Watch Classic Performances by Peter Green (RIP), Founder of Fleetwood Mac & the Only British Blues Guitarist Who Gave B.B. King “the Cold Sweats”

Update: Accord­ing to the BBC, Peter Green died peace­ful­ly in his sleep this week­end, at the age of 73.

“Of all the gui­tar giants to emerge from the British blues boom,” writes Stu­art Pen­ny at Emp­ty Mir­ror, “Peter Green was per­haps the most nat­u­ral­ly gift­ed.” After replac­ing Eric Clap­ton in John May­all & the Blues­break­ers (and earn­ing the nick­name “The Green God”), the gui­tarist formed his own band, orig­i­nal­ly giv­en the unwieldy name “Peter Green’s Fleet­wood Mac fea­tur­ing Jere­my Spencer.” Soon short­ened to Fleet­wood Mac, the band record­ed their debut, epony­mous album in 1968, and went on in the fol­low­ing year to spend “more weeks on the UK sin­gles charts than the Bea­t­les, the first time any­one had achieved that feat since 1963.”

Sad­ly, Green suc­cumbed to what Pen­ny describes as “the ear­ly onset of men­tal ill­ness thought to be the result of an unso­licit­ed LSD expe­ri­ence in Munich, Ger­many.” He left his band and joined the ranks of oth­er wild­ly tal­ent­ed 60s musi­cians like Syd Bar­rett, Roky Erick­son, and Moby Grape’s Skip Spence whose careers were cut short by seri­ous men­tal health issues appar­ent­ly brought on, or wors­ened, by seri­ous drug use.

Green began to be for­got­ten, espe­cial­ly as his lega­cy with Fleet­wood Mac was over­shad­owed by albums like the leg­endary Rumours and the band’s sec­ond self-titled record.

1975’s Fleet­wood Mac was like a reboot of the band after the intro­duc­tion of Ste­vie Nicks and Lind­sey Buck­ing­ham, who resist­ed play­ing any of the old mate­r­i­al. Fans may get to hear those old songs live again—Fleetwood Mac is back and tour­ing, and they’ve even reignit­ed old feuds by fir­ing Buck­ing­ham (he’s suing, of course). The move gives them the free­dom draw from their back cat­a­log again. Nicks remarked in May, “we’re gonna lock in to the his­to­ry of Fleet­wood Mac, which we were nev­er able to do since 1975, because cer­tain peo­ple in the band weren’t real­ly inter­est­ed in doing that.”

Green won’t take part in the band’s revis­it­ing of old mate­r­i­al. But he deserves full cred­it for the band’s suc­cess, despite its many suc­cess­ful rein­ven­tions, as Mick Fleet­wood told the Irish Times last year.

For his lega­cy I think it’s impor­tant we remem­ber that Fleet­wood Mac was, first and fore­most, a blues band. We all played and loved blues. And long after Peter left, we went to Chess Records in Chica­go where we record­ed with Willie Dixon and Bud­dy Guy. Can you imag­ine how that made us feel? Such an incred­i­ble expe­ri­ence could not have hap­pened with­out Peter because, even though he wasn’t with us, the rea­son there’s a Fleet­wood Mac at all is because of him.

Green made four albums with the band before depart­ing in 1970 and scored a hit with the sin­gle “Black Mag­ic Woman,” before Car­los San­tana made the song his own. Like Bar­rett, Spence, and Erick­son, he con­tin­ued mak­ing music after leav­ing his famous band, record­ing in the ear­ly 70s with for­mer band­mate John May­all. In 1972, he did a ses­sion with BB King, who called him the only British blues gui­tarist “who gave me the cold sweats.” Vot­ed the third great­est gui­tarist of all time by Mojo (after Hen­drix and Steve Crop­per), Green is still revered by diehard fans and gui­tar play­ers of all kinds, even if his strict­ly blues-rock ver­sion of Fleet­wood Mac nev­er had as wide an appeal as the pop jug­ger­naut the band lat­er became.

But the low pro­file was part of Green’s per­son­al­i­ty. He has always bris­tled at the acclaim heaped on his play­ing, telling The Tele­graph in 1996 “If I was a gui­tar hero, then what does that make my mas­ters and teach­ers?” As Mick Fleet­wood puts it, “Peter could have been the stereo­typ­i­cal gui­tar play­er and con­trol freak. But that was­n’t his style. He named the band after the bass play­er and drum­mer, for Christ’s sake.” Green’s col­lab­o­ra­tive spir­it and self-effac­ing man­ner may be rare qual­i­ties for a rock star, but he nev­er seemed to aspire to that role. Nonethe­less, he left his mark, as All­mu­sic’s Thom Jurek writes, as “the ter­mi­nal­ly shy skin­ny kid who could rain down fire from the heav­ens and draw water from the wells of hell on a gui­tar.”

See and hear some of Green’s clas­sic per­for­mances with Fleet­wood Mac in the videos here (some with out-of-sync audio), includ­ing “Black Mag­ic Woman” at the top. And just above, see a much mel­low­er Green in a much more recent per­for­mance play­ing “Alba­tross” with an acoustic ensem­ble.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Fleet­wood Mac Makes A Song: A Video Essay Explor­ing the “Son­ic Paint­ings” on the Clas­sic Album, Rumours

Ste­vie Nicks “Shows Us How to Kick Ass in High-Heeled Boots” in a 1983 Women’s Self Defense Man­u­al

23-Year-Old Eric Clap­ton Demon­strates the Ele­ments of His Gui­tar Sound (1968)

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

Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” Movingly Performed by the Six-String Soldiers, of The United States Army Field Band

Since 1946, The Unit­ed States Army Field Band has trav­eled through­out the world, per­form­ing at pub­lic con­certs, school assem­blies, edu­ca­tion­al out­reach pro­grams, and oth­er venues. Above you can watch one of the band’s per­form­ing units–the Six-String Sol­diers–play an acoustic ver­sion of Pink Floy­d’s “Wish You Were Here.” Because we all know some­one we sure­ly miss. To explore more of their work, see their cov­er ver­sions of The All­man Broth­ers’ “Ram­blin’ Man” and The Bea­t­les’ “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er.”

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 Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Pink Floyd’s 1975 Com­ic Book Pro­gram for The Dark Side of the Moon Tour

How Pink Floyd’s “Com­fort­ably Numb” Was Born From an Argu­ment Between Roger Waters & David Gilmour

Under­stand­ing Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, Their Trib­ute to Depart­ed Band­mate Syd Bar­rett

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Behold the Original Deck of Oblique Strategies Cards, Handwritten by Brian Eno Himself

“Hon­or thy error as a hid­den inten­tion.” “Work at a dif­fer­ent speed.” “Try fak­ing it!” These sug­ges­tions will sound famil­iar to every­one who’s ever flipped through the deck of cards known as Oblique Strate­gies. You can now do that dig­i­tal­ly, of course, but Oblique Strate­gies remains an essen­tial­ly phys­i­cal expe­ri­ence, one whose shuf­fling and draw­ing reminds the user that they’re draw­ing from the well of chance for a way to break them through a cre­ative impasse or just rethink part of a project. It also began as thor­ough­ly a phys­i­cal expe­ri­ence, invent­ed by pro­duc­er-artist-ambi­ent musi­cian Bri­an Eno and painter Peter Schmidt, who first came up with them in the pre-dig­i­tal days of 1974.

Back then, writes Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Mar­tin Schnei­der, the con­cept for Eno and Schmidt’s “set of 115 cards with ellip­ti­cal imper­a­tives designed to spark in the user cre­ative con­nec­tions unob­tain­able through reg­u­lar modes of work” emerged as a form of “rad­i­cal inter­ven­tion with roots in East­ern phi­los­o­phy.”

Hav­ing first come on the mar­ket in the 1970s, Oblique Strate­gies has gone through sev­er­al dif­fer­ent pro­duc­tion runs, usu­al­ly pack­aged in hand­some box­es with the deck­’s name embla­zoned in gold. “The first four edi­tions are out of print and collector’s items (and priced to match). The 5th edi­tion is cur­rent­ly avail­able from Eno’s web­site for £30 (about $50). In 2013 a lim­it­ed 6th edi­tion of 500 num­bered sets were avail­able but quick­ly sold out.” At this moment, you can find one import­ed set on Ama­zon.

But it seems that the very first set of Oblique Strate­gies, fea­tured in Schnei­der’s post, is unavail­able at any price. Writ­ten in Eno’s own hand, some­times cur­sive and some­times block, on cards with a wood­en-look­ing tex­ture and with­out the round­ed cor­ners that char­ac­ter­ize the com­mer­cial ver­sion, these first Oblique Strate­gies include “Don’t be fright­ened to dis­play your tal­ents,” “If a thing can be said, it can be said sim­ply,” and “Do we need holes?” Those who have fol­lowed Eno’s work will sure­ly appre­ci­ate in par­tic­u­lar the card that says to “use non-musi­cians,” “non-musi­cian” being one of Eno’s pre­ferred titles for him­self, espe­cial­ly when work­ing in a musi­cal capac­i­ty. The total pack­age of Oblique Strate­gies may have grown more refined over the years, but this hand­made first set does have a cer­tain imme­di­a­cy, and also, in a sense, the impri­matur of his­to­ry: after all, they worked for Bri­an Eno.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jump Start Your Cre­ative Process with Bri­an Eno’s “Oblique Strate­gies” Deck of Cards (1975)

How Jim Jar­musch Gets Cre­ative Ideas from William S. Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Method and Bri­an Eno’s Oblique Strate­gies

Mar­shall McLuhan’s 1969 Deck of Cards, Designed For Out-of-the-Box Think­ing

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

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

Anatomy of a Fake: Forgery Experts Reveal 5 Ways To Spot a Fake Painting by Jackson Pollock (or Any Other Artist)

In the old days, deter­min­ing an art forgery was most­ly a mat­ter of nar­ra­tive deduc­tion, a la Sher­lock Holmes.

Thi­a­go Piwowar­czyk and Jef­frey Tay­lor, founders of New York Art Foren­sics, employ such tech­niques to estab­lish prove­nance, trac­ing the chain of own­er­ship of any giv­en work back to its orig­i­nal sale by research­ing cat­a­logues, title trans­fers, and cor­re­spon­dence.

But they also bring a num­ber of high tech tools to the table, to fur­ther prove—or in the case of the alleged Jack­son Pol­lock drip paint­ing above, disprove—a work’s authen­tic­i­ty.

In the WIRED video above, these experts, whose pedi­gree includes degrees in Chem­istry, Foren­sic Sci­ence, and Com­par­a­tive His­to­ry, a Visu­al Arts Man­age­ment text­book, and two Frick Col­lec­tion Fel­low­ships, break the sleuthing process down to five crit­i­cal steps:

1. Estab­lish prove­nance

Obso­lete tech­nol­o­gy has a place in the process too, in the form of a high­ly unre­li­able fax, alleged­ly sent in 1997. It pur­ports to be a pho­to­copy of a type­writ­ten let­ter from 1970, writ­ten by a gallery own­er who talked one of the artist’s for­mer girl­friends into part­ing with a num­ber of works after his death.

Unfor­tu­nate­ly for the painting’s cur­rent own­er, Piwowar­czyk and Tay­lor could find no proof that the gallery or its own­er ever exist­ed. The let­ter also botch­es Pollock’s death date and odd­ly, there’s a blank where the sender’s num­ber would nor­mal­ly be.

Due dili­gence reveals noth­ing resem­bling this paint­ing in the cat­a­logue raison­né of Pollock’s work.

2. Close up visu­al analy­sis

This can be accom­plished with tools as sim­ple as the flash­light and plas­tic caliper Tay­lor uses to exam­ine the sta­ple holes found at reg­u­lar inter­vals along the unsigned can­vas’ edges. In the 1940s, artists start­ed grav­i­tat­ing toward sta­ples over tacks as a method for secur­ing their can­vas­es to stretch­er bars, but would Pol­lock have done so? Like­ly not, to hear him tell it:

I hard­ly ever stretch my can­vas before paint­ing. I pre­fer to tack the unstretched can­vas to the hard wall or the floor. I need the resis­tance of a hard sur­face.

Piwowar­czyk and Tay­lor draw on their oth­er sens­es, too, when per­form­ing this in-depth visu­al inspec­tion. A deep sniff reveals that teabags were used to dis­col­or the can­vas, in hope of mak­ing it appear old­er than it is.

3. Pho­tog­ra­phy with a mul­ti­spec­tral imag­ing cam­era 

This camera’s abil­i­ty to see the Ultra-Vio­let spec­trum allows our foren­sic experts to spot restora­tions, under­draw­ing, and pen­ti­men­ti. Here, the cam­era revealed an under­ly­ing paint­ing whose geo­met­ric lay­out is unchar­ac­ter­is­tic of Pol­lock, as well as a sus­pi­cious­ly ama­teur­ish patch job on the back of the can­vas, anoth­er attempt to make the paint­ing appear old­er than it is.

4. Exam­i­na­tion with an X‑ray flu­o­res­cence spec­trom­e­ter

It looks like a cool Star Wars prop, and allows the exam­in­ers to iden­ti­fy ele­ments in the pig­ment. Here, our “Pol­lock” gets a pass. There’s tita­ni­um (as in Tita­ni­um White) in evi­dence, but that’s per­mis­si­ble for any­thing paint­ed from the 30s onward.

5. Mol­e­c­u­lar Imag­ing and Analy­sis by Raman Spec­troscopy

The forg­er might have got­ten away with it if it weren’t for those med­dling kids and their Raman Spec­tro­scope! The minus­cule sam­ples of paint Piwowar­czyk har­vests from the can­vas reveal all sorts of organ­ic debris that have no place in a Pol­lock, such as dry­wall dust and an acrylic that didn’t come into use ‘til the 1960s.

In con­clu­sion, exer­cise cau­tion and con­sult the experts before pur­chas­ing a high val­ue drip paint­ing this hol­i­day sea­son! Accord­ing to Piwowar­czyk, the fakes—over 100 and pre­sum­ably still counting—outstrip the num­ber of drip paint­ings Pol­lock cre­at­ed through­out his life­time.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How an Art Con­ser­va­tor Com­plete­ly Restores a Dam­aged Paint­ing: A Short, Med­i­ta­tive Doc­u­men­tary

The Art of Restor­ing a 400-Year-Old Paint­ing: A Five-Minute Primer

How a Book Thief Forged a Rare Edi­tion of Galileo’s Sci­en­tif­ic Work, and Almost Pulled it Off

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC from Decem­ber 6 — 20 for the 10th anniver­sary pro­duc­tion of Greg Kotis’ apoc­a­lyp­tic hol­i­day tale, The Truth About San­ta, and the next month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Thoughtful Note That George H.W. Bush Left on Bill Clinton’s Desk Before Leaving the White House (1993)

With the pass­ing of George H.W. Bush, Bill Clin­ton reflect­ed on the life and lega­cy of his polit­i­cal pre­de­ces­sor, and par­tic­u­lar­ly the thought­ful note that Bush 41 left on his desk, right before leav­ing the White House. Dat­ed Jan­u­ary 20, 1993, it read:

Dear Bill,

When I walked into this office just now I felt the same sense of won­der and respect that I felt four years ago. I know you will feel that, too.

I wish you great hap­pi­ness here. I nev­er felt the lone­li­ness some Pres­i­dents have described.

There will be very tough times, made even more dif­fi­cult by crit­i­cism you may not think is fair. I’m not a very good one to give advice; but just don’t let the crit­ics dis­cour­age you or push you off course.

You will be our Pres­i­dent when you read this note. I wish you well. I wish your fam­i­ly well.

Your suc­cess now is our country’s suc­cess. I am root­ing hard for you.

Good luck—

George

It’s hard not to see this let­ter as a rel­ic of an irre­triev­able age in Amer­i­can pol­i­tics. But Clin­ton won’t quite buy that. He writes today in the Wash­ing­ton Post: “Giv­en what pol­i­tics looks like in Amer­i­ca and around the world today, it’s easy to sigh and say George H.W. Bush belonged to an era that is gone and nev­er com­ing back — where our oppo­nents are not our ene­mies, where we are open to dif­fer­ent ideas and chang­ing our minds, where facts mat­ter and where our devo­tion to our children’s future leads to hon­est com­pro­mise and shared progress. I know what he would say: ‘Non­sense. It’s your duty to get that Amer­i­ca back.’ ” Soon enough, after enough sturm and drang, the major­i­ty of Amer­i­cans (Elec­toral Col­lege includ­ed) may be ready to sign up for that.

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 2,000+ Films Watched by Pres­i­dents Nixon, Carter & Rea­gan in the White House

Gonzo Illus­tra­tor Ralph Stead­man Draws the Amer­i­can Pres­i­dents, from Nixon to Trump

Barack Oba­ma Shares a List of Enlight­en­ing Books Worth Read­ing

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When South Africa Banned Pink Floyd’s The Wall After Students Chanted “We Don’t Need No Education” to Protest the Apartheid School System (1980)

When Apartheid states get the bless­ing of pow­er­ful nations, lob­bies, and cor­po­ra­tions, they seem to feel empow­ered to do what­ev­er they want. Such was the case, for a time, in South Africa, the coun­try that coined the term when it put its ver­sion of racial seg­re­ga­tion in place in 1948. The Apartheid sys­tem final­ly col­lapsed in 1991, decades after its coun­ter­part in the U.S.—its undo­ing the accu­mu­lat­ed weight of glob­al con­dem­na­tion, UN sanc­tion, boy­cotts, and grow­ing pres­sure from cit­i­zens in wealthy coun­tries.

Of course, cen­tral to Apartheid’s demise were the out­cries and actions of celebri­ty musi­cians. One such celebri­ty, Roger Waters, hasn’t stopped using his fame to lob­by for change, a char­ac­ter­is­tic that can some­times make him seem sanc­ti­mo­nious, but which also gave his most com­pelling Pink Floyd songs an urgency and bite that holds many decades lat­er, even though the cir­cum­stances are much changed (or not). Lines like “we don’t need no thought con­trol” have as much cur­ren­cy now as they did forty years ago.

No doubt, some of the most stri­dent, per­son­al, and pow­er­ful music Waters wrote for the band comes from The Wall. The rock opera to beat all rock operas, it turned out, pro­vid­ed a ral­ly­ing cry for South African stu­dents, who chant­ed the noto­ri­ous lyrics sung by a chil­dren’s cho­rus in “Anoth­er Brick in the Wall (Part II)” to protest racial inequal­i­ties in the school sys­tem. “We don’t need no edu­ca­tion,” they sang in uni­son, and the song “held the top spot on the local charts for almost three months,” writes Nick Deriso at Ulti­mate Clas­sic Rock, “a total of sev­en weeks longer than it did in Amer­i­ca.”

Threat­ened by the phe­nom­e­non, the South African gov­ern­ment banned the song, then the whole album, in 1980, impos­ing what Waters called “a cul­tur­al block­ade… on cer­tain songs.” Deriso explains that “South Africa’s Direc­torate of Pub­li­ca­tions held sweep­ing pow­er in that era to ban books, movies, plays, posters, arti­cles of cloth­ing and, yes, music that it deemed ‘polit­i­cal or moral­ly unde­sir­able.’” The cen­sors were not the only peo­ple to inter­pret the song as a threat. “Peo­ple were real­ly dri­ven to fren­zies of rage by it,” Waters remem­bers.

He has since played the song all over the world, includ­ing Berlin in 1990, and he spray paint­ed its lyrics on the wall in the West Bank in 2006. “Twen­ty-five years lat­er,” he writes at The GuardianThe Wall still res­onat­ed, this time with Pales­tin­ian chil­dren, who “used the song to protest Israel’s wall around the West Bank. They sang: ‘We don’t need no occu­pa­tion! We don’t need no racist wall!” Waters com­pares the cur­rent boy­cott cam­paign to the refusal of major stars in the 80s to play South Africa’s Sun City resort “until apartheid fell and white peo­ple and black peo­ple enjoyed equal rights.”

As for the dura­bil­i­ty of “Anoth­er Brick in the Wall (Part II)” as a ral­ly­ing cry for young activists, the best com­ment may come from an unlike­ly source—the Arch­bish­op of Can­ter­bury, who “went on record,” Waters writes, “say­ing that if it’s very pop­u­lar with school kids, then it must in some way be express­ing some feel­ings that they have them­selves. If one doesn’t like it, or how­ev­er one feels about it, one should take the oppor­tu­ni­ty of using it as a start­ing point for discussion—which was exact­ly how I felt about it.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Pink Floyd’s “Com­fort­ably Numb” Was Born From an Argu­ment Between Roger Waters & David Gilmour

Under­stand­ing Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, Their Trib­ute to Depart­ed Band­mate Syd Bar­rett

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

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

Mira Nair, Director of Monsoon Wedding and The Namesake, Teaches an Online Course on Indie Filmmaking

FYI: Mira Nair, the direc­tor of Mon­soon Wed­ding and The Name­sakehas just released an online mas­ter­class on inde­pen­dent film­mak­ing. In 17 video lessons, the Oscar-nom­i­nat­ed direc­tor teach­es stu­dents how to “make a big impact on a small bud­get, evoke the best from actors and non-actors, and pro­tect your cre­ative vision so you tell the sto­ry that can only come from you.” Nair’s course runs $90. But for $180, you can get an All-Access Pass to Mas­ter­class’ cat­a­logue of 45 cours­es, which includes cours­es by a num­ber of oth­er promi­nent filmmakers–Martin Scors­ese, Spike Lee, Ken Burns, Ron Howard, Wern­er Her­zog and more. Not to men­tion actors and actress­es like Samuel L. Jack­son and Helen Mir­ren.

FYI: If you sign up for a Mas­ter­Class course by click­ing on the affil­i­ate links in this post, Open Cul­ture will receive a small fee that helps sup­port our oper­a­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wern­er Her­zog Offers 24 Pieces of Film­mak­ing & Life Advice

Direc­tor Robert Rodriguez Teach­es The Basics of Film­mak­ing in Under 10 Min­utes

The Stu­dent of Prague: The Very First Inde­pen­dent Film (1913)

Blade Runner Getting Adapted into a New Anime Series, Produced by Cowboy Bebop Animator Shinichiro Watanabe

You may remem­ber, in the run-up to the the­atri­cal release of Blade Run­ner 2049 last Octo­ber, that three short pre­quels appeared on the inter­net. Black Out 2022 (above), the most dis­cussed install­ment of that minia­ture tril­o­gy, stood out both aes­thet­i­cal­ly and cul­tur­al­ly: direct­ed by famed Japan­ese ani­ma­tor Shinichi­ro Watan­abe, it expand­ed the real­i­ty of Blade Run­ner through a form that has drawn so much from that uni­verse over the pre­vi­ous 35 years. “I just want an ani­mat­ed bladerun­ner series now,” says the cur­rent top-rat­ed com­ment below that video, “this was mag­i­cal.” And so, a year lat­er, the answer to the prayer of that com­menter (and clear­ly many oth­er view­ers besides) has appeared on the hori­zon: a Japan­ese ani­mat­ed series called Blade Run­ner — Black Lotus.

Over­seen by Watan­abe in the pro­duc­er role and direct­ed by Ken­ji Kamiya­ma and Shin­ji Ara­ma­ki, the lat­ter of whom worked in the art depart­ment on Black Out 2022, the new series will take place in 2032, between the events of the short and those of Blade Run­ner 2049.

“It will also include some ‘estab­lished char­ac­ters’ from the Blade Run­ner uni­verse, but that could mean all sorts of things,” writes The A.V. Club’s Sam Barsan­ti. “Har­ri­son Ford’s Rick Deckard would already be in hid­ing at that point after father­ing the mir­a­cle repli­cant baby, so it could be about him going off on some cool guy adven­tures, but Deckard doesn’t exact­ly seem like a guy who goes on cool guy adven­tures. Ryan Gosling’s K prob­a­bly wasn’t ‘born’ yet, since he’s a Nexus‑9 repli­cant and those weren’t cre­at­ed until lat­er in the 2030s, but we don’t know for sure.”

Per­haps sup­port­ing char­ac­ters from both movies, “like Edward James Olmos’ Gaff (he might still be an LAPD cop) or Jared Leto’s Nian­der Wal­lace (he’s def­i­nite­ly hang­ing around, being an evil rich guy),” will show up. What­ev­er hap­pens, the thir­teen episodes of Blade Run­ner — Black Lotus will cer­tain­ly have no small amount of both famil­iar­i­ty and sur­prise in store for fans of Blade Run­ner, as well as those of Watan­abe’s oth­er work. That goes espe­cial­ly for his philo­soph­i­cal space boun­ty-hunter series Cow­boy Bebop, itself the source mate­r­i­al for a new live-action tele­vi­sion series on Adult Swim, who will air Blade Run­ner — Black Lotus at the same time as it’s streamed on ani­me site Crunchyroll.com. No release date has thus far been announced, but odds are the show’s debut will hap­pen some time in 2019 — the per­fect year for it, as every­one thrilling to the prospect of more Blade Run­ner already knows.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Three New Pre­quels Get You Ready to Watch Blade Run­ner 2049

Watch the New Ani­me Pre­quel to Blade Run­ner 2049, by Famed Japan­ese Ani­ma­tor Shinichi­ro Watan­abe

How Rid­ley Scott’s Blade Run­ner Illu­mi­nates the Cen­tral Prob­lem of Moder­ni­ty

The Exis­ten­tial Phi­los­o­phy of Cow­boy Bebop, the Cult Japan­ese Ani­me Series, Explored in a Thought­ful Video Essay

“The Long Tomor­row”: Dis­cov­er Mœbius’ Hard-Boiled Detec­tive Com­ic That Inspired Blade Run­ner (1975)

When Japan’s Top Ani­ma­tors Made a Thrilling Cyber­punk Com­mer­cial for Irish Beer: Watch Last Orders (1997)

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

Andy Kaufman Creates Mayhem on Late Night TV: When Comedy Becomes Performance Art (1981)

While there are many styles of com­e­dy, the con­tract between come­di­an and audi­ence is a fair­ly stan­dard one. The come­di­an endeav­ors to get laughs. The audi­ence under­stands that sort of cur­ren­cy, and is eager to lav­ish it on deserv­ing can­di­dates.

The late Andy Kauf­man wasn’t much inter­est­ed in that sort of exchange.

His com­e­dy was exper­i­men­tal to the point of per­for­mance art, and often felt exper­i­men­tal in a sci­en­tif­ic sense as well. When he read long pas­sages from The Great Gats­by to com­e­dy club audi­ences, went after pro­fes­sion­al wrestlers twice his size, or insist­ed he’d found Jesus and got­ten engaged to a Lawrence Welk Show singer, it was as if he was con­duct­ing a stress test. How much dis­ori­en­ta­tion would an audi­ence put up with?

He was a gen­uine weirdo. The genius kid who seems hell­bent on win­ning the ani­mos­i­ty of his class­mates with his cryp­tic remarks and odd behav­ior.

Know­ing young com­e­dy fans who idol­ize prankster Sacha Baron Cohen’s shapeshift­ing stunts may find it hard to appre­ci­ate just how unset­tling the off-kil­ter Kauf­man could be.

Wit­ness his 1981 guest spot on Fri­days, a rival network’s short-lived attempt to dupli­cate Sat­ur­day Night Live’s suc­cess.

In the sketch above, Kauf­man wan­ders pret­ty egre­gious­ly afield of expect­ed con­duct. In an era where guest stars appeared not infre­quent­ly bombed out of their gourds, it wasn’t entire­ly sur­pris­ing that one might appear con­fused, or have trou­ble read­ing cue cards. But Kauf­man seemed to be mak­ing a delib­er­ate choice to scup­per his career, or at the very least, the good­will of Fri­days’ cast and crew, by refus­ing to play along in a sketch about restau­rant patrons sneak­ing off to the bath­room to get high.

“I can’t play stoned,” he breaks char­ac­ter to announce, mid-scene. Hmm. Seems like the kind of thing one might bring up dur­ing the table read. An a‑hole would wait till dress rehearsal, when such a move would for sure inspire the enmi­ty of cast and crew. Kauf­man wait­ed till the sketch was being taped in front of a live stu­dio audi­ence.

But then, Kaufman’s exper­i­ments need­ed an audi­ence to suc­ceed.

As with Sacha Baron Cohen’s elab­o­rate rus­es, it helped to lim­it the num­ber of peo­ple who were in on the joke.

Actor Melanie Chartoff recalled how she and Kaufman’s oth­er two scene part­ners, Mary Edith Bur­rell and Seinfeld’s Michael Richards, were tipped off fair­ly late in the process by producer/announcer Jack Burns, who was thrilled to snap up the live wire whose antics had per­ma­nent­ly burned his bridges with Sat­ur­day Night Live:

Andy’s gonna bust out of the show tonight,” he gleamed. “He’s gonna mess up and break the fourth wall from the top of the mono­logue. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna kick our rat­ings through the ROOF!

And so it did, abet­ted by benight­ed crew mem­bers who sprang to pro­vide back up, when a furi­ous-seem­ing Burns stormed the set as if to kick the ornery guest star’s ass.

But the piece de resis­tance came the fol­low­ing week, when pro­duc­er John Mof­fitt went on air to sat­is­fy the public’s need to know, con­fess­ing that the stunt was indeed a fake and pious­ly sug­gest­ing they should take it as a reminder of the “spon­tane­ity of live tele­vi­sion, some­thing that rarely hap­pens in this basi­cal­ly pas­sive medi­um today.”

Then Kaufman—who gen­uine­ly hat­ed that his sleight of hand had been revealed—turned on Mof­fitt for the halt­ing, mis­er­able, and seem­ing­ly forced 4 minute apol­o­gy below.

When the live audi­ence laughed delight­ed­ly, he lashed out, insist­ing that his pre­vi­ous week’s actions were about to cost him his gig on the hit sit­com Taxi, all future roles, a num­ber of friend­ships, and his mar­riage.

Nev­er mind that he was unmar­ried.

This come­di­an played a long game, and easy laughs were nev­er the goal.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Look Back at Andy Kauf­man: Absurd Com­ic Per­for­mance Artist and Endear­ing Weirdo

The Improb­a­ble Time When Orson Welles Inter­viewed Andy Kauf­man (1982)

The Night John Belushi Booked the Punk Band Fear on Sat­ur­day Night Live, And They Got Banned from the Show

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC this Decem­ber for the 10th anniver­sary pro­duc­tion of Greg Kotis’ apoc­a­lyp­tic hol­i­day tale, The Truth About San­ta, and the next month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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

I remem­ber the ear­ly part of 1984 when Queen’s “Radio Gaga,” their sin­gle from The Works album with a video that mixed in clips from Fritz Lang’s Metrop­o­lis, was played near­ly every hour on MTV. Or it least it seemed that way. And then in April, the band released their fol­low-up sin­gle, “I Want to Break Free,” seen above. This is when things got weird for Queen state­side and where truth starts to split from rumor.

In the fine tra­di­tion of British pan­tomime and Mon­ty Python, the band appear in drag, with Mer­cury in a black leather skirt vac­u­um­ing the floor of a typ­i­cal Eng­lish liv­ing room, Bri­an May in curlers and night­dress; John Dea­con as a more con­ser­v­a­tive grand­moth­er; and Roger Tay­lor as a school­girl. British view­ers would have got the joke–the style and dress and set­ting was a direct par­o­dy of pop­u­lar work­ing class soap opera Coro­na­tion Street, and its first shot of chim­neys and row hous­es was a fur­ther give­away.

“We had done some real­ly seri­ous, epic videos in the past, and we just thought we’d have some fun,” said Roger Tay­lor. “We want­ed peo­ple to know that we did­n’t take our­selves too seri­ous­ly, that we could still laugh at our­selves. I think we proved that.”

But some Amer­i­cans appar­ent­ly did take it seri­ous­ly and believed the video to be pro­mot­ing cross-dress­ing. (There’s no men­tion whether they thought the mid­dle sec­tion, fea­tur­ing mem­bers of the Roy­al Bal­let and a par­o­dy of Nijinsky’s After­noon of a Faun, pro­mot­ed bal­let, leo­tards, or Claude Debussy).

Now most accounts from here on out say that MTV banned the video, despite the song being in the charts for eight weeks. It failed to be the block­buster hit like “Radio Gaga,” for sure, and Queen nev­er again real­ly had a foothold on Amer­i­can pop cul­ture until Live Aid, and even then their appear­ance meant more to the Brits than the Yanks. Queen went from a clas­sic rock act to some­thing the British got and the Amer­i­cans didn’t.

Bri­an May agreed that the video was a turn­ing point when he sat for a Ter­ry Gross inter­view in 2010:

I remem­ber doing a pro­mo tour for this song that we did, which was called “I Want to Break Free.” Now we made a video for that, which was a pas­tiche of an Eng­lish soap called “Coro­na­tion Street,” and we dressed up as the char­ac­ters in that soap, and they were female char­ac­ters. So we’re dress­ing up as girls — as women and we had a fan­tas­tic laugh doing it. It was hilar­i­ous to do it. And all around the world peo­ple laughed and they got the joke and they sort of under­stood it.

I remem­ber being on the pro­mo tour in the Mid­west of Amer­i­ca and peo­ple’s faces turn­ing ashen and they would say, no, we can’t play this. We can’t pos­si­bly play this. You know, it looks homo­sex­u­al. And I went, so? But it was a huge deal. And I know that it real­ly dam­aged our sort of whole rela­tion­ship with cer­tain­ly radio in this coun­try and prob­a­bly the pub­lic as well…

But it was very dif­fi­cult for us to sort of get back. And there’s a whole kind of gap in Queen his­to­ry if you view it from Amer­i­ca. And Fred­die was very aware of that. And we nev­er real­ly came back and toured the way we should’ve done. You know, every place else in the world, we played foot­ball sta­di­ums. But it nev­er hap­pened in the States. And Fred­die, when I played him this thing, said — (laugh­ter) well, he said, you know, it might do for us what noth­ing else would do, and he was dead right.

You know, it’s amaz­ing that even the fact that Fred­die died did­n’t make that much of a dif­fer­ence. But the fact that Wayne’s World put it in their film did make a dif­fer­ence. And I sup­pose the quote that I’m steer­ing clear of is that Fred­die, at one point, said to me, you know, I sup­pose I’ll have to [exple­tive] die before we ever get big in Amer­i­ca again.

While that is true, I’m not too sure about this “banned video” busi­ness. I saw this video a lot on MTV. I remem­ber both my par­ents laugh­ing at the video because it remind­ed them of the Pythons. And apart from a line repeat­ed over and over on the Inter­net and in some very recent Queen biogra­phies, it’s hard to find con­tem­po­rary proof that this ban hap­pened and when.

Being banned has often been great pub­lic­i­ty and often ginned up con­tro­ver­sy. But if you want to see a def­i­nite­ly banned Queen video, check out “Body Lan­guage,” from their 1982 album Hot Space. Filled with sweaty body parts, plen­ty of leather, and set in some sort of uni­sex bath­house, this indeed was banned by MTV. Believe me, I would have remem­bered see­ing this at the time if they hadn’t.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Mak­ing of “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody”: Take a Deep Dive Into the Icon­ic Song with Queen’s 2002 Mini Doc­u­men­tary

The Joy of Expe­ri­enc­ing Queen’s Bohemi­an Rhap­sody for the Very First Time: Watch Three Reac­tion Videos

Hear How Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” Would Sound If Sung by John­ny Cash, David Bowie, Janis Joplin, Frank Sina­tra & 38 Oth­er Artists

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

How David Lynch Manipulates You: A Close Reading of Mulholland Drive

David Lynch mess­es with your mind. You’ve prob­a­bly heard vari­a­tions on that obser­va­tion before, as like­ly to come from peo­ple who love Lynch’s films as from those who can’t stand them. Unlike most “nor­mal” film­mak­ers, who tell sto­ries com­fort­ably ensconced in the real­i­ty that the tra­di­tion of cin­e­ma has built, Lynch has always told his sto­ries in a cin­e­mat­ic real­i­ty of his own, built out of the exist­ing ele­ments of cin­e­ma but bolt­ed togeth­er by him in sur­pris­ing and often unset­tling ways. Hence his name’s long-ago con­ver­sion into an adjec­tive: David Lynch movies are Lynchi­an, and it falls to we who watch them to deal with the psy­cho­log­i­cal effects — fright­en­ing, thrilling, com­plete­ly dis­ori­ent­ing, or some com­bi­na­tion of those and more — that Lynchi­an­ness stirs with­in us.

In the video essay “Mul­hol­land Dri­ve: How Lynch Manip­u­lates You,” Evan Puschak, bet­ter known at the Nerd­writer, breaks down Lynch’s process of mind-mess­ing, at least as it works in one par­tic­u­lar scene of one of his best-known and most acclaimed films, Mul­hol­land Dri­ve. Lynch, Puschak explains, “uses expec­ta­tion as a tool. He wields expec­ta­tion — the expec­ta­tion that comes from what we know about film, about its his­to­ry, the his­to­ry of sto­ries, and from our human­i­ty — with the same nuance and pow­er as some­one else might use light to cre­ate a vari­ety of moods in a space.”

Mul­hol­land Dri­ve, which seems to begin as the sto­ry of a would-be blonde ingenue arriv­ing in Hol­ly­wood with dreams of mak­ing it big, gets fur­ther and fur­ther off kil­ter as it goes, lever­ag­ing the osten­si­ble stiff­ness and even corni­ness it dares to present at the begin­ning to deliv­er a much dark­er and more com­plex cin­e­mat­ic expe­ri­ence in the end. “All through­out the film, from the over­dubbed dia­logue on down, David Lynch has made us privy to the veneer of things,” says Puschak. “It’s all curi­ous­ly two-dimen­sion­al, and that puts us on our guard, since sur­faces are what we get. Lynch encour­ages us to exam­ine those sur­faces, always remain­ing detached enough for a dis­in­ter­est­ed, crit­i­cal view of what we’re see­ing.”

But “as with every­thing that Lynch does, this two-dimen­sion­al­i­ty, this flat­ness, is also a decep­tion. While we think we’re on our guard, supe­ri­or to the cloy­ing emo­tions of Hol­ly­wood wish-ful­fill­ment, Lynch rel­ish­es drop­ping the bot­tom out, show­ing us just how unpre­pared for and sus­cep­ti­ble we are to emo­tions that our soci­ety trea­sures or deeply fears.” In Mul­hol­land Dri­ve he accom­plish­es this over and over again by using ancient Hol­ly­wood stereo­types, film noir tropes, a night­club singer lip-sync­ing to a Roy Orbi­son song in Span­ish, a cave­man liv­ing behind a Sun­set Strip din­er, Ange­lo Badala­men­ti spit­ting out an espres­so, Bil­ly Ray Cyrus, and much more besides. And as both Lynch’s fans and detrac­tors must sus­pect, he no doubt has a few more ways to drop the bot­toms out from under his audi­ences in his tool­box yet.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sur­re­al Film­mak­ing of David Lynch Explained in 9 Video Essays

What Makes a David Lynch Film Lynchi­an: A Video Essay

An Ani­mat­ed David Lynch Explains Where He Gets His Ideas

David Lynch Mus­es About the Mag­ic of Cin­e­ma & Med­i­ta­tion in a New Abstract Short Film

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


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