Michael Stipe Recommends 10 Books for Anyone Marooned on a Desert Island

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Image by David Shankbone

Michael Stipe’s tenure as front­man and lyri­cist for R.E.M. cer­tain­ly revealed a lit­er­ate mind. A for­mer art major at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Geor­gia and cur­rent art teacher at NYU, his best lyrics scan well as poet­ry.  One can imag­ine being invit­ed over for a din­ner par­ty to Mr. Stipe’s place, and, glass of wine in hand, absolute­ly hav­ing to nose through his book­shelf. What does the writer of “Nightswim­ming” read? With the his­tor­i­cal ref­er­ences that course through those ear­ly albums, would he have socio-polit­i­cal books about Amer­i­ca? Would he pull a book off the shelf and say, here, “You have to read this. It will change your life”?

Won­der no more, because Stipe was recent­ly asked to write down his Top Ten list of books to take to a desert island. The list was pub­lished in The New York Times. Find a skele­tal ver­sion here:

Some of these are classics—for exam­ple Ker­ouac’s On the Road, which Stipe calls “my band’s template”—and the one poet on the list, Rim­baud, is very much an ear­ly influ­ence on his writ­ing. Dhal­gren was also a favorite of David Bowie’s, who based a lot of Dia­mond Dogs on the nov­el. The Copeland and Did­ion choic­es stand out, most­ly by being less obvi­ous selec­tions from their bib­li­ogra­phies. And as he says that he’s cur­rent­ly read­ing the Pat­ti Smith book (now being turned into a series on Show­time), we can’t take the selec­tion too seri­ous­ly. Maybe he just wants to take it to the desert island to fin­ish it.

Stipe has includ­ed a few sen­tences on each book to explain his choic­es. Find them here.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith’s List of Favorite Books: From Rim­baud to Susan Son­tag

David Bowie’s Top 100 Books

Bri­an Eno Lists 20 Books for Rebuild­ing Civ­i­liza­tion & 59 Books For Build­ing Your Intel­lec­tu­al World

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.

The Fascinating Whistled Languages of the Canary Islands, Turkey & Mexico (and What They Say About the Human Brain)

For some years now lin­guist Daniel Everett has chal­lenged the ortho­doxy of Noam Chom­sky and oth­er lin­guists who believe in an innate “uni­ver­sal gram­mar” that gov­erns human lan­guage acqui­si­tion. A 2007 New York­er pro­file described his work with a reclu­sive Ama­zon­ian tribe called the Pira­ha, among whom Everett found a lan­guage “unre­lat­ed to any oth­er extant tongue… so con­found­ing to non-natives that” until he arrived in the 70s, “no out­sider had suc­ceed­ed in mas­ter­ing it.” And yet, for all its extra­or­di­nary dif­fer­ences, at least one par­tic­u­lar fea­ture of Pira­ha is shared by humans across the globe—“its speak­ers can dis­pense with their vow­els and con­so­nants alto­geth­er and sing, hum, or whis­tle con­ver­sa­tions.”

In places as far flung as the Brazil­ian rain­for­est, moun­tain­ous Oax­a­ca, Mex­i­co, the Canary Islands, and the Black Sea coast of Turkey, we find lan­guages that sound more like the speech of birds than of humans. “Whis­tled lan­guages,” writes Michelle Nijhuis in a recent New York­er post, “have been around for cen­turies. Herodotus described com­mu­ni­ties in Ethiopia whose res­i­dents ‘spoke like bats,’ and reports of the whis­tled lan­guage that is still used in the Canary Islands date back more than six hun­dred years.”

In the short video from UNESCO at the top of the post, you can hear the whis­tled lan­guage of Canary Islanders. (See anoth­er short video from Time mag­a­zine here.) Called Sil­bo Gomero, the lan­guage “repli­cates the islanders’ habit­u­al lan­guage (Castil­ian Span­ish) with whistling,” replac­ing “each vow­el or con­so­nant with a whistling sound.” Spo­ken (so to speak) among a very large com­mu­ni­ty of over 22,000 inhab­i­tants and passed down for­mal­ly in schools and cer­e­monies, Sil­bo Gomero shows no signs of dis­ap­pear­ing. Oth­er whis­tled lan­guages have not fared as well. As you will see in the doc­u­men­tary above, when it comes to the whis­tled lan­guage of north­ern Oax­a­can peo­ples in a moun­tain­ous region of Mex­i­co, “only a few whistlers still prac­tice their ancient tongue.” In a pre­vi­ous Open Cul­ture post on this film, Matthias Rasch­er point­ed us toward some schol­ar­ly efforts at preser­va­tion from the Sum­mer Insti­tute of Lin­guis­tics in Mex­i­co, who record­ed and tran­scribed a con­ver­sa­tion between two native Oax­a­can whistlers.

Whis­tled lan­guages evolved for much the same rea­son as birdcalls—they enable their “speak­ers” to com­mu­ni­cate across large dis­tances. “Most of the forty-two exam­ples that have been doc­u­ment­ed in recent times,” Nijhuis writes, “arose in places with steep ter­rain or dense forests—the Atlas Moun­tains, in north­west Africa; the high­lands of north­ern Laos, the Brazil­ian Amazon—where it might oth­er­wise be hard to com­mu­ni­cate at a dis­tance.” Such is the case for the Pira­ha, the Canary Islanders, the Oax­a­can whistlers, and anoth­er group of whistlers in a moun­tain­ous region of Turkey. As Nijhuis doc­u­ments in her post, these sev­er­al thou­sand speak­ers have learned to translit­er­ate Turk­ish into “loud, lilt­ing whis­tles” that they call “bird lan­guage.” New Sci­en­tist brings us the exam­ple of whis­tled Turk­ish above (with sub­ti­tles), and you can hear more record­ed exam­ples at The New York­er.

As with most whis­tled lan­guages, the Turk­ish “bird lan­guage” makes use of sim­i­lar structures—though not sim­i­lar sounds—as human speech, mak­ing it a bit like sem­a­phore or Morse code. As such, whis­tled lan­guages are not like­ly to offer evi­dence against the idea of a uni­ver­sal gram­mar in the archi­tec­ture of the brain. Yet accord­ing to biopsy­chol­o­gist Onur Gün­türkün—who con­duct­ed a study on the Turk­ish whistlers pub­lished in the lat­est Cur­rent Biol­o­gy—these lan­guages can show us that “the orga­ni­za­tion of our brain, in terms of its asym­met­ri­cal struc­ture, is not as fixed as we assume.”

Where we gen­er­al­ly process lan­guage in the left hemi­sphere and “pitch, melody, and rhythm” in the right, Nijhuis describes how the whis­tled Turk­ish study sug­gests “that both hemi­spheres played sig­nif­i­cant roles” in com­pre­hen­sion. The oppor­tu­ni­ties to study whis­tled lan­guages will dimin­ish in the years to come, as cell phones take over their func­tion and more of their speak­ers lose region­al dis­tinc­tive­ness. But the work of Gün­türkün and oth­er bio­log­i­cal researchers may have fas­ci­nat­ing impli­ca­tions for lin­guists as well, cre­at­ing fur­ther con­nec­tions between speech and music—and per­haps even between the speech of humans and that of oth­er ani­mals.

via The New York­er

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Speak­ing in Whis­tles: The Whis­tled Lan­guage of Oax­a­ca, Mex­i­co

How Lan­guages Evolve: Explained in a Win­ning TED-Ed Ani­ma­tion

Noam Chom­sky Talks About How Kids Acquire Lan­guage & Ideas in an Ani­mat­ed Video by Michel Gondry

What Makes Us Human?: Chom­sky, Locke & Marx Intro­duced by New Ani­mat­ed Videos from the BBC

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

H.P. Lovecraft’s Monster Drawings: Cthulhu & Other Creatures from the “Boundless and Hideous Unknown”

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If you’ve ever played Call of Cthul­hu, the table­top role-play­ing game based on the writ­ing of H.P. Love­craft, you’ve felt the frus­tra­tion of hav­ing char­ac­ter after painstak­ing­ly-cre­at­ed char­ac­ter go insane or sim­ply drop dead upon catch­ing a glimpse of one of the many hor­rif­ic beings infest­ing its world. But as the count­less read­ers Love­craft has posthu­mous­ly accu­mu­lat­ed over near­ly eighty years know, that just sig­nals faith­ful­ness to the source mate­r­i­al: Love­craft’s char­ac­ters tend to run into the same prob­lem, liv­ing, as they do, in what French nov­el­ist Michel Houelle­becq (one of his notable fans, a group that also includes Stephen King, Joyce Car­ol Oates, and Jorge Luis Borges) calls “an open slice of howl­ing fear.”

Read enough of Love­craft’s mid­dle-class east-coast pro­fes­sion­al nar­ra­tors’ mor­tal strug­gles for the words to con­vey what he called “the bound­less and hideous unknown” that sud­den­ly con­fronts them, and you start to won­der what these crea­tures actu­al­ly look like. The clear­est word-pic­ture comes in the 1928 sto­ry “The Call of Cthul­hu,” whose nar­ra­tor describes the tit­u­lar ancient malevolence—avoiding instan­ta­neous men­tal break­down by look­ing at an idol rather than the being itself—as “a mon­ster of vague­ly anthro­poid out­line, but with an octo­pus-like head whose face was a mass of feel­ers, a scaly, rub­bery-look­ing body, prodi­gious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, nar­row wings behind.”

And so mod­ern Love­craftians have enjoyed a new vari­a­tion of that giant octo­pus-drag­on-man form on “Cthul­hu for Pres­i­dent” shirts each and every elec­tion year. (You can find one for 2016 here.) While that phe­nom­e­non would sure­ly have sur­prised Love­craft him­self, con­stant­ly and fruit­less­ly as he strug­gled in life, I like to think he’d have approved of the designs, which align in fear­some spir­it with the sketch­es he made. At the top of the post you can see one sketch of the Cthul­hu idol, drawn in 1934 on a piece of cor­re­spon­dence with writer R.H. Bar­low, Love­craft’s friend and the even­tu­al execu­tor of his estate.

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If “The Call of Cthul­hu” ranks as Love­craft’s best-known work, his 1936 novel­la At the Moun­tains of Mad­ness sure­ly comes in a close sec­ond. Just above, we have an illus­trat­ed page of the writer’s plot notes for this unfor­get­table cau­tion­ary tale of an Antarc­tic expe­di­tion that hap­pens dis­as­trous­ly upon the mind-bend­ing ruins of a city pre­vi­ous­ly thought only a myth – and the mon­sters that inhab­it it. It exem­pli­fies the defin­ing qual­i­ty of Love­craft’s mythol­o­gy, where, as Slate’s Rebec­ca Onion puts it, “ancient beings of pro­found malev­o­lence lurk just below the sur­face of the every­day world.”

Moun­tains fea­tured sev­er­al species of for­got­ten, intel­li­gent beings, includ­ing the ‘Elder Things.’ The sketch on the right side of this page of notes (click here to view it in a larg­er for­mat), with its anno­ta­tions (‘body dark grey’; ‘all appendages not in use cus­tom­ar­i­ly fold­ed down to body’; ‘leath­ery or rub­bery’) rep­re­sents Love­craft work­ing out the specifics of an Elder Thing’s anato­my.” That such things lurked in Love­craft’s imag­i­na­tion have made his state of mind a sub­ject of decades and decades of rich dis­cus­sion among his enthu­si­asts. But just the body count racked up by Cthul­hu, the Elder Things, and the oth­er denizens of this unfath­omable realm should make us thank­ful that Love­craft saw them in his mind’s eye so we would­n’t have to.

Note: The sec­ond image on this page was fea­tured in the 2013 exhi­bi­tion held at Brown Uni­ver­si­ty, “The Shad­ow Over Col­lege Street: H. P. Love­craft in Prov­i­dence.” The Brown Uni­ver­si­ty Library is the home to the largest col­lec­tion of H. P. Love­craft mate­ri­als in the world.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

H.P. Love­craft Gives Five Tips for Writ­ing a Hor­ror Sto­ry, or Any Piece of “Weird Fic­tion”

H.P. Love­craft High­lights the 20 “Types of Mis­takes” Young Writ­ers Make

H.P. Lovecraft’s Clas­sic Hor­ror Sto­ries Free Online: Down­load Audio Books, eBooks & More

Love­craft: Fear of the Unknown (Free Doc­u­men­tary)

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.

Watch Interplanetary Revolution (1924): The Most Bizarre Soviet Animated Propaganda Film You’ll Ever See

In 1924, Zenon Komis­arenko, Youry Merkulov and Niko­lai Kho­dataev pro­duced Inter­plan­e­tary Rev­o­lu­tion, which might just be one of the strangest Sovi­et pro­pa­gan­da films ever pro­duced.

First, the film is ani­mat­ed using not only tra­di­tion­al cel ani­ma­tion but also col­lage and stop motion, giv­ing the work a queasy, dis­ori­ent­ing feel. A bit like look­ing at a paint­ing by Hen­ry Darg­er.

Then there is the film’s sto­ry. As an inter­ti­tle pro­claims, this is “a tale about Com­rade Con­in­ter­nov, the Red Army War­rior who flew to Mars, and van­quished all the cap­i­tal­ists on the plan­et!!” This already sounds bet­ter that John Carter.

The movie, how­ev­er, is rather hard to fol­low with­out either the appro­pri­ate amount of rev­o­lu­tion­ary fer­vor or, per­haps, hal­lu­cino­gens. Inter­plan­e­tary Rev­o­lu­tion opens with a wild-eyed, ax-wield­ing bull­dog with a top hat – a cap­i­tal­ist, obvi­ous­ly. Oth­er cap­i­tal­ists, with swastikas on their fore­heads, suck the blood from a hap­less mem­ber of the pro­le­tari­at. Then the rev­o­lu­tion comes and a pant­less cap­i­tal­ist demon los­es his mind after devour­ing a copy of Prav­da. Next, the cap­i­tal­ists all board a giant fly­ing shoe and fly off into space. From there, the film gets kind of weird.

You can watch the whole thing above. It’s also added to our list of Free Ani­mat­ed Films, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Dzi­ga Vertov’s A Man with a Movie Cam­era, Named the 8th Best Film Ever Made

Watch Sovi­et Ani­ma­tions of Win­nie the Pooh, Cre­at­ed by the Inno­v­a­tive Ani­ma­tor Fyo­dor Khitruk

“Glo­ry to the Con­querors of the Uni­verse!”: Pro­pa­gan­da Posters from the Sovi­et Space Race (1958–1963)

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

1980s Photo Captures Neil deGrasse Tyson Looking Hip in Grad School (Plus More on His “Failed Experiment” at UT-Austin)

Neil deGrasse Tyson in graduate school at Texas - 1980s - Imgur

Last year, we revis­it­ed the high school days of Neil deGrasse Tyson. Grow­ing up in New York City dur­ing the 1970s, Tyson attend­ed Bronx Sci­ence (class of ’76), ran an impres­sive 4:25 mile, cap­tained the school’s wrestling team, and, he fond­ly recallswore bas­ket­ball sneak­ers belong­ing to the Knick’s Walt “Clyde” Fra­zier. Tyson was, of course, also a pre­co­cious stu­dent. Famous­ly, Carl Sagan recruit­ed Tyson to study with him at Cor­nell. But Tyson polite­ly declined and went to Har­vard for his under­grad­u­ate stud­ies. Then, he head­ed off to Texas, to start his PhD at UT-Austin. That’s where the pho­to, tak­en cir­ca 1980, cap­tures him above — hang­ing out with friends, and look­ing hip­per than your aver­age astro­physics stu­dent.

This pho­to (now mak­ing the rounds on Red­dit) orig­i­nal­ly appeared in a 2012 arti­cle pub­lished in the Alcaldethe alum­ni mag­a­zine of The Uni­ver­si­ty of Texas. To the mag­a­zine’s cred­it, the arti­cle takes an unvar­nished look at Tyson’s “failed exper­i­ment” in Texas. The piece starts with the lede “Neil deGrasse Tyson, MA ’83, is the pub­lic face of sci­ence. But he says his suc­cess has noth­ing to do with UT.” And, from there, it recounts how pro­fes­sors and uni­ver­si­ty police imme­di­ate­ly stereo­typed him.

The first com­ment direct­ed to me in the first minute of the first day by a fac­ul­ty mem­ber I had just met was, ‘You must join the depart­ment bas­ket­ball team!

or

I was stopped and ques­tioned sev­en times by Uni­ver­si­ty police on my way into the physics build­ing. Sev­en times. Zero times was I stopped going into the gym—and I went to the gym a lot. That says all you need to know about how wel­come I felt at Texas.

But the real prob­lem was­n’t race. Accord­ing to Tyson, “there was sim­ply no room for me to be the full per­son that I was.” “An obses­sive focus on one thing at a time; a strong con­nec­tion to pop cul­ture, from the moon­walk to the Rubik’s cube; and a refusal to put research first: these traits con­tributed to Tyson’s fail­ure at UT,” con­cludes the Alcalde. They also allowed him to flour­ish lat­er in life.

After his “advi­sors dis­solved his dis­ser­ta­tion committee—essentially flunk­ing him,” Tyson trans­ferred to Colum­bia, earned his PhD in 1988, and became the great­est pop­u­lar­iz­er of sci­ence since Carl Sagan. We like sto­ries with hap­py end­ings.

Read more about Tyson’s expe­ri­ence in Texas at the Alcalde.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil deGrasse Tyson, High School Wrestling Team Cap­tain, Invent­ed a Physics-Based Wrestling Move

Carl Sagan Writes a Let­ter to 17-Year-Old Neil deGrasse Tyson (1975)

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

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Stream 58 Hours of Free Classical Music Selected to Help You Study, Work, or Simply Relax

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We are bom­bard­ed by music, all the time, whether we like it or not. In many cases—such as those almost dai­ly, inescapable trips to the gro­cery store, drug store, pet store, what-have-you store—the musi­cal accom­pa­ni­ment to our jour­ney through life has been cho­sen specif­i­cal­ly for its abil­i­ty to make us buy things: How­ev­er grat­ing we may find the soft rock, lite pop, or easy lis­ten­ing that pumps out of phar­ma­cy speak­er sys­tems, some sin­is­ter cabal of mar­ket­ing researchers deter­mined long ago that schmaltz equals sales. And so we endure yet anoth­er ter­ri­ble pop song while wait­ing in line with our essen­tials. For peo­ple like myself—highly sen­si­tive to sound and unable to tune out bad back­ground music—the expe­ri­ence can be excru­ci­at­ing.

In our own pri­vate spaces—offices, cars, the space between our ears with head­phones on—we become our own sound design­ers. We may pre­fer silence, or we may choose very spe­cif­ic kinds of music to accom­pa­ny our leisure and our work (as we dis­cussed in a few posts on music to write by some years back). These days, we can make our own dig­i­tal playlists, grab­bing music from all over the web, or we can have the algo­rithms of inter­net radio ser­vices like Pan­do­ra or Apple Radio curate our lis­ten­ing for us, a more—or some­times less—satisfying expe­ri­ence. Lovers of clas­si­cal music have a third online option, thanks to an enter­pris­ing dig­i­tal cura­tor who goes by the name of Ulysse­s­tone and who com­piled the Spo­ti­fy playlist below of 58 hours of clas­si­cal music — from Sibelius to Satie, Bach to Debussy. It’s designed for any­one who wants to study, work, or sim­ply relax.

Ulysses has pre­vi­ous­ly brought us a playlist of the endur­ing­ly clas­si­cal music in Stan­ley Kubrick­’s films and all of Mozart in a 127 hour playlist. As one music blog­ger put it, his inter­ven­tions have made Spo­ti­fy’s ser­vice “a whole lot eas­i­er for clas­si­cal lis­ten­ers.” See for your­self at Spo­ti­fy Clas­si­cal Playlists, where you’ll find blog posts on the changes to Spo­ti­fy’s clas­si­cal radio, as well as over 50 playlists ded­i­cat­ed to famous composers—“great start­ing points,” writes Ulysses, “for peo­ple who want to get into clas­si­cal music or explore a bit more.” You can stream the 58-hour playlist of study-enhanc­ing clas­si­cal music (fea­tur­ing 789 free tracks in total) by click­ing this link, or stream­ing the play­er above. To down­load Spo­ti­fy and start a free account, head on over to their site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Free Music from 150+ Clas­si­cal Com­posers, Cour­tesy of Musopen.org

The World Con­cert Hall: Lis­ten To The Best Live Clas­si­cal Music Con­certs for Free

The Clas­si­cal Music in Stan­ley Kubrick’s Films: Lis­ten to a Free, 4 Hour Playlist

Philip K. Dick’s Favorite Clas­si­cal Music: A Free, 11-Hour Playlist

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

Watch Vincent, Tim Burton’s Animated Tribute to Vincent Price & Edgar Allan Poe (1982)

If you put togeth­er a list of the world’s great­est Vin­cent Price fans, you’d have to rank Tim Bur­ton at the top. That goes for “great­est” in the sense of both the fer­ven­cy of the fan’s enthu­si­asm for all things Price, and for the fan’s accom­plish­ments in his own right. Bur­ton’s film­mak­ing craft and his admi­ra­tion for the mid­cen­tu­ry hor­ror-film icon inter­sect­ed ear­ly in his career, when he made the six-minute ani­mat­ed film Vin­cent for Dis­ney in 1982, three years before his fea­ture debut Pee-Wee’s Big Adven­ture.

The short­’s title refers not to Vin­cent Price him­self, but to its sev­en-year-old pro­tag­o­nist, Vin­cent Mal­loy: “He’s always polite and does what he’s told. For a boy his age, he’s con­sid­er­ate and nice. But he wants to be just like Vin­cent Price.” Those words of nar­ra­tion — as if you could­n’t tell after the first one spo­ken — come in the voice of Price him­self. Vin­cent Mal­loy, pale of com­plex­ion and untamed of hair, sure­ly resem­bles Bur­ton’s child­hood self, and in more aspects than appear­ance: the film­mak­er grants the char­ac­ter his own idol­a­try not just of Price but of Edgar Allan Poe, and it’s into their macabre mas­ter­works that his day­dream­ing sends him — just as they pre­sum­ably sent the sev­en-year-old Bur­ton.

Bur­ton and Price’s col­lab­o­ra­tion on Vin­cent marked the begin­ning of a friend­ship that last­ed the rest of Price’s life. The appre­cia­tive actor called the short “the most grat­i­fy­ing thing that ever hap­pened,” and the direc­tor would go on to cast him in Edward Scis­sorhands eight years lat­er. Price died in 1993, the year before the release of Ed Wood, Bur­ton’s dra­ma­tized life of Edward D. Wood Jr. In that film, the rela­tion­ship between semi-retired hor­ror actor Bela Lugosi and the admir­ing schlock auteur Wood par­al­lels, in a way, that of the more endur­ing­ly suc­cess­ful Price and the much more com­pe­tent Bur­ton.

Vin­cent also drops hints of oth­er things to come in the Bur­toni­verse: Night­mare Before Christ­mas fans, for instance, should keep their eyes open for not one but two ear­ly appear­ances of that pic­ture’s bony cen­tral play­er Jack Skelling­ton. This demon­stra­tion of the con­ti­nu­ity of Bur­ton’s imag­i­na­tion under­scores that, as both his biggest fans and biggest crit­ics insist, he’s always lived in a world of his own — prob­a­bly since Vin­cent Mal­loy’s age, when teach­ers and oth­er author­i­ty fig­ures might have described him in exact­ly the same way.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Six Ear­ly Short Films By Tim Bur­ton

Tim Burton’s The World of Stain­boy: Watch the Com­plete Ani­mat­ed Series

How Ger­man Expres­sion­ism Influ­enced Tim Bur­ton: A Video Essay

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

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

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.

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dating Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

Ecce panis—try your hand at the kind of loaf that Mel Brooks’ 2000-year-old man might have sunk his teeth into. Lit­er­al­ly.

In 1930 a loaf of bread dat­ing to AD 79 (the year Vesu­vius claimed two pros­per­ous Roman towns) was exca­vat­ed from the site of a bak­ery in Her­cu­la­neum.

Eighty-three years lat­er, the British Muse­um invit­ed Lon­don chef Gior­gio Locatel­li, above, to take a stab at cre­at­ing an edi­ble fac­sim­i­le for its Pom­peii Live exhi­bi­tion.

The assign­ment wasn’t as easy as he’d antic­i­pat­ed, the telegenic chef con­fess­es before whip­ping up a love­ly brown miche that appears far more mouth water­ing than the car­bonized round found in the Her­cu­la­neum oven.

His recipe could be mis­tak­en for mod­ern sour­dough, but he also has a go at sev­er­al details that speak to bread’s role in ancient Roman life:

Its perime­ter has a cord baked in to pro­vide for easy trans­port home. Most Roman homes were with­out ovens. Those who didn’t buy direct from a bak­ery took their dough to com­mu­ni­ty ovens, where it was baked for them overnight.

The loaf was scored into eight wedges. This is true of the 80 loaves found in the ovens of the unfor­tu­nate bak­er, Mod­es­tus. Locatel­li spec­u­lates that the wedges could be used as mon­e­tary units, but I sus­pect it’s more a busi­ness prac­tice on par with piz­za-by-the-slice.

(Nowa­days, Roman piz­za is sold by weight, but I digress.)

The crust bears a tell­tale stamp. Locatel­li takes the oppor­tu­ni­ty to brand his with the logo of his Miche­lin-starred restau­rant, Locan­da Locatel­li. His inspi­ra­tion is stamped ‘Prop­er­ty of Cel­er, Slave of Q. Gra­nius Verus.’ To me, this sug­gests the pos­si­bil­i­ty that the bread was found in a com­mu­nal oven.

Locatel­li also intro­duces a Flintston­ian vision when he alludes to spe­cial­ly-devised labor sav­ing machines to which Roman bak­ers yoked “ani­mals,” pre­sum­ably donkeys…or know­ing the Romans and their class sys­tem, slaves.

His pub­lished recipe is below.  Here is a con­ver­sion chart for those unfa­mil­iar with met­ric mea­sure­ments.

INGREDIENTS

400g biga aci­da (sour­dough)

12g yeast

18g gluten

24g salt

532g water

405g spelt flour

405g whole­meal flour

Melt the yeast into the water and add it into the biga. Mix and sieve the flours togeth­er with the gluten and add to the water mix. Mix for two min­utes, add the salt and keep mix­ing for anoth­er three min­utes. Make a round shape with it and leave to rest for one hour. Put some string around it to keep its shape dur­ing cook­ing. Make some cuts on top before cook­ing to help the bread rise in the oven and cook for 30–45 min­utes at 200 degrees.

For an even more arti­sanal attempt (and extreme­ly detailed instruc­tions) check out the Arti­san Pom­peii Miche recipe on the Fresh Loaf bread enthu­si­ast com­mu­ni­ty.

True Roman bread for true Romans!

via Metafil­ter/Make

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cook Real Recipes from Ancient Rome: Ostrich Ragoût, Roast Wild Boar, Nut Tarts & More

Ani­ma­tion Gives You a Glimpse of What Life Was Like for Teenagers in Ancient Rome

Build­ing The Colos­se­um: The Icon of Rome

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

See Berlin Before and After World War II in Startling Color Video

Beau­ti­ful city, shame about all those Nazis.

Yes, this col­or news­reel above shows Berlin in 1936 as it gets ready to wel­come the world for the Olympic Games. It’s a PR film meant to show the upside of the Reich, as Ger­mans looked for­ward to a “bet­ter future”, and indeed the city looks just as gor­geous and excit­ing as oth­er bustling Euro­pean metrop­o­lis­es. There’s new con­struc­tion along­side the clas­si­cal archi­tec­ture. There’s cou­ples danc­ing to the lat­est hit tunes—Malneck and Mercer’s “Goody Goody” (which Ben­ny Good­man had just released in Feb­ru­ary). There’s young men frol­ick­ing in the Wannsee while ladies sun­bathe.

But then there’s those Nazis, ruin­ing everybody’s trav­el plans. The streets are “fes­tive­ly dec­o­rat­ed with flags with the cur­rent pat­tern” (ie. the swasti­ka); we see a group of Hitler youth on a parade for the Führer; and while the “chang­ing of the guard” may put some in mind of Buck­ing­ham Palace, here they’ve got the full goose-step­ping going on. And the film ends very odd­ly: a shot of the guards out­side the Min­istry of Avi­a­tion, home to mor­phine addict and con­cen­tra­tion camp co-cre­ator Her­mann Göer­ing.

Flash for­ward to July 1945, and what a dif­fer­ence sur­ren­der to the Allies makes: Berlin in ruins, large posters of Stal­in, and the signs of the divi­sions that even­tu­al­ly end in the 1961 build­ing of the Berlin Wall. The news­reel con­cludes with a dra­mat­ic aer­i­al shot of the entire city, tak­ing in the amount of destruc­tion.

We’ve fea­tured this 1945 film before, but this before-and-after com­par­i­son speaks to the dev­as­ta­tion of war and the deter­mi­na­tion to rebuild.

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

Berlin Street Scenes Beau­ti­ful­ly Caught on Film (1900–1914)

1,000,000 Min­utes of News­reel Footage by AP & British Movi­etone Released on YouTube

Watch World War II Rage Across Europe in a 7 Minute Time-Lapse Film: Every Day From 1939 to 1945

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.

“Auteur in Space”: A Video Essay on How Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris Transcends Science Fiction

If you haven’t yet seen Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris but do plan on watch­ing it (find it online here), rest assured that there’s no wrong way to go about it. You can plunge, with­out prepa­ra­tion, right into its vivid, tor­ment­ed Sovi­et sci-fi world of fail­ing high tech­nol­o­gy, sub­lime nat­ur­al forces, and haunt­ing mem­o­ry. You can do no end of pre­lim­i­nary research on the film, its mak­er, and its mak­er’s strug­gle to adapt the orig­i­nal Stanis­law Lem nov­el to his own dis­tinc­tive sen­si­bil­i­ty. Or you could just pre­cede your screen­ing with “Auteur in Space,” a brief exam­i­na­tion of Solaris by well-known cinephile video essay­ist kog­o­na­da.  It was made on behalf of The British Film Insti­tute.

“The very con­cept of genre is as cold as the tomb,” the nar­ra­tor quotes Tarkovsky as writ­ing, going on to cite his crit­i­cism of Stan­ley Kubrick­’s 2001 “for being too enam­ored by the spec­ta­cle of the genre, for being too exot­ic, too immac­u­late.” From then on, the video demon­strates not just what Tarkovsky does to push Solaris out of the shad­ow of 2oo1, but also to break it out of the stan­dard forms of sci­ence fic­tion and, ulti­mate­ly, to free it from the stric­tures of genre itself — to occu­py that cat­e­go­ry we can only call Tarkovsky.

And so the Russ­ian auteur decides to make the space sta­tion on which most of the film takes place “look like a bro­ken-down old bus.” He decides “to spend five min­utes show­ing a man in an ordi­nary car trav­el­ing along the high­way, and less than two min­utes show­ing his main char­ac­ter trav­el­ing through space.” He gives in to his “occu­pa­tion with the ele­men­tal things of Earth.” He comes to “ques­tion the lim­its of sci­ence in engag­ing the mys­ter­ies of exis­tence,” ulti­mate­ly using Solaris to pit sci­ence against fic­tion, “each with their own weight and his­to­ry and pur­suit of truth and knowl­edge.”

If, indeed, you haven’t yet seen Solaris and watch this video essay, you’ll sure­ly find your­self no longer able to resist the temp­ta­tion to expe­ri­ence the film as soon as pos­si­ble. Maybe you’ll pop in the DVD or Blu-Ray, or bet­ter yet, maybe you’ll catch a the­atri­cal screen­ing. But if you under­stand­ably can’t wait for even a moment, you can watch it free online right now. And find oth­er Tarkovsky films free online here.

via io9

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Andrei Tarkovsky Calls Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey a “Pho­ny” Film “With Only Pre­ten­sions to Truth”

Watch Solaris (1972), Andrei Tarkovsky’s Haunt­ing Vision of the Future

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris Shot by Shot: A 22-Minute Break­down of the Director’s Film­mak­ing

The Mas­ter­ful Polaroid Pic­tures Tak­en by Film­mak­er Andrei Tarkovsky

Tarkovsky’s Advice to Young Film­mak­ers: Sac­ri­fice Your­self for Cin­e­ma

A Poet in Cin­e­ma: Andrei Tarkovsky Reveals the Director’s Deep Thoughts on Film­mak­ing and Life

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.

Pres. Obama Releases a Free Playlist of 40 Songs for a Summer Day (Plus 6 Books on His Summer Reading List)

obama summer playlist

Like much of the rest of the coun­try, Pres­i­dent Oba­ma is get­ting some down­time in August — in his case spend­ing 16 days in Martha’s Vine­yard. From that nice get­away spot, POTUS has launched on Spo­ti­fy (down­load the free soft­ware here) two playlists of music — 20 songs for a hot sum­mer day, and anoth­er 20 for a nice sum­mer evening. You can play the songs below, and fur­ther down the page, find six books on his sum­mer vaca­tion read­ing list.

Day­time lis­ten­ing fea­tures songs from Bob Dylan, Bob Mar­ley, Cold­play, Howl­in’ Wolf, Aretha Franklin, Flo­rence and the Machine, and The Rolling Stones. For night­time, he’s serv­ing up John Coltrane, Van Mor­ri­son, Joni Mitchell, Nina Simone and more. The man has taste. And for sum­mer read­ing you can do worse than offer Jhumpa Lahiri, James Salter and Eliz­a­beth Kol­bert.

“The Pres­i­den­t’s Sum­mer Playlist: Day”

“The Pres­i­den­t’s Sum­mer Playlist: Night”

Oba­ma’s Sum­mer Read­ing List:

All That Is, by James Salter

All The Light We Can­not See, by Antho­ny Doerr

The Sixth Extinc­tion, by Eliz­a­beth Kol­bert

The Low­land, by Jhumpa Lahiri

Between The World and Me, by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Wash­ing­ton: A Life, by Ron Cher­now

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!

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