­er­ous, had a sense of humor, and weren’t afraid to tell us when we sound­ed ter­ri­ble, which was refresh­ing. 

We learned our parts and then I ate my sal­ad stand­ing in the Pub­lic lob­by while we wait­ed for Pat­ti. She took a longer time to arrive than they’d planned for, I think, but it was because she was at a cli­mate cri­sis ral­ly so we weren’t mad. And she was just very ful­ly her­self. 

I’m not like a die-hard Pat­ti Smith fan, but I sort of fell in love with her after read­ing her beau­ti­ful recount­ing of mess­ing up while singing “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” at Dylan’s Nobel Prize cer­e­mo­ny. This expe­ri­ence made me appre­ci­ate her even more—her human­i­ty, her vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty, the strange­ness of being famous or rec­og­nized or hero­ic to many many peo­ple. And she real­ly did lead us, in this very spe­cial, sim­ple, real way. It remind­ed me of how lit­tle we real­ly need in the way of mon­ey or pro­duc­tion val­ues or even tal­ent for a per­for­mance or pub­lic event to feel worth our time.

The film reflects that sense of the extra­or­di­nary co-exist­ing glo­ri­ous­ly with the ordi­nary:

An unim­pressed lit­tle girl eats a peach.

Two young staffers in Pub­lic The­ater t‑shirts seem both sheep­ish and thrilled when the film crew zeroes in on them singing along.

Gui­tarist and Choir! Choir! Choir! co-founder Dav­eed Gold­man near­ly bonks Pat­ti in the head with the neck of his instru­ment.

Also? That’s the Police’s Stew­art Copeland play­ing the fry­ing pan.

Next up on Choir! Choir! Choir!’s agen­da is an Octo­ber 13th con­cert at California’s Board­er Field State Park, with some 300 peo­ple on the Tijua­na side and 500 on the San Diego side rais­ing their voic­es togeth­er on Lennon and McCartney’s “With a Lit­tle Help from My Friends.” More infor­ma­tion on that, and oth­er stops on their fall tour, here.

Sign up to be noti­fied next time Choir! Choir! Choir! is look­ing for singers in your area here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith, The God­moth­er of Punk, Is Now Putting Her Pic­tures on Insta­gram

Hear a 4 Hour Playlist of Great Protest Songs: Bob Dylan, Nina Simone, Bob Mar­ley, Pub­lic Ene­my, Bil­ly Bragg & More

Pat­ti Smith’s 40 Favorite Books

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Octo­ber 7 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domaincel­e­brates the art of Aubrey Beard­s­ley. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

When Ted Turner Tried to Colorize Citizen Kane: See the Only Surviving Scene from the Great Act of Cinematic Sacrilege

Could there be a greater act of cin­e­mat­ic sac­ri­lege than col­oriz­ing Cit­i­zen Kane? For most of the past 78 years since its pre­miere, Orson Welles’ debut fea­ture has been wide­ly con­sid­ered the great­est motion pic­ture ever made: wit­ness, for instance, its dom­i­na­tion of Sight & Sound mag­a­zine’s crit­ics poll from 1962 until its slip to sec­ond place under Alfred Hitch­cock­’s Ver­ti­go in 2012. Artis­ti­cal­ly inno­v­a­tive in ways that still influ­ence movies today, it would seem that Cit­i­zen Kane requires no help from sub­se­quent gen­er­a­tions. But that did­n’t stop Ted Turn­er, the media mogul whose pre­vi­ous col­oriza­tions of Casablan­caKing Kong, and The Philadel­phia Sto­ry had already dis­heart­ened not just lovers of clas­sic Hol­ly­wood films but those films’ sur­viv­ing mak­ers as well.

“Turn­er Enter­tain­ment Com­pa­ny, which had obtained the home video rights to Cit­i­zen Kane in 1986, announced with much fan­fare on Jan­u­ary 29, 1989 its plans to col­orize Welles’ first Hol­ly­wood movie,” writes Ray Kel­ly at Wellesnet. “There was an imme­di­ate back­lash with the Welles estate and Direc­tors Guild of Amer­i­ca threat­en­ing legal action.”

Welles him­self had died in 1985, but the film­mak­er Hen­ry Jaglom quot­ed the direc­tor of Cit­i­zen Kane as impor­tun­ing him not to “let Ted Turn­er deface my movie with his crayons.” Ulti­mate­ly Turn­er’s crayons were indeed stayed, but for legal rea­sons: a review of Welles’ ini­tial con­tract with RKO “revealed he had been giv­en absolute artis­tic con­trol over his first Hol­ly­wood film, which it spec­i­fied would be a black-and-white pic­ture” — an odd spec­i­fi­ca­tion to declare back in 1940, but declared nonethe­less.

Before that dis­cov­ery, “a team at Col­or Sys­tems Tech­nol­o­gy Inc. in Mari­na del Rey, Cal­i­for­nia” had already “secret­ly col­orized a por­tion of Orson Welles’ land­mark black and white film”: its final ten min­utes, Rose­bud and all. The only known sur­viv­ing footage of this project — which took Cit­i­zen Kane and not just col­orized it but also, of course, reduced it to the res­o­lu­tion and aspect ratio of 1980s tele­vi­sion — is includ­ed in the BBC Are­na doc­u­men­tary The Com­plete Cit­i­zen Kane, the rel­e­vant clip of which appears at the top of the post. Kel­ly quotes William Scha­ef­fer, assis­tant art direc­tor at CST at the time, as remem­ber­ing the results fond­ly: “I thought it looked fine.” Then again, Scha­ef­fer had nev­er actu­al­ly seen the real Cit­i­zen Kane — and as for the rest of us, we per­haps breathe a lit­tle eas­i­er know­ing that Ver­ti­go is already in col­or.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Jorge Luis Borges Reviews Cit­i­zen Kane — and Gets a Response from Orson Welles

Don­ald Decon­structs Cit­i­zen Kane

Watch the New Trail­er for Orson Welles’ Lost Film, The Oth­er Side of the Wind: A Glimpse of Footage from the Final­ly Com­plet­ed Film

Metrop­o­lis Remixed: Fritz Lang’s Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Sci-Fi Clas­sic Gets Ful­ly Col­orized and Dubbed

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Morals That Determine Whether We’re Liberal, Conservative, or Libertarian

An old friend once wrote a line I’ll nev­er for­get: “There are two kinds of peo­ple in the world, then there are infi­nite­ly many more.” It always comes to mind when I con­front bina­ry gen­er­al­iza­tions that I’m told define two equal­ly oppos­ing posi­tions, but rarely cap­ture, with any accu­ra­cy, the com­plex­i­ty and con­trari­ness of human beings—even when said humans live inside the same coun­try.

Vot­ing pat­terns, social media bub­bles, and major net­work info­tain­ment can make it seem like the U.S. is split in two, but it is split into, if not an infin­i­ty, then a plu­ral­i­ty of dis­parate ide­o­log­i­cal dis­po­si­tions. But let’s say, for the sake of argu­ment, that there are two kinds of peo­ple. Let’s say the U.S. divides neat­ly into “lib­er­als” and “con­ser­v­a­tives.” What makes the dif­fer­ence between them? Fis­cal pol­i­cy? Edu­ca­tion? Views on “law and order,” social wel­fare, sci­ence, reli­gion, pub­lic ver­sus pri­vate good? Yes, but….

Best-sell­ing NYU psy­chol­o­gist Jonathan Haidt has con­tro­ver­sial­ly claimed that morality—based in emotion—really dri­ves the wedge between com­pet­ing “tribes” engaged in pitched us-ver­sus-them war. The real con­test is gut-lev­el, most­ly cen­tered on dis­gust these days, one of the most prim­i­tive of emo­tion­al respons­es (we learn in the hand-drawn ani­ma­tion of a Haidt lec­ture below). Haidt argues that our sense of us and them is root­ed, irrev­o­ca­bly, in our ear­li­est cog­ni­tions of phys­i­cal space.

Haidt sit­u­ates his analy­sis under the rubric of “moral foun­da­tions the­o­ry,” a school of thought “cre­at­ed by a group of social and cul­tur­al psy­chol­o­gists to under­stand why moral­i­ty varies so much across cul­tures yet still shows so many sim­i­lar­i­ties and recur­rent themes.” Anoth­er moral foun­da­tions the­o­rist, Peter Dit­to, pro­fes­sor of Psy­chol­o­gy and Social Behav­ior at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, Irvine, uses his research to draw sim­i­lar con­clu­sions about “hyper­par­ti­san­ship” in the U.S. Accord­ing to Dit­to, as he describes in the short video at the top, “morals influ­ence if you’re lib­er­al or con­ser­v­a­tive.”

How? Dit­to iden­ti­fies five broad, uni­ver­sal moral cat­e­gories, or “pil­lars,” that pre­dict polit­i­cal thought and behav­ior: harm reduc­tion, fair­ness, loy­al­ty, authority/tradition, and puri­ty. These con­cerns receive dif­fer­ent weight­ing between self-iden­ti­fied lib­er­als and con­ser­v­a­tives in sur­veys, with lib­er­als valu­ing harm reduc­tion and fair­ness high­ly and gen­er­al­ly over­look­ing the oth­er three, and con­ser­v­a­tives giv­ing equal weight to all five (on paper at least). Dit­to does step out­side the bina­ry in the last half of the seg­ment, not­ing that his stud­ies turned up a sig­nif­i­cant num­ber of peo­ple who iden­ti­fied as lib­er­tar­i­ans.

He takes a par­tic­u­lar inter­est in this cat­e­go­ry. Lib­er­tar­i­ans, says Dit­to, don’t rank any moral val­ue high­ly, mark­ing their world­view as “prag­mat­ic” and strik­ing­ly amoral. They appear to be intense­ly self-focused and lack­ing in empa­thy. Oth­er strains—from demo­c­ra­t­ic social­ism to anar­chism to fascism—that define Amer­i­can pol­i­tics today, go unmen­tioned, as if they didn’t exist, though they are arguably as influ­en­tial as lib­er­tar­i­an­ism in the strange flow­er­ings of the Amer­i­can left and right, and inar­guably as deserv­ing of study.

The idea that one’s morals define one’s pol­i­tics doesn’t seem par­tic­u­lar­ly nov­el, but the research of psy­chol­o­gists like Haidt and Dit­to offers new ways to think about moral­i­ty in pub­lic life. It also rais­es per­ti­nent ques­tions about the gulf between what peo­ple claim to val­ue and what they actu­al­ly, con­sis­tent­ly, sup­port, and about how the evo­lu­tion of moral sen­si­bil­i­ties seems to sort peo­ple into groups that also share his­tor­i­cal iden­ti­ties, zip codes, and eco­nom­ic inter­ests. Nor can we can­not dis­count the active shap­ing of pub­lic opin­ion through extra-moral means. Final­ly, in a two-par­ty sys­tem, the options are as few as they can be. Polit­i­cal alle­giance can be as much con­ve­nience, or reac­tion, as con­vic­tion. We might be right to sus­pect that any seem­ing political—or moral—unity on one side or the oth­er could be an effect of ampli­fied over­sim­pli­fi­ca­tion.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Yale’s Free Course on The Moral Foun­da­tions of Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy: Do Gov­ern­ments Deserve Our Alle­giance, and When Should They Be Denied It?

Han­nah Arendt Explains How Pro­pa­gan­da Uses Lies to Erode All Truth & Moral­i­ty: Insights from The Ori­gins of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism

Do Ethi­cists Behave Any Bet­ter Than the Rest of Us?: Here’s What the Research Shows

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

Novelist Cormac McCarthy Gives Writing Advice to Scientists … and Anyone Who Wants to Write Clear, Compelling Prose

As we point­ed out back in 2017, Cor­mac McCarthy, author of such grit­ty, blood-drenched nov­els as Blood Merid­i­an, Child of God, The Road, and No Coun­try for Old Men, prefers the com­pa­ny of sci­en­tists to fel­low writ­ers. Since the mid-nineties, he has main­tained a desk at the San­ta Fe Insti­tute, an inter­dis­ci­pli­nary sci­en­tif­ic think tank, and has served as a vol­un­teer copy-edi­tor for sev­er­al sci­en­tists, includ­ing Lisa Ran­dall, Harvard’s first female tenured the­o­ret­i­cal physi­cist, and physi­cist Geof­frey West, author of the pop­u­lar sci­ence book Scale.

One of McCarthy’s first such aca­d­e­m­ic col­lab­o­ra­tions came after a friend, econ­o­mist W. Bri­an Arthur, mailed him an arti­cle in 1996. McCarthy helped Arthur com­plete­ly revise it, which sent the edi­tor of the Har­vard Busi­ness Review into a “slight pan­ic,” the econ­o­mist remem­bers. I can’t imag­ine why, but then I’d rather read any of McCarthy’s nov­els than most aca­d­e­m­ic papers. Not that I don’t love to be exposed to new ideas, but it’s all about the qual­i­ty of the writ­ing.

Schol­ar­ly writ­ing has, after all, a rep­u­ta­tion for obscu­ri­ty, and obfus­ca­tion for a rea­son, and not only in post­mod­ern phi­los­o­phy. Sci­en­tif­ic papers also rely heav­i­ly on jar­gon, over­ly long, incom­pre­hen­si­ble sen­tences, and dis­ci­pli­nary for­mal­i­ties that can feel cold and alien­at­ing to the non-spe­cial­ist. McCarthy iden­ti­fied these prob­lems in the work of asso­ciates like biol­o­gist and ecol­o­gist Van Sav­age, who has “received invalu­able edit­ing advice from McCarthy,” notes Nature, “on sev­er­al sci­ence papers pub­lished over the past 20 years.”

Dur­ing “live­ly week­ly lunch­es” with the author dur­ing the win­ter of 2018, Sav­age dis­cussed the fin­er points of McCarthy’s edit­ing advice. Then Sav­age and evo­lu­tion­ary biol­o­gist Pamela Yeh present­ed the con­densed ver­sion at Nature for a wider audi­ence. Below, we’ve excerpt­ed some of the most strik­ing of “McCarthy’s words of wis­dom.” Find the com­plete com­pi­la­tion of McCarthy’s advice over at Nature.

  • Use min­i­mal­ism to achieve clar­i­ty…. Remove extra words or com­mas when­ev­er you can.
  • Decide on your paper’s theme and two or three points you want every read­er to remem­ber…. If some­thing isn’t need­ed to help the read­er to under­stand the main theme, omit it.
  • Lim­it each para­graph to a sin­gle mes­sage.
  • Keep sen­tences short, sim­ply con­struct­ed and direct.
  • Try to avoid jar­gon, buzz­words or over­ly tech­ni­cal lan­guage. And don’t use the same word repeatedly—it’s bor­ing.
  • Don’t over-elab­o­rate. Only use an adjec­tive if it’s rel­e­vant…. Don’t say the same thing in three dif­fer­ent ways in any sin­gle sec­tion.
  • Choose con­crete lan­guage and exam­ples.
  • When you think you’re done, read your work aloud to your­self or a friend. Find a good edi­tor you can trust and who will spend real time and thought on your work.
  • Final­ly, try to write the best ver­sion of your paper—the one that you like. You can’t please an anony­mous read­er, but you should be able to please your­self.
  • When you make your writ­ing more live­ly and eas­i­er to under­stand, peo­ple will want to invest their time in read­ing your work.

As Kot­tke points out, “most of this is good advice for writ­ing in gen­er­al.” This is hard­ly a sur­prise giv­en the source, though, as McCarthy’s pri­ma­ry body of work demon­strates, lit­er­ary writ­ers are free to tread all over these guide­lines as long as they can get away with it. Still, his straight­for­ward advice is an invi­ta­tion for writ­ers of all kinds—academic, pop­u­lar, aspir­ing, and professional—to remind them­selves of the fun­da­men­tal prin­ci­ples of clear, com­pelling com­mu­nica­tive prose.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Cor­mac McCarthy Became a Copy-Edi­tor for Sci­en­tif­ic Books and One of the Most Influ­en­tial Arti­cles in Eco­nom­ics

Cor­mac McCarthy’s Three Punc­tu­a­tion Rules, and How They All Go Back to James Joyce

Cor­mac McCarthy Explains Why He Worked Hard at Not Work­ing: How 9‑to‑5 Jobs Lim­it Your Cre­ative Poten­tial

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

Is It Really Ever a Good Idea to Revive an Old TV Show? Pretty Much Pop #13 Considers

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An appalling num­ber of shows are now being con­tin­ued long after their deaths. Revivals (not to be con­fused with reboots) bring us back to the com­fort of old friends, who are now real­ly old. What can a revival’s suc­cess tell us about why the show was appeal­ing in the first place? Would­n’t you rather see a new work by the same cre­ative team than more of the same? Mark, Eri­ca, and Bri­an con­sid­er some suc­cess­es, fail­ures, and hypo­thet­i­cals.

We con­sid­er Arrest­ed Devel­op­ment, The Twi­light Zone, X‑Files, Twin Peaks, Will & Grace, Dead­wood, Full House, Gilmore Girls, Queer Eye, Doc­tor Who, Veron­i­ca Mars, and talk too much about The Brady Bunch and Alf.

Some arti­cles we looked at:

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts or start with the first episode.

Metropolis Remixed: Fritz Lang’s German Expressionist Sci-Fi Classic Gets Fully Colorized and Dubbed

Those of us who grew up with late-night cable tele­vi­sion will have a few mem­o­ries of hap­pen­ing upon old movies that did­n’t look quite right. Usu­al­ly drawn from the 1940s or 50s, and some­times from the depths of gen­res like sci­ence-fic­tion and hor­ror, these pic­tures had under­gone the process of col­oriza­tion in hopes of increas­ing their appeal to a gen­er­a­tion unused to black-and-white imagery. Alas, even the most high-pro­file col­oriza­tion projects back then tend­ed to look washed-out, with life­less­ly pale faces lost among wash­es of green and brown. On the tech­ni­cal lev­el col­oriza­tion has improved in the decades since, though on the artis­tic lev­el its usage remains, to say the least, a sus­pect endeav­or.

But what if the film cho­sen for col­oriza­tion was, rather than some piece of dri­ve-in schlock, one of the acknowl­edged mas­ter­pieces of ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry cin­e­ma? Metrop­o­lis­Remix comes as one espe­cial­ly intrigu­ing (if also star­tling) answer to that ques­tion, bring­ing as it does Fritz Lang’s huge­ly influ­en­tial 1927 work of Ger­man Expres­sion­ist sci-fi from not just the world of black-and-white film into col­or but from that of silent film into sound.

To add col­or its mak­ers used DeOld­ify, “a deep learn­ing-based project for col­oriz­ing and restor­ing old images (and video!)” pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture when we post­ed this col­orized footage of Paris, New York, and Havana from the late 19th and ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry. You can get a taste of the Metrop­o­lis­Remix view­ing expe­ri­ence from this trail­er.

In its entire­ty this ver­sion of Metrop­o­lis runs just over two hours, quite a bit short­er than the film’s most recent restora­tion, 2010’s The Com­plete Metrop­o­lis. The dif­fer­ence owes in large part to the lack of dia­logue-con­vey­ing inter­ti­tles, which have been ren­dered unnec­es­sary by a full-cast Eng­lish-lan­guage dub that includes music and sound effects. Not every­one, of course, will approve of this “fan mod­ern­iza­tion,” as its cre­ators describe it. Phil Hall at Cin­e­ma Crazed prefers to call it “the most reck­less­ly bad idea for a film since All This and World War II, the infa­mous 1976 non­sense that unit­ed Sec­ond World War news­reel footage with most­ly unsat­is­fac­to­ry cov­er ver­sions of Bea­t­les music.” But the sheer brazen­ness of Metrop­o­lis­Remix nev­er­the­less impress­es — and some­how, Lang and his col­lab­o­ra­tors’ vision of an indus­tri­al art-deco dystopia sur­vives.

via Messy Nessy

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Metrop­o­lis: Watch a Restored Ver­sion of Fritz Lang’s Mas­ter­piece (1927)

Read the Orig­i­nal 32-Page Pro­gram for Fritz Lang’s Metrop­o­lis (1927)

Fritz Lang Invents the Video Phone in Metrop­o­lis (1927)

H.G. Wells Pans Fritz Lang’s Metrop­o­lis in a 1927 Movie Review: It’s “the Sil­li­est Film”

10 Great Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Films: From Nos­fer­atu to The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The First Music Streaming Service Was Invented in 1881: Discover the Théâtrophone

Every liv­ing adult has wit­nessed enough tech­no­log­i­cal advance­ment in their life­time to mar­vel at just how much has changed, and dig­i­tal stream­ing and telecom­mu­ni­ca­tions hap­pen to be areas where the most rev­o­lu­tion­ary change seems to have tak­en place. We take for grant­ed that the present resem­bles the past not at all, and that the future will look unimag­in­ably dif­fer­ent. So the nar­ra­tive of lin­ear progress tells us. But that sto­ry is nev­er as tri­umphant­ly sim­ple as it seems.

In one salient coun­terex­am­ple, we find that not only did livestream­ing music and news exist in the­o­ry long before the inter­net, but it exist­ed in actu­al practice—at the very dawn of record­ing tech­nol­o­gy, tele­pho­ny, and gen­er­al elec­tri­fi­ca­tion. First devel­oped in France in 1881 by inven­tor Clement Ader, who called his sys­tem the Théâtro­phone, the device allowed users to expe­ri­ence “the trans­mis­sion of music and oth­er enter­tain­ment over a tele­phone line,” notes the site Bob’s Old Phones, “using very sen­si­tive micro­phones of [Ader’s] own inven­tion and his own receivers.”

The pre-radio tech­nol­o­gy was ahead of its time in many ways, as Michael Der­van explains at The Irish Times. The Théâtro­phone “could trans­mit two-chan­nel, mul­ti-micro­phone relays of the­atre and opera over phone lines for lis­ten­ing on head­phones. The use of dif­fer­ent sig­nals for the two ears cre­at­ed a stereo effect.” Users sub­scribed to the ser­vice, and it proved pop­u­lar enough to receive an entry in the 1889 edi­tion of The Elec­tri­cal Engi­neer ref­er­ence guide, which defined it as “a tele­phone by which one can have soupçons of the­atri­cal decla­ma­tion for half a franc.”

In 1896 “the Belle Epoque pop artist Jules Cheret immor­tal­ized the the­at­ro­phone,” writes Tanya Basu at Men­tal Floss, “in a lith­o­graph fea­tur­ing a woman in a yel­low dress, grin­ning as she pre­sum­ably lis­tened to an opera feed.” Vic­tor Hugo got to try it out. “It’s very strange,” he wrote. “It starts with two ear muffs on the wall, and we hear the opera; we change ear­muffs and hear the French The­atre, Coquelin. And we change again and hear the Opera Comique. The chil­dren and I were delight­ed.”

Though The Elec­tri­cal Engi­neer also called it “the lat­est thing to catch [Parisians’] ears and their cen­times,” the inno­va­tion had already by that time spread else­where in Europe. Inven­tor Tivador Puskas cre­at­ed a “stream­ing” sys­tem in Budapest called Tele­fon Her­mon­do (Tele­phone Her­ald), Bob’s Old Phones points out, “which broad­cast news and stock mar­ket infor­ma­tion over tele­phone lines.” Unlike Ader’s sys­tem, sub­scribers could “call in to the tele­phone switch­board and be con­nect­ed to the broad­cast of their choice. The sys­tem was quite suc­cess­ful and was wide­ly report­ed over­seas.”

The mech­a­nism was, of course, quite dif­fer­ent from dig­i­tal stream­ing, and quite lim­it­ed by our stan­dards, but the basic deliv­ery sys­tem was sim­i­lar enough. A third such ser­vice worked a lit­tle dif­fer­ent­ly. The Elec­tro­phone sys­tem, formed in Lon­don in 1884, com­bined its pre­de­ces­sors’ ideas: broad­cast­ing both news and musi­cal enter­tain­ment. Play­back options were expand­ed, with both head­phones and a speak­er-like mega­phone attach­ment.

Addi­tion­al­ly, users had a micro­phone so that they could “talk to the Cen­tral Office and request dif­fer­ent pro­grams.” The addi­tion of inter­ac­tiv­i­ty came at a pre­mi­um. “The Elec­tro­phone ser­vice was expen­sive,” writes Der­van, “£5 a year at a time when that sum would have cov­ered a cou­ple months rent.” Addi­tion­al­ly, “the expe­ri­ence was com­mu­nal rather than soli­tary.” Sub­scribers would gath­er in groups to lis­ten, and “some of the pho­tographs” of these ses­sions resem­ble “images of addicts in an old-style opi­um den”—or of Vic­to­ri­ans gath­ered at a séance.

The com­pa­ny lat­er gave recu­per­at­ing WWI ser­vice­men access to the ser­vice, which height­ened its pro­file. But these ear­ly livestream­ing services—if we may so call them—were not com­mer­cial­ly viable, and “radio killed the ven­ture off in the 1920s” with its uni­ver­sal acces­si­bil­i­ty and appeal to adver­tis­ers and gov­ern­ments. This seem­ing evo­lu­tion­ary dead end might have been a dis­tant ances­tor of stream­ing live con­certs and events, though no one could have fore­seen it at the time. No one save sci­ence fic­tion writ­ers.

Edward Bellamy’s 1888 utopi­an nov­el Look­ing Back­ward imag­ined a device very like the Théâtro­phone in his vision of the year 2000. And in 1909, E.M. Forster drew on ear­ly stream­ing ser­vices and oth­er ear­ly telecom­mu­ni­ca­tions advances for his vision­ary short sto­ry “The Machine Stops,” which extrap­o­lat­ed the more iso­lat­ing ten­den­cies of the tech­nol­o­gy to pre­dict, as play­wright Neil Duffield remarks, “the inter­net in the days before even radio was a mass medi­um.”

via Ted Gioia/The Irish Times

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of the Inter­net in 8 Min­utes

Hear the First Record­ing of the Human Voice (1860)

How an 18th-Cen­tu­ry Monk Invent­ed the First Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment

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

19th-Century Skeleton Alarm Clock Reminded People Daily of the Shortness of Life: An Introduction to the Memento Mori

Vic­to­ri­an cul­ture can seem grim and even ghoul­ish to us youth-obsessed, death-deny­ing 21st cen­tu­ry mod­erns. The tra­di­tion of death pho­tog­ra­phy, for exam­ple, both fas­ci­nates and repels us, espe­cial­ly por­trai­ture of deceased chil­dren. But the prac­tice “became increas­ing­ly pop­u­lar,” notes the BBC, as “Vic­to­ri­an nurs­eries were plagued by measles, diph­the­ria, scar­let fever, rubella—all of which could be,” and too often were, “fatal.”

Adults did not fare much bet­ter when it came to the epi­dem­ic spread of killer dis­eases. Sur­round­ed inescapably by death, Vic­to­ri­ans coped by invest­ing their world with totemic sym­bols, cul­tur­al arti­facts known as memen­to mori, mean­ing “remem­ber, you must die.” Tuber­cu­lo­sis, cholera, influen­za… at any moment, one might take ill and waste away, and there would like­ly be lit­tle med­ical sci­ence could do about it.

Per­haps the best approach, then, was an accep­tance of death while in the bloom of health, in order to not waste the moment and to learn to pay atten­tion to what mat­tered while one could. Memen­to mori draw­ings, paint­ings, jew­el­ry, pho­tographs, and trin­kets have pop­u­lat­ed Euro­pean cul­tur­al his­to­ry for cen­turies; death as an ever-present com­pan­ion, not to be hid­den away and feared but solemn­ly, respect­ful­ly giv­en its due.

Or maybe not so respect­ful­ly, as the case may be. Some of these nov­el­ties, like the skele­ton alarm clock at the top, look more like they belong at the bot­tom of a fish tank than a prop­er par­lor man­tle. “Pre­sum­ably when the alarm went off,” writes Alli­son Meier at Hyper­al­ler­gic, “the skele­ton would shake its bones.” Wake up, life is short, you could die at any time. “Part of the col­lec­tions of Sci­ence Muse­um, Lon­don, it’s believed to be of Eng­lish ori­gin and date between 1840 and 1900.”

The Tim Bur­ton-esque tchotchke appeared in a 2014 British Library exhib­it called Ter­ror and Won­der: The Goth­ic Imag­i­na­tion, with many oth­er such objects of vary­ing degrees of artistry: “200 objects from a span of 250 years, all cen­tered on the Goth­ic tra­di­tion in art, lit­er­a­ture, music, fash­ion, and most recent­ly film.” Memen­to mori arti­facts offer vis­cer­al reminders that real, dai­ly con­fronta­tions with dis­ease and death were “at the base of much of Goth­ic lit­er­a­ture and art.”

Where we now tend to read the Goth­ic as pri­mar­i­ly reflec­tive of social, cul­tur­al, and reli­gious anx­i­eties, the preva­lence of memen­to mori in Euro­pean homes both low and high (such as Mary Queen of Scots’ skull watch, in an 1896 illus­tra­tion above) shows us just how much the gloomy strain of think­ing that became the mod­ern hor­ror genre derives from a desire to con­front mor­tal­i­ty head on, so to speak, and find­ing that look­ing death in the face brings on ancient uncan­ny dread as much as healthy gal­lows humor and sto­ic, stiff-upper-lip reck­on­ing with the ulti­mate fact of life.

via Lind­sey Fitzhar­ris

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Artist Cro­chets a Life-Size, Anatom­i­cal­ly-Cor­rect Skele­ton, Com­plete with Organs

Cel­e­brate The Day of the Dead with The Clas­sic Skele­ton Art of José Guadalupe Posa­da

Old Books Bound in Human Skin Found in Har­vard Libraries (and Else­where in Boston)

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

Watch Queen Rehearse & Meticulously Prepare for Their Legendary 1985 Live Aid Performance

It seems no small irony that lean, late-sev­en­ties and eight­ies New Wave bands like U2, Depeche Mode, and the Cure, who made lega­cy sta­di­um rock acts like Queen seem out­mod­ed, went on to become mas­sive-sell­ing sta­di­um lega­cy acts them­selves. The musi­cal cri­tique of 70’s rock excess­es found its most pop­u­lar expres­sion in bands that took a lot from Fred­die Mer­cury and com­pa­ny: flam­boy­ant sex­u­al flu­id­i­ty, spec­tac­u­lar light shows, raw emo­tion­al con­fes­sion­al­ism, stri­dent­ly sen­ti­men­tal, fist-pump­ing anthems…

Yet in the eight­ies, a “wide-sweep­ing change in musi­cal tastes” dis­placed Queen’s reign on the charts, writes Les­ley-Ann Jones in Mer­cury: An Inti­mate Biog­ra­phy of Fred­die Mer­cury. They were “con­found­ing­ly on the wane” and “were begin­ning to feel that they’d had their day. A per­ma­nent split was in the cards. They’d talked about it.” But it was not to be, thanks to Live Aid, the near-mytho­log­i­cal July 13, 1985 per­for­mance at Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um. After that gig, remem­bers Queen key­boardist Spike Edney, “Queen found that their whole world had changed.”

Sud­den­ly, after their short, 20-minute day­light set (see the video at the bot­tom), they were again the biggest band on the plan­et. “Queen smoked ‘em,” as Dave Grohl puts it. “They walked away being the great­est band you’d ever seen in your life, and it was unbe­liev­able.” The sen­ti­ment was uni­ver­sal­ly echoed by every­one from Elton John to Bowie to Bono to Paul McCart­ney, all of them upstaged that day. “It has been repeat­ed ad nau­se­am,” writes Jones, “that Queen’s per­for­mance was the most thrilling, the most mov­ing, the most mem­o­rable, the most enduring—surpassing as it did the efforts of their great­est rivals.”

The band, how­ev­er, was “sur­prised that every­one was sur­prised,” says Edney. “They were vet­er­ans at sta­di­um gigs… this was their nat­ur­al habi­tat.” Queen “could prac­ti­cal­ly do this stuff in their sleep.” Mix­ing his metaphors, Edney also reveals just how hard the band worked to remain the con­sum­mate pro­fes­sion­als they were: “to them, it was anoth­er day at the office.” As such, they put in their time to make absolute­ly cer­tain that they would be in top form. “They booked out the 400-seat Shaw The­atre, near King’s Cross train sta­tion in Lon­don,” notes Mar­tin Chilton at Udis­cov­er­mu­sic, “and spent a week hon­ing their five-song set,” plan­ning every sin­gle part of it to per­fec­tion.

Live Aid orga­niz­er Bob Geld­of had asked bands not to debut new mate­r­i­al but play fan favorites. Edney was “stunned to hear cer­tain artists belt­ing out their lat­est sin­gle.” But Queen took Geldof’s “mes­sage to heart,” putting togeth­er a care­ful­ly curat­ed med­ley of their biggest hits. In the video at the top of the post, see the band dis­cuss this behind-the-scenes process with an inter­view­er before going onstage in front of a crowd of “the 72,000 fans who would be at Wembley—and the esti­mat­ed 1.9 bil­lion peo­ple watch­ing on tele­vi­sion from 130 coun­tries around the world.”

In answer to a ques­tion about going onstage with­out their usu­al spec­tac­u­lar stage and light show, or even time for a sound check before their set, Bri­an May replies, “it all comes down to whether you can play or not, real­ly, which is nice, in a way, because I think there’s prob­a­bly an ele­ment who think that groups like us can’t do it with­out the extrav­a­gant back­drop.” Who­ev­er he might have been refer­ring to, his “We’ll see” sounds supreme­ly con­fi­dent.

The band was metic­u­lous­ly pre­pared. After the inter­view, we see rehearsal footage of near­ly their full set, begin­ning with “Radio Ga Ga,” a song whose cho­rus dur­ing the live event pro­duced what was described as “the note heard around the world.” (See it above.) After their incred­i­ble per­for­mance May sound­ed much more mod­est, even self-effac­ing. “The rest of us played OK, but Fred­die went out there and took it to anoth­er lev­el. It wasn’t just Queen fans. He con­nect­ed with every­one. I’d nev­er seen any­thing like that in my life.”

The per­for­mance is all the more remark­able for the fact that Queen had been shunned just the pre­vi­ous year for break­ing the boy­cott and play­ing in South Africa, for noble but mis­un­der­stood rea­sons at the time. They were con­sid­er­ing call­ing it qui­ets, but the pres­sures they were under seemed only to gal­va­nize them into what every­one remem­bers as their great­est show ever—”Queen’s ulti­mate moment,” writes Jones, “towards which they had been build­ing their entire career.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Queen’s Stun­ning Live Aid Per­for­mance: 20 Min­utes Guar­an­teed to Give You Goose Bumps (July 13, 1985)

A Stun­ning Live Con­cert Film of Queen Per­form­ing in Mon­tre­al, Dig­i­tal­ly Restored to Per­fec­tion (1981)

Watch Queen’s Drag­tas­tic “I Want to Break Free” Video: It Was More Than Amer­i­ca & MTV Could Han­dle (1984)

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

A 900-Page Pre-Pantone Guide to Color from 1692: A Complete Digital Scan

Human beings got along per­fect­ly well for hun­dreds of mil­len­nia with­out stan­dard­ized tax­onomies of col­or, but they didn’t do so in a glob­al­ly con­nect­ed cul­ture full of logos, brands, and 24/7 screens. It’s arguable whether the world as we now see it would have been pos­si­ble with­out monop­o­lis­tic col­or sys­tems like Pan­tone. They may cir­cum­scribe the visu­al world and dic­tate col­or from above. But they also enable inter­na­tion­al design prin­ci­ples and visu­al lan­guages that trans­late eas­i­ly every­where.

These cir­cum­stances did not yet exist in 1692, when Dutch artist A. Boogert cre­at­ed a huge, almost 900-page book on col­or, Traité des couleurs ser­vant à la pein­ture à l’eau. But they were slow­ly com­ing into being, thanks to stud­ies by philoso­pher-sci­en­tists like Isaac New­ton.

Boogert’s book took enlight­en­ment work on optics in a more rig­or­ous design direc­tion than any of his con­tem­po­raries, antic­i­pat­ing a num­ber of influ­en­tial books on col­or to come in the fol­low­ing cen­turies, such as the art his­to­ry-mak­ing stud­ies by Johann Wolf­gang von Goethe and a book on col­or used by Charles Dar­win dur­ing his Bea­gle voy­age.

Boogert’s exhaus­tive study includes hand­writ­ten notes and descrip­tions and hun­dreds of hand-paint­ed col­or swatch­es. This above-and-beyond effort was not, how­ev­er, made for sci­en­tif­ic or indus­tri­al pur­pos­es but as a guide for artists, show­ing how to mix water­col­ors to make every col­or in the spec­trum. The author even includes a com­pre­hen­sive unit on whites, grays, and blacks. How much his­tor­i­cal influ­ence did Boogert’s text have on the devel­op­ment of stan­dard­ized col­or sys­tems, we might won­der? Hard­ly any at all. Its sin­gle copy, notes Colos­sal, “was prob­a­bly seen by very few eyes.”

The obscure book dis­ap­peared in the archives of the Bib­lio­thèque Méjanes in Aix-en-Provence, France. That is, until its dis­cov­ery recent­ly by Medieval book his­to­ri­an Erik Kwakkel, who post­ed scans on his Tum­blr and trans­lat­ed some of the intro­duc­tion from the orig­i­nal Dutch. Since then, the com­plete text has come online: 898 pages of high-res­o­lu­tion dig­i­tal scans at the Bib­lio­thèque Méjanes site. (Go to this page, click on the pic­ture, then click on the arrows in the low­er right side of the page to move through the book.)

If you read Dutch, all the bet­ter to appre­ci­ate this rare his­toric arti­fact. But you don’t need to under­stand A. Boogert’s expla­na­tions on water­col­or tech­nique to be stag­gered by the incred­i­ble amount of work that went into this ear­ly, over­looked labor of love for sys­tem­at­ic approach­es to col­or. Enter the full text here.

h/t David Hale

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Vision­ary 115-Year-Old Col­or The­o­ry Man­u­al Returns to Print: Emi­ly Noyes Vanderpoel’s Col­or Prob­lems

The Vibrant Col­or Wheels Designed by Goethe, New­ton & Oth­er The­o­rists of Col­or (1665–1810)

Goethe’s The­o­ry of Col­ors: The 1810 Trea­tise That Inspired Kandin­sky & Ear­ly Abstract Paint­ing

Werner’s Nomen­cla­ture of Colour, the 19th-Cen­tu­ry “Col­or Dic­tio­nary” Used by Charles Dar­win (1814)

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


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