The Instrument Benjamin Franklin Invented, the Glass Armonica, Plays Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”


Must we ever see anoth­er port­ly, bespec­ta­cled re-enac­tor drag­ging a kite with key attached to rep­re­sent the inge­nu­ity of rak­ish found­ing father and avatar of cash wealth, Ben­jamin Franklin? Why, when he invent­ed so many won­drous things—including those bifo­cal specs—should we only memo­ri­al­ize him for this sil­ly (but very sci­en­tif­ic) stunt? Though it may be a true sto­ry, unlike Wash­ing­ton and his cher­ry tree, the famil­iar­i­ty of the image breeds a cer­tain indif­fer­ence to the man behind it. I’m not sug­gest­ing that we remem­ber him for, say, his inven­tion of the catheter, though that’s quite a use­ful thing. Or for his inven­tion, accord­ing to How Stuff Works, of “Amer­i­can Celebrity”—surely no friend to human­i­ty these two hun­dred-plus years hence.

But maybe swim fins, eh? That’s a pret­ty neat inven­tion. Imag­ine your fifth-grad­er in bald cap and ruf­fled shirt, plod­ding across the school stage in a pair of flip­pers. Or maybe the odome­ter? Or those reachy, grab­by things at the gro­cery store that pull items down from high shelves? Bor­ing. How about the Glass Armon­i­ca? The what? The glass armon­i­ca, I say, or—as Franklin orig­i­nal­ly called it—the “glassy­chord.” What is it? Well, Franklin, inspired by a con­cert by Roy­al Acad­e­my col­league Edmund Delaval on a set of water tuned wine­glass­es, decid­ed to improve upon the instru­ment. An ama­teur musi­cian him­self, writes William Zeitler as Glassarmonica.com, Franklin left the con­cert “deter­mined to invent and build ‘a more con­ve­nient’ arrange­ment.”



Thus, after two years of exper­i­men­ta­tion, “Franklin debuted his glass armon­i­ca,” which How Stuff Works describes as “a col­lec­tion of dif­fer­ent-sized glass bowls arranged on a rotat­ing shaft. By spin­ning the shaft with a foot ped­al and run­ning wet­ted fin­gers over the rotat­ing bowls, Franklin found he could coax out chords and melodies that Delaval could only dream of.” You needn’t use your imag­i­na­tion. Just watch the video above to see a Franklin re-enac­tor play a beau­teous ren­di­tion of Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sug­ar Plum Fairy” on a glass armon­i­ca. Love­ly, no? Sure­ly we wouldn’t expect chil­dren to pull this off in the school play, but they could mime along to a record­ing. (Don’t start yelling about revi­sion­ist his­to­ry just yet. We can still tell the kite and key sto­ry, too. Just watch these adorable chil­dren tell it in this video.)

Franklin pre­miered the inven­tion in 1762, though he didn’t play it him­self but enlist­ed Lon­don musi­cian Mar­i­anne Davis. It was an instant hit, “par­tic­u­lar­ly in Ger­many,” Zeitler writes, where “Mozart was intro­duced to it by Dr. Franz Mes­mer, who used it to ‘mes­mer­ize’ his patients, and lat­er Mozart wrote two works for it (a solo armon­i­ca piece, and a larg­er quin­tet for armon­i­ca, flute, oboe, vio­la and cel­lo).” Above, hear Mozart’s Ron­do for Glass Armon­i­ca and Quar­tet, per­formed by Thomas Bloch. Impressed? It gets bet­ter: “Beethoven also wrote a lit­tle piece for armon­i­ca and nar­ra­tor (!), and many of their col­leagues of the day com­posed for it as well—some 200 pieces for armon­i­ca… sur­vive from that era.”

What hap­pened? Tastes changed, put sim­ply, and the glass armon­i­ca fell out of fash­ion. That, and the lack of ampli­fi­ca­tion meant it was drowned out in increas­ing­ly larg­er ensem­bles. I pro­pose we bring it back, maybe in a hip Ben Franklin Broad­way musi­cal. Who’s with me?

Learn much more about this fas­ci­nat­ing instru­ment, and see sev­er­al more video demon­stra­tions, at Glassarmonica.com.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ben Franklin’s List of 200 Syn­onyms for “Drunk”: “Moon-Ey’d,” “Ham­mer­ish,” “Stew’d” & More (1737)

Declas­si­fied CIA Doc­u­ment Reveals That Ben Franklin (and His Big Ego) Put U.S. Nation­al Secu­ri­ty at Risk

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

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

Hear Amanda Palmer’s Cover of “Purple Rain,” a Gorgeous Stringfelt Send-Off to Prince

Amanda Palmer Prince Cover

Dear­ly beloved, we are gath­ered here today to get through this thing called life…

It must have crossed Prince’s mind that the day would sure­ly come when fans would mine his eter­nal­ly mem­o­rable open­er to 1984’s “Let’s Go Crazy” to eulo­gize him.

But could he have antic­i­pat­ed the heights to which fel­low singer-song­writer Aman­da Palmer would take this most under­stand­able of impuls­es?

Brace your­self for the above, the most mourn­ful­ly emo­tion­al cov­er of “Pur­ple Rain” you’re ever like­ly to hear. Yes, it shares an intro with “Let’s Go Crazy,” but this is no ordi­nary med­ley.

As with Strung Out In Heav­en, her five-track trib­ute to the recent­ly deceased David Bowie, Palmer teamed with a string quar­tet and pop poly­math pro­duc­er Jherek Bischoff. The quick turn­around result is both lush and heart­felt.

With no dis­re­spect, hope­ful­ly Palmer’s exquis­ite string ele­gies will not become a thing.

In oth­er words, we all have rock stars whose pass­ing we dread as an indi­ca­tor of our own mor­tal­i­ty.…

The pro­ceeds from the name-your-price pur­chase of Palmer’s “Pur­ple Rain” will be donat­ed to Ele­vate Hope Foun­da­tion, the non-prof­it project co-found­ed by fre­quent Prince col­lab­o­ra­tor, Sheila E, to pro­vide music ther­a­py for abused and aban­doned chil­dren.

As recent­ly as mid-March, Palmer was char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly mouthy online about her philo­soph­i­cal dif­fer­ences with the Pur­ple One, whom she described as the yang to her yin:

We want con­nec­tion but dis­agree about the wires, the chan­nels, the ingre­di­ents.

After he passed, she showed more restraint in an inter­view with Pitch­fork, in which she shared some per­son­al rec­ol­lec­tions about Prince’s role in her (elec­tric word) life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Strung Out in Heav­en, a Gor­geous Trib­ute to David Bowie by Aman­da Palmer & Jherek Bischoff’s, Made with Help from Neil Gaiman

This Is What It Sounds Like When 1999 Peo­ple Sing Prince’s “When Doves Cry”

Delight in Prince’s Extra­or­di­nar­i­ly Poignant Cov­er of Radiohead’s “Creep” & His Com­plete 2008 Coachel­la Set

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Download 336 Issues of the Avant-Garde Magazine The Storm (1910–1932), Featuring the Work of Kandinsky, Klee, Moholy-Nagy & More

Der_Sturm_1916-09

It’s easy to think of Expres­sion­ism—the art form that flour­ished in Ger­many dur­ing the ear­ly decades of the 20th century—as a kind of inchoate release of emo­tion onto the can­vas. The name itself sug­gests the com­mon idea of art as a means of “express­ing one­self.” Often intense­ly child­like, such as the work of Paul Klee, or com­plete­ly abstract, such as Wass­i­ly Kandinsky’s many geo­met­ric com­po­si­tions, expres­sion­ist styles influ­enced artists through­out the cen­tu­ry whom we tend to asso­ciate with emo­tion over rea­son, pas­sion over restraint: Willem de Koon­ing and Jack­son Pol­lack, Jean-Michel Basquiat and Fran­cis Bacon.

Der_Sturm_1922-04

But let us return to the movement’s roots and we see from its very begin­nings that Expres­sion­ism was high­ly the­o­ret­i­cal in its emo­tion­al­ism. Its high priest, Kandin­sky, pio­neered non-rep­re­sen­ta­tion­al paint­ing, and explained his method in cool­ly ana­lyt­i­cal terms in his trea­tise Con­cern­ing the Spir­i­tu­al in Art. Expressionism—not only in paint­ing, but in dra­ma, sculp­ture, dance, film, and literature—early on com­mu­ni­cat­ed its ideas in a week­ly mag­a­zine, Der Sturm (The Storm), found­ed in 1910 by artist and crit­ic Her­warth Walden and run­ning week­ly until 1914, then quar­ter­ly from 1924 to 1932. In that time, the pub­li­ca­tion amassed quite a few issues, and you can read (in Ger­man) and down­load all 336 of them here.

Der_Sturm_1923-01

You can also see some of the inspired cov­er designs Der Sturm used over its decades of pub­li­ca­tion. “The mag­a­zine became well known for the inclu­sion of wood­cuts and linocuts,” writes the Guggen­heim, “includ­ing works by Guggen­heim col­lec­tion artists Marc Cha­gall,Vasi­ly Kandin­skyPaul KleeOscar Kokosch­ka,  Franz MarcLás­zló Moholy-Nagy, and oth­ers.” The muse­um site fea­tures sev­er­al of Der Stur­m’s graph­ic designs by Moholy-Nagy, such as the cov­er above, and Mono­skop adds the cov­ers fur­ther up and at the top of the post, by Oscar Ner­linger and Oskar Kokosch­ka, respec­tive­ly. Mono­skop also pro­vides a good deal of his­tor­i­cal con­text for the mag­a­zine and the gallery it fos­tered, Galerie Der Sturm, “start­ed by Walden to cel­e­brate its 100th edi­tion, in 1912.”

Walden_Herwarth_Einblick_in_Kunst_Expressionismus_Futurismus_Kubismus_1924

The gallery’s many exhi­bi­tions demon­strate how much Expres­sion­ism over­lapped with a host of oth­er mod­ernist –isms of the peri­od. It start­ed “with an exhi­bi­tion of Fauves and Der Blaue Reit­er [a group includ­ing Kandin­sky and Paul Klee that formed the core of first Expres­sion­ist painters], fol­lowed by the intro­duc­tion in Ger­many of the Ital­ian Futur­ists, Cubists and Orphists.” Edvard Munch exhib­it­ed there, as did Georges Braque and Pablo Picas­so. Walden expand­ed the gallery’s activ­i­ties after WWI to include lec­tures and a the­ater, and he began pub­lish­ing books and port­fo­lios by Expres­sion­ist artists. Just above see the cov­er of Walden’s own book Ein­blick in Kun­st, and see sev­er­al more book cov­ers and a bib­li­og­ra­phy at Mono­skop.

A prod­uct of the Weimar Republic’s high cul­ture, the Ger­man Expres­sion­ist move­ment large­ly came to an end, along with Der Sturm and its asso­ci­at­ed work, as the Nazis came to pow­er. But the cur­rent of Expres­sion­ism moved pow­er­ful­ly through the cen­tu­ry, inspir­ing among oth­ers the mid-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can Abstract Expres­sion­ists, who often broke away from detached, the­o­ret­i­cal under­stand­ings of art and engaged in direct and some­times bru­tal ways with paint and can­vas. But one can’t imag­ine these lat­er painters tak­ing the sub­jec­tive license they did with­out the ground­work laid by the tire­less Kandin­sky and his con­tem­po­raries or Walden’s expan­sive Der Sturm move­ment.

You can peruse the entire col­lec­tion of Der Sturm here.

via Mono­skop

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Down­load 2,000 Mag­nif­i­cent Turn-of-the-Cen­tu­ry Art Posters, Cour­tesy of the New York Pub­lic Library

Down­load the Com­plete Archive of Oz, “the Most Con­tro­ver­sial Mag­a­zine of the 60s,” Fea­tur­ing R. Crumb, Ger­maine Greer & More

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

Philosophy Prof Illustrates Nietzsche’s Zarathustra in the Style of Dr. Seuss

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John Hol­bo, a phi­los­o­phy prof at the Nation­al Uni­ver­si­ty of Sin­ga­pore, recent­ly gave the world a free illus­trat­ed edi­tion of three dia­logues by Pla­to (get it as a free PDF, or via Ama­zon). Now he’s embark­ing on a new cre­ative project called On Beyond Zarathus­tra.

holbo 3

Over on the Crooked Tim­ber blog, Hol­bo light-heart­ed­ly launched the project with these words:

Ever since Pla­to wrote Socrates “Will You Please Go Now!” and “If I Ran The Polis!” great philoso­phers have most­ly start­ed out as authors of (what we would now call) Dr. Seuss-style children’s books. A lot of this old stuff has been lost. Schol­ars have neglect­ed it. But I’m under­tak­ing a project of restora­tion and study, start­ing with Niet­zsche.

I’ll be post­ing updates reg­u­lar­ly to the Flickr page – few pages a week as my work pro­ceeds. We’re just get­ting to the good bits: The Rope Dancer and the Last Man!

Please do feel to share with any friends who may have a schol­ar­ly inter­est in the his­to­ri­og­ra­phy of phi­los­o­phy. (I’ll have some more notes about that soon.)

We’ve post­ed here the first four pages of Hol­bo’s new graph­i­cal project.

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To see how the project unfolds, you can reg­u­lar­ly vis­it this album on Flickr. The are cur­rent­ly 22 pages, with the promise of many more to come soon.

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And, take note, once he’s done with Friedrich, Hol­bo promis­es to turn to Descartes and Kierkegaard and give them the same Dr. Seuss treat­ment. Enjoy the ride.

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.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via Dai­ly Nous

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dr. Seuss Draws Anti-Japan­ese Car­toons Dur­ing WWII, Then Atones with Hor­ton Hears a Who!

Hear Clas­si­cal Music Com­posed by Friedrich Niet­zsche: 43 Orig­i­nal Tracks

135 Free Phi­los­o­phy eBooks

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

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Virginia Woolf Watches The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari & Writes “The Cinema,” a Seminal Attempt to Understand the Power of Movies (1926)

“A shad­ow shaped like a tad­pole sud­den­ly appeared at one cor­ner of the screen,” recalls Vir­ginia Woolf. “It swelled to an immense size, quiv­ered, bulged, and sank back again into nonen­ti­ty. For a moment it seemed to embody some mon­strous dis­eased imag­i­na­tion of the lunatic’s brain. For a moment it seemed as if thought could be con­veyed by shape more effec­tive­ly than by words. The mon­strous quiv­er­ing tad­pole seemed to be fear itself, and not the state­ment ‘I am afraid.’ ” She wit­nessed this at a screen­ing of the silent Ger­man Expres­sion­ist hor­ror film The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari (which you can watch for your­self above), and in it glimpsed the future of cin­e­ma itself.

Woolf elab­o­rates on this glimpse in her essay “The Cin­e­ma,” first pub­lished in a 1926 issue of the jour­nal The Nation and Athenaeum. (The British Library has a scan from the pub­li­ca­tion here.) “Peo­ple say that the sav­age no longer exists in us, that we are at the fag-end of civ­i­liza­tion, that every­thing has been said already, and that it is too late to be ambi­tious,” she begins. “But these philoso­phers have pre­sum­ably for­got­ten the movies.” She goes on, in this short piece, to come to grips with this new artis­tic medi­um, to artic­u­late her expe­ri­ence of it (as “the eye licks it up all instan­ta­neous­ly”) as well as its poten­tial and then-cur­rent lim­i­ta­tions, such as an over-reliance on lit­er­ary mate­r­i­al.

“The alliance is unnat­ur­al,” the author of Mrs. Dal­loway (filmed in 1997, and two years lat­er more imag­i­na­tive­ly used as the basis for Michael Cun­ning­ham’s nov­el The Hours, turned into cin­e­ma itself in 2002) declares about the adap­ta­tion of nov­els into movies. “Eye and brain are torn asun­der ruth­less­ly as they try vain­ly to work in cou­ples. The eye says ‘Here is Anna Karen­i­na.’ A volup­tuous lady in black vel­vet wear­ing pearls comes before us. But the brain says, ‘That is no more Anna Karen­i­na than it is Queen Vic­to­ria.’ ” She com­plains, as New York­er film crit­ic Richard Brody puts it, “that moviemak­ers, instead of rely­ing on the inher­ent prop­er­ties of cin­e­ma, har­ness the mak­ing of images to sto­ry­telling by way of lit­er­a­ture,” pre­sum­ably fail­ing to under­stand that “the cinema’s dis­tinc­tive pow­er involves cre­at­ing a new kind of visu­al expe­ri­ence.”

“It is only when we give up try­ing to con­nect the pic­tures with the book,” writes Woolf, “that we guess from some acci­den­tal scene — like the gar­den­er mow­ing the lawn — what the cin­e­ma might do if left to its own devices.” Nine­ty years lat­er, many cinephiles still dream of that gar­den­er mow­ing the lawn, await­ing the day that cin­e­ma gets left to its own devices to ful­fill the vast cre­ative and artis­tic promise only occa­sion­al­ly explored by the film­mak­ers. Woolf likens them to a “sav­age tribe” who, “instead of find­ing two bars of iron to play with, had found scat­ter­ing the seashore fid­dles, flutes, sax­o­phones, trum­pets, grand pianos by Erard and Bech­stein, and had begun with incred­i­ble ener­gy, but with­out know­ing a note of music, to ham­mer and thump upon them all at the same time.” Cin­e­ma devel­oped rapid­ly in the day of Dr. Cali­gari, and has devel­oped in cer­tain ways since, but its great­est expres­sions lie ahead — an obser­va­tion as true now as when Woolf, with slight dis­ap­point­ment but nev­er­the­less great expec­ta­tion, first made it. You can read here sem­i­nal essay, “The Cin­e­ma,” here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari, the Influ­en­tial Ger­man Expres­sion­ist Film (1920)

Vir­ginia Woolf Writes About Joyce’s Ulysses, “Nev­er Did Any Book So Bore Me,” and Quits at Page 200

Vir­ginia Woolf Offers Gen­tle Advice on “How One Should Read a Book”

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Vir­ginia Woolf

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Battle to Finish a PhD: World War I Soldier Completes His Dissertation in the Trenches (1916)

phd in trenches

Con­nie Ruzich, a WWI poet­ry blog­ger, recent­ly high­light­ed on Twit­ter a his­toric news­pa­per clip­ping that will put the tra­vails of acad­eme into per­spec­tive. Get­ting a Ph.D. is always hard. But hard is rel­a­tive.

Case in point…

100 years ago, Pierre Mau­rice Mas­son, a young schol­ar, found him­self fight­ing in north-east­ern France. Draft­ed in 1914, Mas­son rose through the mil­i­tary ranks, mov­ing from sergeant, to sub-lieu­tenant, to lieu­tenant. Mean­while, in the dis­com­fort of the trench­es, he con­tin­ued work­ing on his doc­tor­al thesis–a long dis­ser­ta­tion on the reli­gious train­ing of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. By the spring of 1916, he had com­plet­ed the text, cor­rect­ed the proofs, and draft­ed an intro­duc­tion (of course, that comes last). Final­ly, he announced to friends, “The mon­ster is ready!” And he sought a leave of absence to return to the Sor­bonne to receive his doc­tor­ate.

Alas, that did­n’t hap­pen. The news­pa­per clip above tells the rest of the poignant sto­ry.

You can read Mas­son’s posthu­mous­ly pub­lished the­sis, La for­ma­tion religieuse de Rousseaufree online.

via Ted Gioia/Con­nie Ruzich

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.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Illus­trat­ed Guide to a Ph.D.

Read John Nash’s Super Short PhD The­sis with 26 Pages & 2 Cita­tions: The Beau­ty of Invent­ing a Field

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

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The Opening of King Tut’s Tomb, Shown in Stunning Colorized Photos (1923–5)

Tut Sarcophagus

Inquir­ing minds want to know, imme­di­ate­ly and with­out any egghead qual­i­fi­ca­tions: Does King Tut’s tomb have hid­den rooms or does it not have hid­den rooms? Answer? Well, it depends who you ask….

That’s unsat­is­fy­ing isn’t it? If real life were direct­ed by Spiel­berg, there would be no ques­tion: of course there are hid­den rooms, and they’re filled with inge­nious, dead­ly boo­by traps and price­less mag­i­cal objects.

CNN reports a “90% chance of hid­den cham­bers,” per­haps con­tain­ing the remains of Queen Nefer­ti­ti. But archae­ol­o­gist and for­mer real­i­ty TV star Zahi Hawass—Egypt’s own Indi­ana Jones, as he’s been called—doubts it, as do sev­er­al oth­er archae­o­log­i­cal experts. Bum­mer.

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If you need some Tomb-Raider-style dra­ma, how­ev­er, you could do worse than to read the orig­i­nal accounts of Howard Carter (above, with anony­mous work­er), the Eng­lish Egyp­tol­o­gist who orig­i­nal­ly opened Tut’s tomb in 1922 after five years of fruit­less search­ing.

Slow­ly, des­per­ate­ly slow­ly it seemed to us as we watched, the remains of pas­sage debris that encum­bered the low­er part of the door­way were removed, until at last we had the whole door clear before us. The deci­sive moment had arrived. With trem­bling hands I made a tiny breach in the upper left hand cor­ner. Dark­ness and blank space… not filled like the pas­sage we had just cleared.… For the moment —an eter­ni­ty it must have seemed to the oth­ers stand­ing by—I was struck dumb with amaze­ment, and when Lord Carnar­von, unable to stand the sus­pense any longer, inquired anx­ious­ly, ‘Can you see any­thing?’ it was all I could do to get out the words, ‘Yes, won­der­ful things.’

Pair this nar­ra­tive with the pho­tographs you see here of the trea­sure horde Carter and his aris­to­crat­ic bene­fac­tors stole, er, dis­cov­ered in the tomb, and you’ve got your­self one heck of a real-life-adven­ture. Tak­en between 1923–25, the pho­tos doc­u­ment many of the 5,298 items that need­ed to be “record­ed, sketched, and in some cas­es doc­u­ment­ed pho­to­graph­i­cal­ly,” the short video below tells us, the first in a 15-part mini video series cre­at­ed for a huge New York exhi­bi­tion, The Dis­cov­ery of King Tut, which just closed on May 15th.

You may have missed the big show—with its life-sized recre­ations of the tomb’s cham­bers— but you can still expe­ri­ence much of the grandeur at its web­site. And Mash­able brings us these pho­tographs, col­orized for the event by a com­pa­ny called Dynamichrome. The pho­tos were tak­en by Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art pho­tog­ra­ph­er Har­ry Bur­ton (aka The Pharao­h’s Pho­tog­a­rpher), the exhi­bi­tion web­site informs us (“Only in Bur­ton’s pho­tographs did the young pharaoh achieve true immor­tal­i­ty”!), and the sto­ry of their cre­ation is inte­gral to the opu­lent tomb’s exca­va­tion.

tut-2

Act­ing as “Carter’s eyes and mem­o­ry,” Bur­ton “trekked between the dis­cov­ery site, his lab­o­ra­to­ry (which he had set up in the tomb of King Seti II) and impro­vised dark­room in the neigh­bor­ing tomb KV 55.”

The results of Burton’s labors are 2,800 large-for­mat glass neg­a­tives, which doc­u­ment all of the finds, their loca­tion in the tomb and every sin­gle step of the exca­va­tors’ work with the utmost pre­ci­sion. Carter patient­ly and uncon­di­tion­al­ly encour­aged him like no oth­er mem­ber of his team and, thanks to his pho­tos, Bur­ton was the first and only archae­o­log­i­cal pho­tog­ra­ph­er to achieve world­wide fame.

The entire process of remov­ing the ancient trea­sures from Tut’s tomb took ten years, part­ly due to the dif­fi­cul­ty of pre­serv­ing organ­ic arti­facts like tex­tiles, frag­ile wood fur­ni­ture, and footwear.

tut-6

Thank­ful­ly for us muse­um­go­ers and lovers of ancient his­to­ry, the tomb’s dis­cov­er­ers treat­ed the arti­facts with great care. This has not always been the case. Through­out the nine­teenth and twen­ti­eth cen­turies, actu­al tomb raiders, whose motives were less noble, took what­ev­er they could find from ancient bur­ial sites in order to make a quick sale, with­out regard for the care­ful cat­a­logu­ing and con­ser­va­tion efforts Carter and his team observed. Theft and traf­fick­ing of arti­facts is still ram­pant today.

tut-5

In an inter­view with U.S. News & World Report, Hawass describes not only how the rav­ages of time and neglect have dam­aged some of Egyp­t’s pre­cious history—including Tut’s bur­ial mask—but also how “near­ly two thirds of Egypt­ian antiq­ui­ties were smug­gled abroad in 2011, 2012, and 2013.” Such traf­fick­ing, he says, “is ongo­ing, but to a less­er degree.” Much of it was the result of “muse­um-loot­ing” dur­ing the rev­o­lu­tion. Hawass also dis­putes the hid­den cham­bers the­o­ry, con­tend­ing that “Nefer­ti­ti could not have been buried in the Val­ley of the Kings, as she used to wor­ship King Tut. The High Priests of Amun would not have allowed it.”

tut-1

Unfor­tu­nate­ly, says Hawass, the only way to know for sure is to “dig through the north­ern wall” of the tomb, caus­ing it to col­lapse. But we should not give up hope yet of Tut’s tomb yield­ing more secrets. Archae­ol­o­gist Nicholas Reeves, who pub­lished a paper in 2015 on the exis­tence of hid­den cham­bers, has fur­ther val­i­dat­ed his con­clu­sions with scans that sug­gest met­al and organ­ic mate­ri­als beyond the tomb’s north wall. Maybe Hawass is wrong, and we’ll soon be post­ing pic­tures of the trea­sures gath­ered from Nefer­ti­ti’s tomb. See many more of the col­orized Tut pho­tos at Mash­able.

via Mash­able

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Met Dig­i­tal­ly Restores the Col­ors of an Ancient Egypt­ian Tem­ple, Using Pro­jec­tion Map­ping Tech­nol­o­gy

Try the Old­est Known Recipe For Tooth­paste: From Ancient Egypt, Cir­ca the 4th Cen­tu­ry BC

The Turin Erot­ic Papyrus: The Old­est Known Depic­tion of Human Sex­u­al­i­ty (Cir­ca 1150 B.C.E.)

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

Brian Eno Answers Deep Questions from Music Journalist Dick Flash: The Best Eno Interview You’ll See

Sure­ly you’re famil­iar with the work of Dick Flash, the tire­less writer for Pork mag­a­zine who asks the most bril­liant minds in music today the deep­est, most seri­ous, most prob­ing ques­tions. Take, for instance, his inter­view of artist/pro­duc­er/am­bi­ent-music-inven­tor Bri­an Eno. “I was going to ask you whether you thought tech­nol­o­gy had affect­ed music very deeply,” Flash begins, “but then I thought, ‘Well, that’s a bloody stu­pid ques­tion to ask Bri­an Eno. I know you’ll agree that you just can’t imag­ine rock music with­out all the tech­nol­o­gy which goes into mak­ing it and get­ting it heard. How do you think that process has affect­ed what you’re doing?”

“Well —”

“I mean, when you’re mak­ing music, what even­tu­al­ly comes out has almost noth­ing to do with per­for­mance at all. I mean, I won­der if you some­times feel more like a painter than a com­pos­er.”

“The thing about this new record —”

“Because after all, your music is basi­cal­ly scenic. It’s not only that you make it more like a painter than a com­pos­er, but also, it does­n’t have a nar­ra­tive. There’s no sort of tele­o­log­i­cal struc­ture to it. It’s not goal-direct­ed. Instead it’s a bit like a sort of emo­tion­al micro­cli­mate, a place more than an event. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Yeah, well, I —”

“I mean, I’m not try­ing to put words into your mouth, but the real ques­tion is, should this stuff be called music at all, or is it a new art form? Do you think that this and oth­er media suf­fer from the car­ry­over of their orig­i­nal names, when in fact they’ve changed into some­thing com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent.”

“Well, I like paint­ing, yeah. I real­ly like it. Um…”

The inter­view, con­duct­ed at the time of the release of Eno’s album Small Craft on a Milk Sea (which Flash calls Milk Crate on a Small Sea) con­sti­tutes a true meet­ing of the minds. The con­ver­sa­tion cov­ers all the sub­jects that mat­ter: ecol­o­gy, film scores, the 1956 Copy­right Act, the human need for sur­ren­der, “the inter­net and all that,” the Edge’s hat, and why Eno does so much col­lab­o­ra­tion in the stu­dio. As to that last, the inter­view­er has a the­o­ry: “You love play­ing with what some­body else is play­ing as much as you enjoy play­ing with your­self.”

But wait — you say you’ve nev­er heard of Dick Flash? Watch the inter­view again: does­n’t he sound and look, behind that hip hair and spec­ta­cles, at least a lit­tle bit famil­iar? And does­n’t Eno him­self, con­fus­ing Mal­colm McLaren with Mar­shall McLuhan and going on about Annie Lennox’s neck, seem unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly inar­tic­u­late, almost as if he’s pok­ing fun at him­self? (And who’s that in the pic­ture on his com­put­er desk­top, any­way?) Like all the finest inter­views through­out the his­to­ry of jour­nal­ism, this one leaves us with more ques­tions than answers.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bri­an Eno on Why Do We Make Art & What’s It Good For?: Down­load His 2015 John Peel Lec­ture

The Genius of Bri­an Eno On Dis­play in 80 Minute Q&A: Talks Art, iPad Apps, ABBA, & More

Jump Start Your Cre­ative Process with Bri­an Eno’s “Oblique Strate­gies”

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

David Bowie & Bri­an Eno’s Col­lab­o­ra­tion on “Warsza­wa” Reimag­ined in Com­ic Ani­ma­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Go Inside the First 30 Minutes of Kubrick’s The Shining with This 360º Virtual Reality Video

Apolo­gies to Stephen King, but when I think of The Shin­ing, I think of Stan­ley Kubrick’s 1980 film. While King has long and vig­or­ous­ly object­ed to Kubrick’s lib­er­ties in adapt­ing the sto­ry, I’d argue it’s one of those oft-lis­ti­cled cas­es where the film is bet­ter than the book. Grant­ed, the hor­ror writer has made sev­er­al jus­ti­fied crit­i­cisms of the film’s misog­y­nis­tic por­tray­al of Shelly Duvall’s char­ac­ter, but he has also con­fessed to a total indif­fer­ence to movies, telling Rolling Stone, “I see [film] as a less­er medi­um than fic­tion, than lit­er­a­ture, and a more ephemer­al medi­um.” In this instance, at least, he’s dead wrong. Movie lovers have been obsess­ing over every blessed detail of Kubrick’s The Shin­ing for 36 years and show no signs of stop­ping.

Part of the rea­son the sto­ry works bet­ter on film than on the page is that The Shin­ing is what one might call an archi­tec­tur­al horror—its mon­ster is a build­ing, the Over­look Hotel, and Kubrick wise­ly exploit­ed the idea to its max­i­mum poten­tial, adding an addi­tion­al struc­ture, the top­i­ary maze, as a fur­ther instan­ti­a­tion of the story’s themes of iso­la­tion, entrap­ment, and exis­ten­tial dead ends. Video game designers—many the same age as the film’s young pro­tag­o­nist Dan­ny when the movie came out—surely paid atten­tion. The long takes of Danny’s explo­ration of the omi­nous, emp­ty moun­tain lodge now, in hind­sight, resem­ble any num­ber of vir­tu­al con­sole and PC worlds in many a first-per­son game.

Now join­ing the archi­tec­tural­ly-obsessed reimag­in­ings of The Shin­ing is “Shin­ing 360,” a project by dig­i­tal artist Claire Hentschk­er. She describes it as:

a 30-minute audio-visu­al exper­i­ment for VR derived from the phys­i­cal space with­in Stan­ley Kubrick’s film ‘The Shin­ing.’ Using pho­togram­me­try, 3D ele­ments are extract­ed and extrud­ed from the orig­i­nal film stills, and the sub­se­quent frag­ments are stitched togeth­er and viewed along the orig­i­nal cam­era path.

In oth­er words, the project allows view­ers to move around, using 360-degree Youtube video, in a dig­i­tal­ly frag­ment­ed space built out of the first 30 min­utes of the film. Be aware that there are brows­er restric­tions, but if you open the video in Chrome, Fire­fox, Inter­net Explor­er, or Opera, you’ll be able to nav­i­gate through the space using your mouse or the WASD keys.

It’s a very weird expe­ri­ence. The Overlook’s inte­ri­or exists in con­tigu­ous 3D pho­to­graph­ic blobs sus­pend­ed in black nothingness—giving one the feel­ing of reach­ing the edge of some pre­vi­ous­ly-believ­able video game world and find­ing out there’s noth­ing beyond it. And it’s made all the creepi­er by the near-exclu­sion of the very few peo­ple the hotel does contain—with the excep­tion of a kind of residue of par­tial bodies—and by a dron­ing, one-note ambi­ent syn­the­siz­er score. This isn’t the first time Hentschk­er has used the film’s spa­tial unique­ness as com­put­er art. In the short stu­dent video above from 2015, she intro­duces a wonky tech­ni­cal pre­cur­sor to “Shin­ing 360” that also the­mat­i­cal­ly address­es the movie’s misog­y­ny: “Map­ping the Female Gaze in Hor­ror Movies.”

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load & Play The Shin­ing Board Game

Stan­ley Kubrick’s The Shin­ing Reimag­ined as Wes Ander­son and David Lynch Movies

Watch a Shot-by-Shot Remake of Kubrick’s The Shin­ing, a 48-Minute Music Video Accom­pa­ny­ing the New Album by Aesop Rock

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

Live Stream the World Science Festival, Starting (Now) with This Tribute to Oliver Sacks

A quick heads up: The World Sci­ence Fes­ti­val is get­ting under­way today in New York City. Through­out the week (June 1–5), the fes­ti­val will stage 50 live pro­grams that bring togeth­er great minds in sci­ence and the arts. A num­ber of them you can stream free online, includ­ing “Awak­en­ing the Mind: A Cel­e­bra­tion of the Life and Work of Oliv­er Sacks.” Watch it now (5pm CA time) right above. For a com­plete list of stream­able events, click here.

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.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Free: Download 5.3 Million Images from Books Published Over Last 500 Years

Dance Records of the Month 1917

Back in 2014, we brought to your atten­tion an image archive rival­ing the largest of its kind on the web: the Inter­net Archive Book Images col­lec­tion at Flickr. There, you’ll find mil­lions of “pub­lic domain images, all extract­ed from books, mag­a­zines and news­pa­pers pub­lished over a 500 year peri­od.”

At the time, the col­lec­tion con­tained 2.6 mil­lion pub­lic domain images, but “even­tu­al­ly,” we not­ed in a pre­vi­ous post, “this archive will grow to 14.6 mil­lion images.” Well, it has almost dou­bled in size since our first post, and it now fea­tures over 5.3 mil­lion images, thanks again to Kalev Lee­taru, who head­ed the dig­i­ti­za­tion project while on a Yahoo-spon­sored fel­low­ship at George­town Uni­ver­si­ty.

Records of Big Game 1910

Rather than using opti­cal char­ac­ter recog­ni­tion (OCR), as most dig­i­ti­za­tion soft­ware does to scan only the text of books, Leetaru’s code reversed the process, extract­ing the images the Inter­net Archive’s OCR typ­i­cal­ly ignores. Thou­sands of graph­ic illus­tra­tions and pho­tographs await your dis­cov­ery in the search­able data­base. Type in “records,” for exam­ple, and you’ll run into the 1917 ad in “Colom­bia Records for June” (top) or the creepy 1910 pho­to­graph above from “Records of big game: with their dis­tri­b­u­tion, char­ac­ter­is­tics, dimen­sions, weights, and horn & tusk mea­sure­ments.” Two of many gems amidst util­i­tar­i­an images from dull cor­po­rate and gov­ern­ment record books.

1912 Book of Home Building

Search “library” and you’ll arrive at a fas­ci­nat­ing assem­blage, from the fash­ion­able room above from 1912’s “Book of Home Build­ing and Dec­o­ra­tion,” to the rotund, mourn­ful, soon-to-be carved pig below from 1882’s “The Amer­i­can Farmer: A Com­plete Agri­cul­tur­al Library,” to the nifty Nau­tilus draw­ing fur­ther down from an 1869 British Muse­um of Nat­ur­al His­to­ry pub­li­ca­tion. To see more images from any of the sources, sim­ply click on the title of the book that appears in the search results. The orga­ni­za­tion of the archive could use some improve­ment: as yet mil­lions of images have not been orga­nized into the­mat­ic albums, which would great­ly stream­line brows­ing through them. But it’s a minor gripe giv­en the num­ber and vari­ety of free, pub­lic domain images avail­able for any kind of use.

American Farmer Library 1882

More­over, Lee­taru has planned to offer his code to insti­tu­tions, telling the BBC, “Any library could repeat this process. That’s actu­al­ly my hope, that libraries around the world run this same process of their dig­i­tized books to con­stant­ly expand this uni­verse of images.” Schol­ars and archivists of book and art his­to­ry and visu­al cul­ture will find such a “uni­verse of images” invalu­able, as will edi­tors of Wikipedia. “What I want to see,” Lee­taru also said, “is… Wikipedia have a nation­al day of going through this [col­lec­tion] to illus­trate Wikipedia arti­cles.”

Museum of Natural History 1869

Short of that, indi­vid­ual edi­tors and users can sort through images of all kinds when they can’t find freely avail­able pic­tures of their sub­ject. And, of course, sites like Open Culture—which rely main­ly on pub­lic domain and cre­ative com­mons images—benefit great­ly as well. So, thanks, Inter­net Archive Book Images Col­lec­tion! We’ll check back lat­er and let you know when they’ve grown even more.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load for Free 2.6 Mil­lion Images from Books Pub­lished Over Last 500 Years on Flickr

Old Book Illus­tra­tions: Free Archive Lets You Down­load Beau­ti­ful Images From the Gold­en Age of Book Illus­tra­tion

The British Library Puts 1,000,000 Images into the Pub­lic Domain, Mak­ing Them Free to Reuse & Remix

The Get­ty Adds Anoth­er 77,000 Images to its Open Con­tent Archive

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


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