New Research Shows How Music Lessons During Childhood Benefit the Brain for a Lifetime

As a some­time musi­cian, it’s only nat­ur­al that I want my four-year-old daugh­ter to take an inter­est in music. Sure, it’s a fun bond­ing activ­i­ty, and sure, there may be a bit of a stage dad lurk­ing inside me at times. But I’m also con­vinced of the tan­gi­ble ben­e­fits play­ing a musi­cal instru­ment can have on one’s per­son­al devel­op­ment. New sci­ence, it seems, backs up this intu­ition. The Wash­ing­ton Post report­ed last year on a recent study from North­west­ern Uni­ver­si­ty which found that “Music train­ing not only helps chil­dren devel­op fine motor skills, but aids emo­tion­al and behav­ioral mat­u­ra­tion as well.”

This may not come as a sur­prise. And yet, the details of the study pro­vide insights our intu­itions about the pow­er of musi­cal edu­ca­tion may lack. For one thing, as you can see in the CNN report above, the ben­e­fits of learn­ing to play music as a child can last for decades, even if some­one hasn’t picked up an instru­ment since those ear­ly lessons. As Dr. Nina Kraus, direc­tor of Northwestern’s Audi­to­ry Neu­ro­science Lab­o­ra­to­ry, explains, good musi­cal tim­ing is strong­ly cor­re­lat­ed with read­ing skills and gen­er­al men­tal acu­ity. Accord­ing to a co-author of the study, James Hudzi­ak, pro­fes­sor of psy­chi­a­try at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ver­mont, ear­ly musi­cal train­ing was shown to have “accel­er­at­ed cor­ti­cal orga­ni­za­tion in atten­tion skill, anx­i­ety man­age­ment and emo­tion­al con­trol.” These brain changes can accom­pa­ny us well into old age.

Anoth­er, Cana­di­an study, pub­lished in Feb­ru­ary in the The Jour­nal of Neu­ro­science, found that child­hood music lessons boost the abil­i­ty of old­er adults to hear speech, a skill that begins to weak­en lat­er in life. The study found “robust” evi­dence that “start­ing for­mal lessons on a musi­cal instru­ment pri­or to age 14 and con­tin­u­ing intense train­ing for up to a decade appears to enhance key areas in the brain that sup­port speech recog­ni­tion.” Even music lessons tak­en lat­er life can help reha­bil­i­tate the brains of old­er adults. “The find­ings,” writes Sci­ence Dai­ly, “under­score the impor­tance of music instruc­tion in schools and in reha­bil­i­ta­tive pro­grams for old­er adults.”

Music teach­ers cer­tain­ly need this kind of evi­dence to bol­ster sup­port for ail­ing pro­grams in schools, and musi­cal­ly-inclined par­ents will cheer these find­ings as well. But before the stage par­ent in you begins enrolling your kid in every music les­son you can fit into the sched­ule, take heed. As Dr. Kraus dis­cov­ered in the North­west­ern study, forc­ing kids to show up and par­tic­i­pate under duress won’t exer­cise their brains. Real, active engage­ment is key. “We like to say that ‘mak­ing music mat­ters,’” says Kraus, “because it is only through the active gen­er­a­tion and manip­u­la­tion of sound that music can rewire the brain.” While musi­cal train­ing may be one par­tic­u­lar­ly enjoy­able way to strength­en cog­ni­tion, it isn’t the only way. But even if they don’t stick with it, the kids will­ing to put in the hours (and yes, the longer the bet­ter) will expe­ri­ence pos­i­tive change that lasts a life­time.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Play­ing an Instru­ment Is a Great Work­out For Your Brain: New Ani­ma­tion Explains Why

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

This is Your Brain on Jazz Impro­vi­sa­tion: The Neu­ro­science of Cre­ativ­i­ty

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

Kurt Vonnegut Creates a Report Card for His Novels, Ranking Them From A+ to D

I love turn­ing teenagers on to the work of author Kurt Von­negut.

I want their minds to be blown the way mine was at 15, when I picked up Slap­stick, his 8th nov­el, for rea­sons I no longer remem­ber. It wasn’t on rec­om­men­da­tion of some beloved teacher, nor was there any Von­negut on our home shelves, despite the fact that he was a local author. What­ev­er drew me to that book, thank god it did. It was the begin­ning of a life­long romance.

What grabbed me so? His genius idea for bestow­ing an arti­fi­cial extend­ed fam­i­ly on every cit­i­zen, via the assign­ment of mid­dle names:

 I told him, ‘your new mid­dle name would con­sist of a noun, the name of a flower or fruit or nut or veg­etable or legume, or a bird or a rep­tile or a fish, or a mol­lusk, or a gem or a min­er­al or a chem­i­cal ele­ment — con­nect­ed by a hyphen to a num­ber between one and twen­ty.’ I asked him what his name was at the present time.

  ‘Elmer Glenville Gras­so,’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘you might become Elmer Uranium‑3 Gras­so, say. Every­body with Ura­ni­um as a part of their mid­dle name would be your cousin.’

This held enor­mous appeal for me as the only child of an only child. Lone­some No More!

It also con­tained the most won­der­ful pro­fan­i­ty I had ever heard:

You ask him his mid­dle name, and when he tells you “Oys­ter-19” or “Chickadee‑1” or “Hol­ly­hock-13” you say to him: Buster — I hap­pen to be a Uranium‑3. You have one hun­dred and nine­ty thou­sand cousins and ten thou­sand broth­ers and sis­ters. You’re not exact­ly alone in this world. I have rel­a­tives of my own to look after. So why don’t you take a fly­ing fuck at a rolling dough­nut? Why don’t you take a fly­ing fuck at the moooooooooooon?

Imag­ine my dis­may when just two books lat­er, Von­negut gave Slap­stick the low­est pos­si­ble mark in a lit­er­ary self eval­u­a­tion pub­lished in Palm Sun­day, below.

Vonnegut grades

He wasn’t describ­ing the dif­fer­ence between a B and a B+. In Vonnegut’s mind, Slap­stick was a D. In oth­er words, a min­i­mal­ly accept­able, deeply below aver­age per­for­mance.

(Slaugh­ter­house Five, which also con­tains the rolling dough­nut line, received an A+. Break­fast of Cham­pi­ons, my oth­er favorite, earned a C.)

He lat­er reflect­ed to jour­nal­ist Char­lie Rose that he’d been over­ly hard on the title. But the crit­ics had trashed it when it first appeared, and pre­sum­ably crit­ics knew best. So much for Von­negut the rebel and class clown. This was a clear case of give the teacher the answer you think she wants.

I give it an A+, and so would you, if you’d dis­cov­ered it when I did.

How about you? Any marks you’d change on Vonnegut’s report card?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 Tips on How to Write a Good Short Sto­ry

Kurt Von­negut Maps Out the Uni­ver­sal Shapes of Our Favorite Sto­ries

Hear Kurt Von­negut Read Slaugh­ter­house-Five, Cat’s Cra­dle & Oth­er Nov­els

Ayun Rasp­ber­ry-19 Hal­l­i­day cel­e­brates the new edi­tion of her book, No Touch Mon­key and Oth­er Trav­el Lessons Learned Too Late. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

The First Animated Feature Film: The Adventures of Prince Achmed by Lotte Reiniger (1926)


Ear­li­er this week, we fea­tured pio­neer­ing Ger­man ani­ma­tor Lotte Reiniger’s ani­mat­ed sil­hou­ette films, for which she adapt­ed old Euro­pean sto­ries like “Cin­derel­la,” “Thum­be­li­na,” and “Hansel and Gre­tel” into a strik­ing visu­al style — strik­ing now, and even more strik­ing in the 1920s — sim­i­lar to tra­di­tion­al Indone­sian shad­ow pup­pet the­ater. Her work draws plen­ty of mate­r­i­al from folk­tales, but not just those from in and around her home­land (Ger­many). For her most ambi­tious work, for instance, Reiniger looked all the way to Ara­bia, adapt­ing sto­ries from no less ven­er­a­ble a source than One Thou­sand and One Nights. The 65-minute result, 1926’s The Adven­tures of Prince Achmed, stands as the ear­li­est ani­mat­ed fea­ture film. (See a nice clip above. The com­plete film lives on DVD/Blu Ray.)

“For cen­turies Prince Achmed on his mag­ic horse had lived a com­fort­able life as a well-loved fairy tale fig­ure of the Ara­bi­an nights and was well con­tent­ed with that,” Reiniger writes in her intro­duc­tion to the pic­ture. “But one day he was thrown out of his peace­ful exis­tence by a film com­pa­ny which want­ed to employ him and many oth­er char­ac­ters of the same sto­ries for an ani­mat­ed film.” And so, in 1923, it fell to her and a select group of col­lab­o­ra­tors to make that film. They labored for the bet­ter part of three years, not just because of the require­ments of shoot­ing each and every frame by hand but because of the exper­i­men­tal nature of ani­ma­tion itself. “We had to exper­i­ment and try out all sorts of inven­tions to make the sto­ry come alive. The more the shoot­ing of Prince Achmed advanced the more ambi­tious he became.”

At that time, The Adven­tures of Prince Achmed did not, of course, even faint­ly resem­ble any fea­ture yet made. “No the­atre dared show it,” Reiniger writes, “for ‘it was not done.’ ” And so they did it them­selves, screen­ing the film just out­side Berlin, which led to a show in Paris, then one in Berlin prop­er, by which point Prince Achmed and his mag­ic horse were well on their way to a place in the ani­ma­tion his­to­ry books. They near­ly lost that place due to the 1945 bat­tle of Berlin, when the film’s neg­a­tive was lost amid the destruc­tion, but the British Film Insti­tute had made a neg­a­tive of their own for a Lon­don screen­ing, which even­tu­al­ly became the mate­r­i­al for a restora­tion and revival. “The revival was done by the son of the banker who spon­sored the film in 1923,” notes Reiniger. “He had assist­ed in its cre­ation as a small boy. So it was grant­ed to old Prince Achmed to have a hap­py res­ur­rec­tion after almost half a cen­tu­ry” — and he con­tin­ues to win new fans today.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ground­break­ing Sil­hou­ette Ani­ma­tions of Lotte Reiniger: Cin­derel­la, Hansel and Gre­tel, and More

Sita Sings the Blues Now on YouTube

Ear­ly Japan­ese Ani­ma­tions: The Ori­gins of Ani­me (1917–1931)

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

William Faulkner Rocked Fourth Grade (1907–1908)

faulkner report card

William Faulkn­er attend­ed the Uni­ver­si­ty of Mis­sis­sip­pi and last­ed only three semes­ters. He skipped class­es, man­aged to pull a D in Eng­lish, and then dropped out in 1920.

A far cry from his aca­d­e­m­ic per­for­mance in 1907–1908 when, as a fourth grad­er, he got most­ly E’s (pre­sum­ably mean­ing “Excel­lent”), a year­ly aver­age of 96, and a high grade of 98 in Gram­mar.

Faulkn­er’s 4th grade report comes to you cour­tesy of The Har­ry Ran­som Cen­ter’s Insta­gram account. Give it a fol­low.

via Bib­liok­lept

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

William Faulkn­er Resigns From His Post Office Job With a Spec­tac­u­lar Let­ter (1924)

William Faulkn­er Out­lines on His Office Wall the Plot of His Pulitzer Prize Win­ning Nov­el, A Fable (1954)

Guide­lines for Han­dling William Faulkner’s Drink­ing Dur­ing For­eign Trips From the US State Depart­ment (1955)

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Albert Einstein​ & Sigmund Freud​ Exchange Letters and Debate How to Make the World Free from War (1932)

einstein freud

The prob­lem of vio­lence, per­haps the true root of all social ills, seems irre­solv­able. Yet, as most thought­ful peo­ple have real­ized after the wars of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, the dan­gers human aggres­sion pose have only increased expo­nen­tial­ly along with glob­al­iza­tion and tech­no­log­i­cal devel­op­ment. And as Albert Ein­stein rec­og­nized after the nuclear attacks on Hiroshi­ma and Nagasaki—which he part­ly helped to engi­neer with the Man­hat­tan Project—the aggres­sive poten­tial of nations in war had reached mass sui­ci­dal lev­els.

After Einstein’s involve­ment in the cre­ation of the atom­ic bomb, he spent his life “work­ing for dis­ar­ma­ment and glob­al gov­ern­ment,” writes psy­chol­o­gist Mark Lei­th, “anguished by his impos­si­ble, Faus­t­ian deci­sion.” Yet, as we dis­cov­er in let­ters Ein­stein wrote to Sig­mund Freud in 1932, he had been advo­cat­ing for a glob­al solu­tion to war long before the start of World War II. Ein­stein and Freud’s cor­re­spon­dence took place under the aus­pices of the League of Nation’s new­ly-formed Inter­na­tion­al Insti­tute of Intel­lec­tu­al Coop­er­a­tion, cre­at­ed to fos­ter dis­cus­sion between promi­nent pub­lic thinkers. Ein­stein enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly chose Freud as his inter­locu­tor.

In his first let­ter to the psy­chol­o­gist, he writes, “This is the prob­lem: Is there any way of deliv­er­ing mankind from the men­ace of war?” Well before the atom­ic age, Ein­stein alleges the urgency of the ques­tion is a mat­ter of “com­mon knowledge”—that “with the advance of mod­ern sci­ence, this issue has come to mean a mat­ter of life and death for Civ­i­liza­tion as we know it.”

Ein­stein reveals him­self as a sort of Pla­ton­ist in pol­i­tics, endors­ing The Repub­lic’s vision of rule by elite philoso­pher-kings. But unlike Socrates in that work, the physi­cist pro­pos­es not city-states, but an entire world gov­ern­ment of intel­lec­tu­al elites, who hold sway over both reli­gious lead­ers and the League of Nations. The con­se­quence of such a poli­ty, he writes, would be world peace—the price, like­ly, far too high for any world leader to pay:

The quest of inter­na­tion­al secu­ri­ty involves the uncon­di­tion­al sur­ren­der by every nation, in a cer­tain mea­sure, of its lib­er­ty of action—its sov­er­eign­ty that is to say—and it is clear beyond all doubt that no oth­er road can lead to such secu­ri­ty.

Ein­stein express­es his pro­pos­al in some sin­is­ter-sound­ing terms, ask­ing how it might be pos­si­ble for a “small clique to bend the will of the major­i­ty.” His final ques­tion to Freud: “Is it pos­si­ble to con­trol man’s men­tal evo­lu­tion so as to make him proof against the psy­chosis of hate and destruc­tive­ness?”

Freud’s response to Ein­stein, dat­ed Sep­tem­ber, 1932, sets up a fas­ci­nat­ing dialec­tic between the physicist’s per­haps dan­ger­ous­ly naïve opti­mism and the psychologist’s unsen­ti­men­tal appraisal of the human sit­u­a­tion. Freud’s mode of analy­sis tends toward what we would now call evo­lu­tion­ary psy­chol­o­gy, or what he calls a “’mythol­o­gy’ of the instincts.” He gives a most­ly spec­u­la­tive account of the pre­his­to­ry of human con­flict, in which “a path was traced that led away from vio­lence to law”—itself main­tained by orga­nized vio­lence.

Freud makes explic­it ref­er­ence to ancient sources, writ­ing of the “Pan­hel­lenic con­cep­tion, the Greeks’ aware­ness of supe­ri­or­i­ty over their bar­bar­ian neigh­bors.” This kind of pro­to-nation­al­ism “was strong enough to human­ize the meth­ods of war­fare.” Like the Hel­lenis­tic mod­el, Freud pro­pos­es for indi­vid­u­als a course of human­iza­tion through edu­ca­tion and what he calls “iden­ti­fi­ca­tion” with “what­ev­er leads men to share impor­tant inter­ests,” thus cre­at­ing a “com­mu­ni­ty of feel­ing.” These means, he grants, may lead to peace. “From our ‘mythol­o­gy’ of the instincts,” he writes, “we may eas­i­ly deduce a for­mu­la for an indi­rect method of elim­i­nat­ing war.”

And yet, Freud con­cludes with ambiva­lence and a great deal of skep­ti­cism about the elim­i­na­tion of vio­lent instincts and war. He con­trasts ancient Greek pol­i­tics with “the Bol­she­vist con­cep­tions” that pro­pose a future end of war and which are like­ly “under present con­di­tions, doomed to fail.” Refer­ring to his the­o­ry of the com­pet­ing bina­ry instincts he calls Eros and Thanatos—roughly love (or lust) and death drives—Freud arrives at what he calls a plau­si­ble “mythol­o­gy” of human exis­tence:

The upshot of these obser­va­tions, as bear­ing on the sub­ject in hand, is that there is no like­li­hood of our being able to sup­press human­i­ty’s aggres­sive ten­den­cies. In some hap­py cor­ners of the earth, they say, where nature brings forth abun­dant­ly what­ev­er man desires, there flour­ish races whose lives go gen­tly by; unknow­ing of aggres­sion or con­straint. This I can hard­ly cred­it; I would like fur­ther details about these hap­py folk.

Nonethe­less, he says weari­ly and with more than a hint of res­ig­na­tion, “per­haps our hope” that war will end in the near future, “is not chimeri­cal.” Freud’s let­ter offers no easy answers, and shies away from the kinds of ide­al­is­tic polit­i­cal cer­tain­ties of Ein­stein. For this, the physi­cist expressed grat­i­tude, call­ing Freud’s lengthy response “a tru­ly clas­sic reply…. We can­not know what may grow from such seed.”

This exchange of let­ters, con­tends Hum­boldt State Uni­ver­si­ty phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sor John Pow­ell, “has nev­er been giv­en the atten­tion it deserves.… By the time the exchange between Ein­stein and Freud was pub­lished in 1933 under the title Why War?, Hitler, who was to dri­ve both men into exile, was already in pow­er, and the let­ters nev­er achieved the wide cir­cu­la­tion intend­ed for them.” Their cor­re­spon­dence is now no less rel­e­vant, and the ques­tions they address no less urgent and vex­ing. You can read the com­plete exchange at pro­fes­sor Powell’s site here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Albert Ein­stein Reads ‘The Com­mon Lan­guage of Sci­ence’ (1941)

Lis­ten as Albert Ein­stein Calls for Peace and Social Jus­tice in 1945

The Famous Let­ter Where Freud Breaks His Rela­tion­ship with Jung (1913)

Sig­mund Freud Appears in Rare, Sur­viv­ing Video & Audio Record­ed Dur­ing the 1930s

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

The History of Cartography, the “Most Ambitious Overview of Map Making Ever,” Now Free Online

history of cartography2

Worth a quick men­tion: The Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go Press has made avail­able online — at no cost — the first three vol­umes of The His­to­ry of Car­tog­ra­phy. Or what Edward Roth­stein, of The New York Times, called “the most ambi­tious overview of map mak­ing ever under­tak­en.” He con­tin­ues:

Peo­ple come to know the world the way they come to map it—through their per­cep­tions of how its ele­ments are con­nect­ed and of how they should move among them. This is pre­cise­ly what the series is attempt­ing by sit­u­at­ing the map at the heart of cul­tur­al life and reveal­ing its rela­tion­ship to soci­ety, sci­ence, and reli­gion…. It is try­ing to define a new set of rela­tion­ships between maps and the phys­i­cal world that involve more than geo­met­ric cor­re­spon­dence. It is in essence a new map of human attempts to chart the world.

If you head over to this page, then look in the upper left, you will see links to three vol­umes (avail­able in a free PDF for­mat). My sug­ges­tion would be to look at the gallery of col­or illus­tra­tions for each book, links to which you’ll find below. The image above, appear­ing in Vol. 2, dates back to 1534. It was cre­at­ed by Oronce Fine, the first chair of math­e­mat­ics in the Col­lège Roy­al (aka the Col­lège de France), and it fea­tures the world mapped in the shape of a heart. Pret­ty great.

Vol­ume 1

Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions

Vol­ume 2: Part 1

Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 1–24)
Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 25–40)

Vol­ume 2: Part 2

Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 1–16)
Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 17–40)

Vol­ume 2: Part 3

Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 1–8)
Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 9 –24)

Vol­ume 3: Part 1

Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 1–24)
Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 25–40)

Vol­ume 3: Part 2

Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 41–56)
Gallery of Col­or Illus­tra­tions (Plates 57–80)

Note: If you buy Vol 1. on Ama­zon, it will run you $248. As beau­ti­ful as the book prob­a­bly is, you’ll prob­a­bly appre­ci­ate this free dig­i­tal offer­ing. The series will be added to our col­lec­tion, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Won­der­ful Sci­en­tif­ic Map of the Moon from 1679: Can You Spot the Secret Moon Maid­en?

Galileo’s Moon Draw­ings, the First Real­is­tic Depic­tions of the Moon in His­to­ry (1609–1610)

New York Pub­lic Library Puts 20,000 Hi-Res Maps Online & Makes Them Free to Down­load and Use

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Woody Allen Tells a Classic Joke About Hemingway, Fitzgerald & Gertrude Stein in 1965: A Precursor to Midnight in Paris

The char­ac­ter we know as “Woody Allen,” the per­sona we see in his films, the stam­mer­ing neu­rot­ic weighed down by exis­ten­tial angst and a des­per­ate horni­ness laced with intel­lec­tu­al­i­ty, was cre­at­ed not in his movies, but in his stand-up, record­ings of which have been in and out of cir­cu­la­tion since 1964. (They’re now avail­able here.)

The direc­tor is report­ed­ly even more embar­rassed of these record­ings than his films–and any­one who has seen his sit-down with crit­ic Mark Cousins can attest, he can’t even stand to watch his films–but maybe that’s about the per­for­mance itself, and not the mate­r­i­al.

I say that because in the clip above, a rou­tine that Allen loved enough that he often used it to end his sets in the 60s, we can see the nascent idea for his Oscar-win­ning 2011 film Mid­night in Paris.

Riff­ing on The Lost Gen­er­a­tion, he imag­ines him­self back in time, carous­ing with Hem­ing­way, Gertrude Stein, Picas­so, F. Scott and Zel­da Fitzger­ald, and famed Span­ish bull­fight­er Manolete. It’s a one-two-three-and punch­line joke we won’t ruin, but it’s inter­est­ing that con­scious­ly or sub­con­scious­ly, this idea returned some five decades lat­er to be fleshed out into one of Allen’s best late-peri­od films. Was he always think­ing of this rou­tine as a some­day film? In inter­views from the time of the film’s release, he nev­er men­tions the stand-up bit.

Cre­at­ing art is often like com­post­ing, and one nev­er knows what might float to the top after years of influ­ences and absorp­tion. Lis­ten­ing to his stand-up, one can find the joke that he recy­cled for Annie Hall (“I was thrown out of NYU my fresh­man year, I cheat­ed on my meta­physics final in col­lege, I looked with­in the soul of the boy sit­ting next to me.”).

There’s also this rou­tine about a scary sub­way ride:

The scene was lat­er recre­at­ed in Bananas with a young Sylvester Stal­lone.

Allen’s pre-film career, when he was writ­ing for tele­vi­sion and his own stand-up, when his goals were to “write for Bob Hope and host the Oscars” makes for fas­ci­nat­ing read­ing, and we’ll leave you with this his­to­ry from WMFU. Nerdist has more thoughts on the rela­tion­ship between The Lost Gen­er­a­tion joke and Mid­night in Paris here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Woody Allen Lists the Great­est Films of All Time: Includes Clas­sics by Bergman, Truf­faut & Felli­ni

Woody Allen’s Type­writer, Scis­sors and Sta­pler: The Great Film­mak­er Shows Us How He Writes

Watch an Exu­ber­ant, Young Woody Allen Do Live Stand Up on British TV (1965)

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

Hayao Miyazaki’s Masterpieces Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke Imagined as 8‑Bit Video Games

As an unapolo­getic mem­ber of the “Mil­len­ni­al” gen­er­a­tion, allow me to tell you how to win over a great many of us at a stroke: just appeal to our long-instilled affin­i­ty for Japan­ese ani­ma­tion and clas­sic video games. Raised, like many of my peers born in the late 1970s and ear­ly 1980s, on a steady diet of those art forms — not that every­one knew to acknowl­edge them as art forms back then — I respond instinc­tive­ly to either of them, and as for their inter­sec­tion, well, how could I resist?

I cer­tain­ly can’t resist the ster­ling exam­ple of ani­me-meets-ret­rogam­ing in action just above: an 8‑Bit Cin­e­ma dou­ble-fea­ture, offer­ing David and Hen­ry Dut­ton’s pix­e­lat­ed ren­di­tions of huge­ly respect­ed Japan­ese ani­ma­tion mas­ter Hayao Miyaza­k­i’s films Spir­it­ed Away and Princess Mononoke. In just under eight min­utes, the video tells both sto­ries — the for­mer of a young girl trans­port­ed into not just the spir­it realm but into employ­ment at one of its bath­hous­es; the lat­ter of the unend­ing strug­gle between humans and for­est gods in 15th-cen­tu­ry Japan — as tra­di­tion­al side-scrolling, plat­form-jump­ing video games.

Clear­ly labors of love by true clas­sic gamers, these trans­for­ma­tions get not just the graph­ics (which actu­al­ly look bet­ter than real games of the era, in keep­ing with Miyaza­k­i’s artistry) but the sound, music, and even game­play con­ven­tions just right. I’d love to play real ver­sions of these games, espe­cial­ly since, apart from an unloved adap­ta­tion of Nau­si­caä of the Val­ley of the Wind, Miyaza­k­i’s movies haven’t plunged into the video-game realm.

And if you respond bet­ter to the aes­thet­ic of clas­sic gam­ing than to that of Japan­ese ani­ma­tion, do have a look at 8‑Bit Cin­e­ma’s oth­er work, much of which you can sam­ple in their show reel with clips from their ver­sions of pic­tures like The Shin­ingKill Bill, and The Life Aquat­ic with Steve Zis­sou. I remem­ber many child­hood con­ver­sa­tions about how video games would even­tu­al­ly look just like our favorite movies, ani­mat­ed or oth­er­wise; lit­tle did we know that, one day, our favorite movies would also look just like video games.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hayao Miyazaki’s Uni­verse Recre­at­ed in a Won­der­ful CGI Trib­ute

French Stu­dent Sets Inter­net on Fire with Ani­ma­tion Inspired by Moe­bius, Syd Mead & Hayao Miyaza­ki

The Simp­sons Pay Won­der­ful Trib­ute to the Ani­me of Hayao Miyaza­ki

The Delight­ful TV Ads Direct­ed by Hayao Miyaza­ki & Oth­er Stu­dio Ghi­b­li Ani­ma­tors (1992–2015)

The Phi­los­o­phy of Friedrich Niet­zsche Explained with 8‑Bit Video Games

8‑Bit Phi­los­o­phy: Pla­to, Sartre, Der­ri­da & Oth­er Thinkers Explained With Vin­tage Video Games

The Big Lebows­ki Reimag­ined as a Clas­sic 8‑Bit Video Game

The Great Gats­by and Wait­ing for Godot: The Video Game Edi­tions

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Back to Bed: A New Video Game Inspired by the Surreal Artwork of Escher, Dali & Magritte

If you’ve ever looked at a mind­bend­ing, impos­si­ble piece of archi­tec­ture designed by M.C. Esch­er and thought, well, I would love to play that, then you just might love Back to Bed, a video game for Win­dows, Mac, Google Play and Playsta­tion.

Sim­i­lar to last year’s aes­thet­i­cal­ly beau­ti­ful archi­tec­ture puz­zle game Mon­u­ment Val­ley, play­ers make their way through 30 lev­els of increas­ing­ly dif­fi­cult land­scapes. You play a dog-like com­pan­ion that tries to stop his sleep-walk­ing own­er Bob from falling off into space by plac­ing objects in his path. But, as with these games, you must use log­ic to access some of the objects and think­ing sev­er­al moves ahead stretch­es the brain.

back to bed

The giant, green apples recall Rene Magritte, melt­ed watch­es are out of Dalí, and the voice that says “The stairs are not what they seem”? We have anoth­er Lynch fan in Bed­time Time Dig­i­tal Games’ crew. And the whole nar­colep­sy theme has a bit of the ol’ Cali­gari going for it.

The small com­pa­ny con­sists of for­mer stu­dents who cre­at­ed the game “in a freez­ing old ware­house on the har­bor in Aal­borg, Den­mark,” accord­ing to their bio. They forged ahead with the game after a Kick­starter cam­paign and what sounds like many years lat­er, they won the stu­dent show­case at San Francisco’s Inde­pen­dent Games Fes­ti­val. That attract­ed investors and with actu­al fund­ing, they’ve rewrit­ten the game to make it real­ly shine on HDTVs.

Despite the sus­pense­ful game­play, there’s much that’s relax­ing in the worlds of Back to Bed, from its chil­dren book graph­ic design—everything looks airbrushed—to its hyp­not­ic, hyp­n­a­gog­ic sound, includ­ing a very Bri­an Eno-esque ambi­ent sound­track.

“Back to Bed, the game says out loud in a drone, half-awake voice when you fin­ish a lev­el. But this addic­tive game might just keep you up lat­er than usu­al.

via Vice’s Cre­ator’s Project

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Meta­mor­phose: 1999 Doc­u­men­tary Reveals the Life and Work of Artist M.C. Esch­er

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

The Inter­net Arcade Lets You Play 900 Vin­tage Video Games in Your Web Brows­er (Free)

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

30 Minutes of Harry Potter Sung in an Avant-Garde Fashion by UbuWeb’s Kenneth Goldsmith

potter ubu

Last month, we fea­tured poet, pro­fes­sor, and WFMU radio host Ken­neth Gold­smith singing the the­o­ry of Theodor Adorno, Sig­mund Freud, and Lud­wig Wittgen­stein — heavy read­ing, to be sure, but there­in lay the appeal. How dif­fer­ent­ly do we approach these for­mi­da­ble the­o­ret­i­cal texts, Gold­smith’s project implic­it­ly asks, if we receive them not just aural­ly rather than tex­tu­al­ly, but also in a light — not to say goofy — musi­cal arrange­ment? But if it should drain you to think about ques­tions like that, even as you absorb the thought of the likes of Adorno, Freud, and Wittgen­stein, might we sug­gest Ken­neth Gold­smith singing Har­ry Pot­ter?

Per­haps the best-known mod­ern exem­plar of “light read­ing” we have, J.K. Rowl­ing’s Har­ry Pot­ter books present them­selves as ripe for adap­ta­tion, most notably in the form of those eight big-bud­get films released between 2001 and 2011. On the oth­er end of the spec­trum, with evi­dent­ly no bud­get at all, comes Gold­smith’s 30-minute adap­ta­tion, which you can hear just above, or along with his var­i­ous oth­er sung texts at Pennsound. Here he sings, with ever-shift­ing musi­cal accom­pa­ni­ment and through some oth­er­world­ly voice pro­cess­ing, what sounds like the final nov­el in the Har­ry Pot­ter series, Har­ry Pot­ter and the Death­ly Hal­lows.

“She tells a good sto­ry” — thus has every adult Har­ry Pot­ter-read­er I know explained the appeal of Rowl­ing’s chil­dren’s nov­els even out­side of the chil­dren’s demo­graph­ic, espe­cial­ly as they await­ed Death­ly Hal­lows’ release in 2007. Hav­ing nev­er dipped into the well myself, I could­n’t say for sure, but to my mind, if she tells a good enough sto­ry, that sto­ry will sur­vive no mat­ter the form into which you trans­pose it. The Pot­ter faith­ful hold a vari­ety of opin­ions about the degree of jus­tice each movie does to their favorite nov­els, and even about the voice that reads them aloud in audio­book form, but what on Earth will they think of Gold­smith’s idio­syn­crat­ic ren­di­tion?

Update: Ken­neth shot us an email a few min­utes ago and filled out the back­sto­ry on this record­ing. Turns out the sto­ry is even more col­or­ful than we first thought. He writes: “I was a DJ on WFMU from 1995–2010. In 2007, J.K. Rowl­ing released the sev­enth and final Har­ry Pot­ter and the Death­ly Hal­lows. Pri­or to the book’s release the day I went on the air at WFMU, some­one had leaked a copy to the inter­net, enrag­ing Scholas­tic Books, who threat­ened any­body dis­trib­ut­ing it with a heavy law­suit. I print­ed out and sang in my hor­ri­ble voice the very last chap­ter of the book on the air, there­by spoil­ing the finale of the series for any­one lis­ten­ing. Dur­ing my show, the sta­tion received an angry call from Scholas­tic Books. It appears that their whole office was lis­ten­ing to WFMU that after­noon. Noth­ing ever came of it.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Two Har­ry Pot­ter Audio Books for Free (and Get the Rest of the Series for Cheap)

The The­o­ry of Wal­ter Ben­jamin, Lud­wig Wittgen­stein & Sig­mund Freud Sung by Ken­neth Gold­smith

Read Online J.K. Rowling’s New Har­ry Pot­ter Sto­ry: The First Glimpse of Har­ry as an Adult

How J.K. Rowl­ing Plot­ted Har­ry Pot­ter with a Hand-Drawn Spread­sheet

Take Free Online Cours­es at Hog­warts: Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts & More

The Quan­tum Physics of Har­ry Pot­ter, Bro­ken Down By a Physi­cist and a Magi­cian

Cel­e­brate Har­ry Potter’s Birth­day with Song. Daniel Rad­cliffe Sings Tom Lehrer’s Tune, The Ele­ments.

Har­ry Pot­ter Pre­quel Now Online

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Bernie Sanders Sings “This Land is Your Land” on the Endearingly Bad Spoken Word Album, We Shall Overcome


Sooo…. Let’s talk Bernie Sanders. No, I don’t want to talk about Bernie vs. Hillary, or vs. an increas­ing­ly wor­ri­some grand­stand­ing dem­a­gogue whose name I need not men­tion. I don’t want to talk Bernie vs. a younger civ­il rights activist groundswell… No!

Let’s talk about Bernie Sanders the record­ing artist.

Yeah, that’s right, Bernie made a record in 1987, a spo­ken-word album of clas­sic hip­py folk songs like “This Land is Your Land,” “Where Have All the Flow­ers Gone,” and—fittingly giv­en his roots as a civ­il rights campaigner—“We Shall Over­come,” also the title of the album. Sanders, a pas­sion­ate demo­c­ra­t­ic social­ist and stal­wart advo­cate for eco­nom­ic jus­tice, was also so pas­sion­ate about this music that he want­ed to add his voice to the choir. “Appar­ent­ly,” writes Dan Joseph at MRCTV, “every­one in Sanders’ inner cir­cle thought the record­ing was a pret­ty good idea. That was until they real­ized that Sanders had no musi­cal tal­ent, what­so­ev­er.”

This is no exag­ger­a­tion. Gawk­er quotes Todd Lock­wood, a Burling­ton musi­cian who helped pro­duce the record: “As tal­ent­ed of a guy as he is, he has absolute­ly not one musi­cal bone in his body, and that became painful­ly obvi­ous from the get-go.” Hell, it nev­er stopped William Shat­ner, and Shat­ner is the go-to com­par­i­son for the Sanders’ awk­ward “singing.” (It’s “pos­i­tive­ly Shat­neresque,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds.) Hear for your­self above in the Sander-iza­tion of Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land.”

Bernie earnest­ly reads the lyrics in his native Brook­lyn accent over a back­ing track that sounds like an out­take from the frus­trat­ing­ly great/terrible Leonard Cohen/Phil Spec­tor col­lab­o­ra­tion Death of a Ladies Man. The con­trast between the over­pro­duced music and Sanders’ heart­felt and com­plete­ly unmu­si­cal deliv­ery is pret­ty weird, to say the least. Hear sev­er­al more sam­ples above, from Todd Lockwood’s Sound­cloud. And if for some rea­son you want to lis­ten to the whole album, and pay for the plea­sure, buy Sanders’ We Shall Over­come at Ama­zon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Allen Ginsberg’s Hand­writ­ten Poem For Bernie Sanders, “Burling­ton Snow” (1986)

Neil Young’s New Album, The Mon­san­to Years, Now Stream­ing Free Online (For a Lim­it­ed Time)

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


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