How Kraftwerk’s 22-Minute Song “Autobahn” Became an Early Masterpiece in Electronic Music (1975)

It takes about five hours to dri­ve from Düs­sel­dorf to Ham­burg on the Auto­bahn. Dur­ing that stretch, you can lis­ten to Kraftwerk’s album Auto­bahn sev­en times — or if you pre­fer, you can loop its epony­mous open­ing song thir­teen times. For it was “Auto­bahn,” more so than Auto­bahn, that changed the sound of music around the world in ways we still hear today. “Ger­many was sud­den­ly on the musi­cal map,” writes the Guardian’s Tim Jonze. “David Bowie – who used to ride the auto­bahn while lis­ten­ing to the record – moved to Berlin and went on to make the elec­tron­i­cal­ly influ­enced Low, “Heroes” and Lodger. Bri­an Eno relo­cat­ed to the rur­al vil­lage of Forst to record with the influ­en­tial avant-garde band Har­mo­nia.” Soon would come the elec­tron­ic pop of Ultra­vox, DAF and the Eury­th­mics, fol­lowed by Don­na Sum­mer and Gior­gio Moroder’s flood­gate-open­ing “I Feel Love”.

Not a bad pop-cul­tur­al coup for, as Jonze puts it, “a 22-minute 43-sec­ond song about the Ger­man road net­work.” At the time of its release in ear­ly 1975, Kraftwerk had put out three full albums, but what would become their sig­na­ture Teu­ton­ic-elec­tron­ic sound had­n’t quite tak­en shape. But it was already clear that their work took its inspi­ra­tion from twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry moder­ni­ty, a sub­ject of which no sin­gle work of man in their home­land could have been more evoca­tive than the Auto­bahn.

With its ori­gins in the Weimar Repub­lic and its long stretch­es with­out a speed lim­it, the Ger­man free­way net­work is inter­na­tion­al­ly regard­ed as a con­crete sym­bol of total per­son­al free­dom, and total per­son­al respon­si­bil­i­ty, with­in a high­ly rule-respect­ing cul­ture. To the young mem­bers of Kraftwerk, who often drove the Düs­sel­dorf-Ham­burg sec­tion, it held out the promise of free­dom.

So did the then-new Min­i­moog syn­the­siz­er, which cost as much as a Volk­swa­gen at the time, but offered the chance to make music like noth­ing the pub­lic had ever heard before. “Auto­bahn” cap­tured the imag­i­na­tions of lis­ten­ers every­where with not just its elec­tron­ic effects, but also the incon­gruity of their com­bi­na­tion with instru­ments like the flute (a holdover from Kraftwerk’s ear­li­er com­po­si­tions) and vehic­u­lar sounds evoca­tive of a gen­uine road trip — all assem­bled at what would then have seemed a hyp­not­i­cal­ly expan­sive length for a pop song. Lit­tle did even the hippest lis­ten­ers of the mid-sev­en­ties, such as the Amer­i­cans tuned into ear­ly free-form FM sta­tions where no cor­po­rate pro­gram­ming rules applied, know that they were hear­ing what Jones calls “the point where elec­tron­ic pop music tru­ly began.” All car trips run out of road even­tu­al­ly, but human­i­ty’s jour­ney into the pos­si­bil­i­ties of high-tech music shows no signs of approach­ing its end.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Psy­che­del­ic Ani­mat­ed Video for Kraftwerk’s “Auto­bahn” (1979)

Kraftwerk Plays a Live 40-Minute Ver­sion of their Sig­na­ture Song “Auto­bahn:” A Sound­track for a Long Road Trip (1974)

How Kraftwerk Made the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Kraftwerk’s First Con­cert: The Begin­ning of the End­less­ly Influ­en­tial Band (1970)

How the Moog Syn­the­siz­er Changed the Sound of Music

Hear the Evo­lu­tion of Elec­tron­ic Music: A Son­ic Jour­ney from 1929 to 2019

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Watch Errol Morris’s Tune Out the Noise Free Online: A Documentary About the Financial Revolution That Transformed Investing

You can’t beat the mar­ket. That, at least, is the advice we all encounter ear­ly on when first we try our hand at invest­ing. Home­spun though it may sound, the idea has aca­d­e­m­ic roots: the Effi­cient Mar­ket Hypoth­e­sis, as the econ­o­mists call it, holds that the prices in any finan­cial mar­ket already reflect all avail­able infor­ma­tion rel­e­vant to what’s being trad­ed with­in them. In the case of the stock mar­ket, for exam­ple, every­thing known — or indeed, know­able — about the future prospects of a par­tic­u­lar com­pa­ny is already incor­po­rat­ed into its stock price, or might as well be. If the EMH is true, then it must also be true that nobody can beat the mar­ket, no mat­ter how deep their expe­ri­ence or devel­oped their instinct for pick­ing stocks.

Nobel Lau­re­ate econ­o­mist Eugene Fama, who’s done more than any­one alive to refine the EFM and keep it in cir­cu­la­tion, appears as one of the inter­vie­wees in Tune Out the Noise, the Errol Mor­ris-direct­ed doc­u­men­tary above. So do a range of oth­er fig­ures, most­ly sep­tu­a­ge­nar­i­an and octo­ge­nar­i­an, whose great suc­cess in their fields owes to their hav­ing trust­ed the wis­dom of the mar­ket. All have been involved with the invest­ment firm Dimen­sion­al Fund Advi­sors, which, since its found­ing in the ear­ly nine­teen-eight­ies, has been one of the engines of change in its indus­try. In the first half of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, invest­ing had an almost mys­ti­cal qual­i­ty about it — a qual­i­ty swept away by the “data rev­o­lu­tion” of the sec­ond half.

That rev­o­lu­tion was pow­ered, of course, by com­put­ers. Most of Mor­ris’ inter­vie­wees first found them­selves placed in front of one of those hulk­ing, inscrutable machines at some point in their ter­tiary edu­ca­tion, more than like­ly at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go. They learned to work those ear­ly com­put­ers’ punch cards and whirring reels of tape even as elec­tron­ic com­put­ing itself first found its uses in civ­i­liza­tion. Sud­den­ly, though it demand­ed painstak­ing col­lec­tion and pro­gram­ming work, it had become pos­si­ble to exam­ine stock mar­ket data and deter­mine what pat­terns, if any, it con­tained, and whether any investor had con­sis­tent­ly out­per­formed the aver­age. The answers revealed would become the premise of not just “pas­sive” invest­ment firms like DFA, but also of the orig­i­nal cre­ation of index funds like the S&P 500.

All this may not sound like the usu­al ter­rain of Errol Mor­ris, whose pre­vi­ous doc­u­men­taries have pro­filed every­one from pet ceme­tery oper­a­tors to for­mer U.S. sec­re­taries of defense to Stephen Hawk­ing. His films aren’t with­out their con­fronta­tion­al moments, though giv­en that Tune Out the Noise was com­mis­sioned by DFA itself, it should­n’t come as a sur­prise that Mor­ris nev­er shifts into inter­ro­ga­tion mode (despite using his sig­na­ture Inter­ro­tron rig to shoot the inter­views). Despite claim­ing not to know any­thing about invest­ing or finan­cial mar­kets going in, he finds plen­ty of over­lap with inter­ests that have long run through his work: epis­te­mol­o­gy, for exam­ple, and the nature of sci­en­tif­ic rev­o­lu­tion. After all, most any field has some con­nec­tion to the inex­haustible sub­ject of how we know, what we know, and what we can’t know. “Peo­ple shrink from uncer­tain­ty, but it’s uncer­tain­ty that real­ly cre­ates oppor­tu­ni­ty,” DFA co-founder David Booth says to Mor­ris. “What would the world be like if there were no uncer­tain­ty? I mean, pret­ty dull.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nobel Prize-Win­ning Psy­chol­o­gist Daniel Kah­ne­man (RIP) Explains the Key Ques­tion Every Investor Must Ask, and Why It’s a Fool’s Errand to Pick Stocks

Errol Mor­ris Makes His Ground­break­ing Series First Per­son Free to Watch Online: Binge Watch His Inter­views with Genius­es, Eccentrics, Obses­sives & Oth­er Unusu­al Types

Take a Free Course on the Finan­cial Mar­kets with Robert Shiller, Win­ner of the Nobel Prize in Eco­nom­ics

“They Were There” — Errol Mor­ris Final­ly Directs a Film for IBM

Under­stand­ing Finan­cial Mar­kets

Watch A Brief His­to­ry of Time, Errol Mor­ris’ Film About the Life & Work of Stephen Hawk­ing

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

When Soviet Youth Bootlegged Western Rock Music on Discarded X‑Rays: Hear Original Audio Samples

A catchy trib­ute to mid-cen­tu­ry Sovi­et hip­sters popped up a few years back in a song called “Stilya­gi” by lo-fi L.A. hip­sters Puro Instinct. The lyrics tell of a charis­mat­ic dude who impress­es “all the girls in the neigh­bor­hood” with his “mag­ni­tiz­dat” and gui­tar. Wait, his what? His mag­ni­tiz­dat, man! Like samiz­dat, or under­ground press, mag­ni­tiz­dat—from the words for “tape recorder” and “publishing”—kept Sovi­et youth in the know with sur­rep­ti­tious record­ings of pop music. Stilya­gi (a post-war sub­cul­ture that copied its style from Hol­ly­wood movies and Amer­i­can jazz and rock and roll) made and dis­trib­uted con­tra­band music in the Sovi­et Union. But, as an NPR piece informs us, “before the avail­abil­i­ty of the tape recorder and dur­ing the 1950s, when vinyl was scarce, inge­nious Rus­sians began record­ing banned boot­leg jazz, boo­gie woo­gie and rock ‘n’ roll on exposed X‑ray film sal­vaged from hos­pi­tal waste bins and archives.” See one such X‑ray “record” above, and see here the fas­ci­nat­ing process dra­ma­tized in the first scene of a 2008 Russ­ian musi­cal titled, of course, Stilya­gi (trans­lat­ed into Eng­lish as “Hipsters”—the word lit­er­al­ly means “obsessed with fash­ion”).

These records were called roent­g­e­niz­dat (X‑ray press) or, says Sergei Khrushchev (son of Niki­ta), “bone music.” Author Anya von Bremzen describes them as “for­bid­den West­ern music cap­tured on the inte­ri­ors of Sovi­et cit­i­zens”: “They would cut the X‑ray into a crude cir­cle with man­i­cure scis­sors and use a cig­a­rette to burn a hole. You’d have Elvis on the lungs, Duke Elling­ton on Aunt Masha’s brain scan….” The ghoul­ish makeshift discs sure look cool enough, but what did they sound like? Well, as you can hear below in the Bea­t­les sam­ples, a bit like old Vic­tro­la phono­graph records played through tiny tran­sis­tor radios on a squonky AM fre­quen­cy.

Dressed in fash­ions copied from jazz and rock­a­bil­ly albums, stilya­gi learned to dance at under­ground night­clubs to these tin­ny ghosts of West­ern pop songs, and fought off the Komsomol—super-square Lenin­ist youth brigades—who broke up roent­g­e­niz­dat rings and tried to sup­press the influ­ence of bour­geois West­ern pop cul­ture. Accord­ing to Arte­my Troit­sky, author of Back in the USSR: The True Sto­ry of Rock in Rus­sia, these records were also called “ribs”: “The qual­i­ty was awful, but the price was low—a rou­ble or rou­ble and a half. Often these records held sur­pris­es for the buy­er. Let’s say, a few sec­onds of Amer­i­can rock ’n’ roll, then a mock­ing voice in Russ­ian ask­ing: ‘So, thought you’d take a lis­ten to the lat­est sounds, eh?, fol­lowed by a few choice epi­thets addressed to fans of styl­ish rhythms, then silence.”

See more images of bone music records over at Laugh­ing Squid and Wired co-founder Kevin Kel­ly’s blog Street Use, and above dig some his­tor­i­cal footage of stilya­gi jit­ter­bug­ging through what appears to be a kind of Sovi­et train­ing film about West­ern influ­ence on Sovi­et youth cul­ture, pro­duced no doubt dur­ing the Khrushchev thaw when, as Russ­ian writer Vladimir Voinovich tells NPR, things got “a lit­tle more lib­er­al than before.”

bonemusic2

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Spot a Com­mu­nist by Using Lit­er­ary Crit­i­cism: A 1955 Man­u­al from the U.S. Mil­i­tary

Louis Arm­strong Plays His­toric Cold War Con­certs in East Berlin & Budapest (1965)

Read the CIA’s Sim­ple Sab­o­tage Field Man­u­al: A Time­less Guide to Sub­vert­ing Any Orga­ni­za­tion with “Pur­pose­ful Stu­pid­i­ty” (1944)

Bertolt Brecht Tes­ti­fies Before the House Un-Amer­i­can Activ­i­ties Com­mit­tee (1947)

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

An Introduction to Brutalism: The Iconic Postwar Architectural Style That Combined Utopianism and Concrete

The arti­fi­cial lan­guage of Esperan­to was con­ceived with high ideals in mind. In the eigh­teen-eight­ies, its cre­ator L. L. Zamen­hof envi­sioned it as the uni­ver­sal sec­ond lan­guage of human­i­ty, and if it has­n’t achieved that sta­tus by now, it at least remains the world’s most wide­ly spo­ken con­struct­ed aux­il­iary lan­guage. One fac­tor com­pli­cat­ing its spread is that no lan­guage, even one guid­ed by inter­na­tion­al­ism, can remain the same for long enough in two dif­fer­ent cul­tures. As in spo­ken and writ­ten lan­guages, so in the con­crete one of archi­tec­ture — and in the case of the style known as Bru­tal­ism, that would be lit­er­al con­crete. Meant to make human­i­ty whole again after the Sec­ond World War, its build­ings end­ed up being rather more par­tic­u­lar, and less utopi­an, than their archi­tects intend­ed.

Exam­ples aplen­ty appear in the new video above from Built Nar­ra­tive, which offers what amounts to a post­card tour of Bru­tal­ist (and Bru­tal­ism-adja­cent) build­ings from around the world. Named for its main mate­r­i­al béton brut, or raw con­crete, the style came into its own dur­ing the rebuild­ing of war-ruined sec­tions of British and con­ti­nen­tal Euro­pean cities — and, over in the U.S., the rapid pro­lif­er­a­tion and expan­sion of col­lege cam­pus­es — which had to be done quick­ly and under less-than-extrav­a­gant bud­gets.

Libraries, research facil­i­ties, city halls, admin­is­tra­tive build­ings, cour­t­hous­es, hous­ing projects: these are the sorts of struc­tures that most often took Bru­tal­ist form in the nine­teen-fifties, six­ties, and sev­en­ties, result­ing in the insti­tu­tion­al, bureau­crat­ic, and in some places total­i­tar­i­an asso­ci­a­tions it still has today.

Some pub­licly loathed Bru­tal­ist build­ings, like the Tri­corn Cen­tre in Portsmouth and the Third Church of Christ, Sci­en­tist in Wash­ing­ton, D.C. have been torn down, often after decades of neg­li­gent main­te­nance. Oth­ers, like the Bar­bi­can Estate in Lon­don or Habi­tat 67 in Mon­tre­al, are now beloved sites of pil­grim­age. Wide­ly acknowl­edged mas­ters of Bru­tal­ism include Le Cor­busier, who pio­neered it with build­ings like the Unité d’Habi­ta­tion in Mar­seille (not Berlin, con­tra the cap­tion in the video) and Ken­zo Tange (pro­nounced “tawn-gay,” not “tang” as the nar­ra­tor says it), whose work steered the Japan­ese ver­sion of the move­ment in its own sub­tle, some­times play­ful direc­tions. Now, thanks in part to the rapid dif­fu­sion of archi­tec­tur­al pho­tog­ra­phy made pos­si­ble by social media, a new enthu­si­ast of Bru­tal­ism seems to be born every minute. Even if they don’t believe that archi­tec­ture can bring a new world into being, they still feel the pull of a future that nev­er came — or, at any rate, has­n’t come yet.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Every­thing You Ever Want­ed to Know About the Beau­ty of Bru­tal­ist Archi­tec­ture: An Intro­duc­tion in Six Videos

Why Peo­ple Hate Bru­tal­ist Build­ings on Amer­i­can Col­lege Cam­pus­es

Why Do Peo­ple Hate Mod­ern Archi­tec­ture?: A Video Essay

Good­bye to the Nak­a­gin Cap­sule Tow­er, Tokyo’s Strangest and Most Utopi­an Apart­ment Build­ing

The World Accord­ing to Le Cor­busier: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Most Mod­ern of All Archi­tects

An Espres­so Mak­er Made in Le Corbusier’s Bru­tal­ist Archi­tec­tur­al Style: Raw Con­crete on the Out­side, High-End Parts on the Inside

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Meet the “Telharmonium,” the First Synthesizer (and Predecessor to Muzak), Invented in 1897

Before the New Year, we brought you footage of Russ­ian poly­math­ic inven­tor Léon Theremin demon­strat­ing the strange instru­ment that bears his sur­name, and we not­ed that the Theremin was the first elec­tron­ic instru­ment. This is not strict­ly true, though it is the first elec­tron­ic instru­ment to be mass pro­duced and wide­ly used in orig­i­nal com­po­si­tion and per­for­mance. But like bio­log­i­cal evo­lu­tion, the his­to­ry of musi­cal instru­ment devel­op­ment is lit­tered with dead ends, anom­alies, and for­got­ten ances­tors (such as the octo­bass). One such obscure odd­i­ty, the Tel­har­mo­ni­um, appeared almost 20 years before the Theremin, and it was patent­ed by its Amer­i­can inven­tor, Thad­deus Cahill, even ear­li­er, in 1897. (See some of the many dia­grams from the orig­i­nal patent below.)

Telharmonium 1

Cahill, a lawyer who had pre­vi­ous­ly invent­ed devices for pianos and type­writ­ers, cre­at­ed the Telharmonium—also called the Dynamaphone—to broad­cast music over the tele­phone, mak­ing it a pre­cur­sor not to the Theremin but to the lat­er scourge of tele­phone hold music. “In a large way,” writes Jay Willis­ton at Synthmuseum.com, “Cahill invent­ed what we know of today as ‘Muzak.’”

He built the first pro­to­type Tel­har­mo­ni­um, the Mark I, in 1901. It weighed sev­en tons. The final incar­na­tion of the instru­ment, the Mark III, took 50 peo­ple to build at the cost of $200,000 and was “60 feet long, weighed almost 200 tons and incor­po­rat­ed over 2000 elec­tric switch­es…. Music was usu­al­ly played by two peo­ple (4 hands) and con­sist­ed of most­ly clas­si­cal works by Bach, Chopin, Greig, Rossi­ni and oth­ers.” The work­ings of the gar­gan­tu­an machine resem­ble the boil­er room of an indus­tri­al facil­i­ty. (See sev­er­al pho­tographs here.)

Telharmonium 2

Need­less to say, this was a high­ly imprac­ti­cal instru­ment. Nev­er­the­less, Cahill not only found will­ing investors for the enor­mous con­trap­tion, but he also staged suc­cess­ful demon­stra­tions in Bal­ti­more, then—after dis­as­sem­bling and mov­ing the thing by train—in New York. By 1905, his New Eng­land Elec­tric Music Com­pa­ny “made a deal with the New York Tele­phone Com­pa­ny to lay spe­cial lines so that he could trans­mit the sig­nals from the Tel­har­mo­ni­um through­out the city.” Cahill used the term “syn­the­siz­ing” in his patent, which some say makes the Tel­har­mo­ni­um the first syn­the­siz­er, though its oper­a­tion was as much mechan­i­cal as elec­tron­ic, using a com­pli­cat­ed series of gears and cylin­ders to repli­cate the musi­cal range of a piano. (See the oper­a­tion explained in the video at the top.) “Raised bumps on cylin­ders helped cre­ate musi­cal con­tour notes,” writes Pop­u­lar Mechan­ics, “not unlike a music box, with the size of the cylin­der deter­min­ing the pitch.”

Telharmonium 3

The huge, very loud Tel­har­mo­ni­um Mark III end­ed up in the base­ment of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Opera House for a time as Cahill worked on his scheme for pump­ing music through the tele­phone lines. But this plan did not come off smooth­ly. “The prob­lem was,” Pop­u­lar Mechan­ics points out,” all cables leak off radio waves. Send­ing a gigan­tic, ampli­fied sig­nal on turn-of-the-20th-cen­tu­ry phone lines was bound to cause trou­ble.” The Tel­har­mo­ni­um cre­at­ed inter­fer­ence on oth­er phone lines and even inter­rupt­ed Naval radio trans­mis­sions. “Rumor has it,” the Dou­glas Ander­son School of the Arts writes, “that a New York busi­ness­man, infu­ri­at­ed by the con­stant net­work inter­fer­ence, broke into the build­ing where the Tel­har­mo­ni­um was housed and destroyed it, throw­ing pieces of the machin­ery into the Hud­son riv­er below.”

The sto­ry seems unlike­ly, but it serves as a sym­bol for the instru­men­t’s col­lapse. Cahill’s com­pa­ny fold­ed in 1908, though the final Tel­har­mo­ni­um sup­pos­ed­ly remained oper­a­tional until 1916. No record­ings of the instru­ment have sur­vived, and Thad­deus Cahill’s broth­er Arthur even­tu­al­ly sold the last pro­to­type off for scrap in 1950 after fail­ing to find a buy­er. The entire ratio­nale for the instru­ment had been sup­plant­ed by radio broad­cast­ing. The Tel­har­mo­ni­um may have failed to catch on, but it still had a sig­nif­i­cant impact. Its unique design inspired anoth­er impor­tant elec­tron­ic instru­ment, the Ham­mond organ. And its very exis­tence gave musi­cal futur­ists a vision. The Dou­glas Ander­son School writes:

Despite its final demise, the Tel­har­mo­ni­um trig­gered the birth of elec­tron­ic music—The Ital­ian Com­pos­er and intel­lec­tu­al Fer­ruc­cio Busoni inspired by the machine at the height of its pop­u­lar­i­ty was moved to write his “Sketch of a New Aes­thet­ic of Music” (1907) which in turn became the clar­i­on call and inspi­ra­tion for the new gen­er­a­tion of elec­tron­ic com­posers such as Edgard Varèse and Lui­gi Rus­so­lo.

The instru­ment also made quite an impres­sion on anoth­er Amer­i­can inven­tor, Mark Twain, who enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly demon­strat­ed it through the tele­phone dur­ing a New Year’s gath­er­ing at his home, after giv­ing a speech about his own not incon­sid­er­able sta­tus as an inno­va­tor and ear­ly adopter of new tech­nolo­gies. “Unfor­tu­nate­ly for Thad­deus Cahill,” writes William Weir at The Hart­ford Courant, “Twain’s sup­port was­n’t enough to make a suc­cess of the Tel­har­mo­ni­um.” Learn more about the instru­men­t’s his­to­ry from this book.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

The His­to­ry of Elec­tron­ic Music, 1800–2015: Free Web Project Cat­a­logues the Theremin, Fairlight & Oth­er Instru­ments That Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Music

The Fas­ci­nat­ing Sto­ry of How the Elec­tric Music Pio­neer Delia Der­byshire Cre­at­ed the Orig­i­nal Doc­tor Who Theme (1963)

Hear Sev­en Hours of Women Mak­ing Elec­tron­ic Music (1938–2014)

Thomas Dol­by Explains How a Syn­the­siz­er Works on a Jim Hen­son Kids Show (1989)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

See the Climactic Ending of Steven Spielberg’s Breakout Duel Recreated Entirely with 3D-Printed Models

With his last pic­ture The Fabel­mans, Steven Spiel­berg told a sto­ry of his own. Giv­en his long-held stature as more or less the per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of big-screen Hol­ly­wood enter­tain­ment, there’s only one such sto­ry he could have told: that of how he became a film­mak­er. The most mem­o­rable of The Fabel­mans depicts the young direc­to­r­i­al sur­ro­gate alone in the base­ment of his fam­i­ly home, re-cre­at­ing the train crash scene from The Great­est Show on Earth with an eight-mil­lime­ter cam­era and a Lionel set. Today, on the brink of his ninth decade with his famous pro­duc­tiv­i­ty hard­ly slow­ing, Spiel­berg remains, on some lev­el, the wide-eyed boy smash­ing his toys togeth­er at just the right angle. What bet­ter way to pay him trib­ute than to repli­cate his cin­e­mat­ic achieve­ments in minia­ture?

The Fabel­mans ends with its pro­tag­o­nist a col­lege stu­dent, eager to drop out and go straight to Hol­ly­wood. At the same point in life, the real Spiel­berg was about to receive an offer from Uni­ver­sal Pic­tures to write and direct the short film that became Amblin, which itself led to a con­tract to direct tele­vi­sion pro­duc­tions.

He showed what he could do with episodes of Mar­cus Wel­by, M.D., The Name of the Game, and Colum­bo, among oth­er series. Then he stepped up to TV movies, a form regard­ed as infe­ri­or in all respects to the­atri­cal releas­es, but one he man­aged to tran­scend on the first try. When it first aired in 1971 as an ABC Movie of the Week, Duel pre­sent­ed its view­ers with a har­row­ing, near-mytho­log­i­cal con­fronta­tion between a mid­dle-aged trav­el­ing sales­man in a Ply­mouth Valiant and an unseen truck­er in a hulk­ing, smoke-belch­ing big rig who seems bent on destroy­ing him.

Giv­en that its direc­tor was just 24 years old at the time, Duel very much counts as ear­ly Spiel­berg. Yet it’s also dis­tilled Spiel­berg, a head-on treat­ment of mid­dle-class nor­mal­i­ty’s sud­den encounter with a force of incom­pre­hen­si­ble men­ace — a theme much revis­it­ed in his work since — with cin­e­mat­ic rhythms pre­cise­ly cal­cu­lat­ed for opti­mal ten­sion and release. An aspir­ing film­mak­er could learn much from re-cre­at­ing its sequences shot-for-shot. The YouTube chan­nel Movies Minia­tures Effects does just that in the video above, which doc­u­ments a remak­ing with 3D-print­ed maque­ttes of the final crash, after Den­nis Weaver’s des­per­ate every­man man­ages to out­wit his pur­suer. “Sheer skill need­ed more phi­los­o­phy for a fit­ting res­o­lu­tion,” wrote David Thom­son of this end­ing. Per­haps so, but the more than 18 mil­lion views so far racked up by its minia­ture ver­sion do sug­gest a film that more than retains its pow­er after 45 years.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Steven Spielberg’s Rarely Seen 1968 Film Amblin’

Watch Steven Spielberg’s Debut: Two Films He Direct­ed as a Teenag­er

Shot-By-Shot Break­downs of Spielberg’s Film­mak­ing in Jaws, Scorsese’s in Cape Fear, and De Palma’s in The Untouch­ables

How Movies Cre­at­ed Their Spe­cial Effects Before CGI: Metrop­o­lis, 2001: A Space Odyssey & More

How Wes Ander­son Uses Minia­tures to Cre­ate His Aes­thet­ic: A Primer from His Mod­el Mak­er & Prop Painter

How Car Chase Scenes Have Evolved Over 100 Years

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

How the Hoover Dam Works: A 3D Animated Introduction

When it comes to tourist pil­grim­age sites in the Unit­ed States, the Hoover Dam may not quite rank up there with the Stat­ue of Lib­er­ty, the Lin­coln Memo­r­i­al, Mount Rush­more, the Grand Canyon, or Dis­ney­land. But that’s not due to a lack of impor­tance, nor even a lack of impres­sive­ness. Prop­er appre­ci­a­tion of its man-made majesty, how­ev­er, requires an under­stand­ing of not just the vital func­tion it serves, but the enor­mous task of its con­struc­tion. The guides at the Hoover Dam have been trained to explain just that to its many vis­i­tors, of course, but all of us could ben­e­fit from going in pre­pared with a lit­tle knowl­edge. Watch the hour-long video on the dam’s design and con­struc­tion from Ani­ma­graffs above, and you may be pre­pared with enough knowl­edge to tell the guides a thing or two.

Ani­ma­graffs is the YoT­tube chan­nel of Jacob O’Neal, which we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for its acclaimed expla­na­tions on a six­teenth-cen­tu­ry explor­er’s sail­ing ship and the Gold­en Gate Bridge, anoth­er icon­ic con­struc­tion project of the Great Depres­sion. Like those, his Hoover Dam video uses detailed 3D mod­els based on seri­ous research, not least into the pro­jec­t’s orig­i­nal design doc­u­ments.

This allows O’Neal to show each ele­ment of the dam and its com­plex sys­tem of sup­port­ing infra­struc­ture in detail and from every angle, as well as in a kind of x‑ray vision. We’ve all seen pho­tographs of the Hoover Dam, and maybe even bought some from its gift shop, but even the most sub­lime aer­i­al view does­n’t reveal as much about its ambi­tion as a look into its inner work­ings.

And the ambi­tion of the Hoover Dam is one aspect guar­an­teed to impress any view­ers. It required thou­sands of work­ers about five years to re-shape the Neva­da and Ari­zona land­scape at a grand enough scale to make pos­si­ble human con­trol of the mighty — and, more to the point, might­i­ly unpre­dictable — Col­orado Riv­er. With its large tur­bines, the engi­neer­ing and instal­la­tion of which O’Neal explains in full, it man­aged to gen­er­ate enough elec­tric­i­ty to repay its con­struc­tion cost of more than $811 mil­lion in today’s dol­lars by 1987, just over 50 years after it opened. And in an achieve­ment almost impos­si­ble to believe today, it opened more than two years ahead of sched­ule. We hear a good deal today about the con­cept of “state capac­i­ty,” and how the U.S. could regain it. At the Hoover Dam, we behold state capac­i­ty quite lit­er­al­ly made con­crete.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Incred­i­ble Sto­ry of the Hoover Dam

The Genius Urban Design of Ams­ter­dam: Canals, Dams & Lean­ing Hous­es

How Medieval Islam­ic Engi­neer­ing Brought Water to the Alham­bra

The Genius Engi­neer­ing of Roman Aque­ducts

The Bril­liant Engi­neer­ing That Made Venice: How a City Was Built on Water

Dis­cov­er Ansel Adams’ 226 Pho­tos of U.S. Nation­al Parks (and Anoth­er Side of the Leg­endary Pho­tog­ra­ph­er)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Lynda Barry on How the Smartphone Is Endangering Three Ingredients of Creativity: Loneliness, Uncertainty & Boredom

The phone gives us a lot but it takes away three key ele­ments of dis­cov­ery: lone­li­ness, uncer­tain­ty and bore­dom. Those have always been where cre­ative ideas come from. — Lyn­da Bar­ry

In the spring of 2016, the great car­toon­ist and edu­ca­tor, Lyn­da Bar­ry, did the unthink­able, pri­or to giv­ing a lec­ture and writ­ing class at NASA’s God­dard Space Flight Cen­ter.

She demand­ed that all par­tic­i­pat­ing staff mem­bers sur­ren­der their phones and oth­er such per­son­al devices.

Her vic­tims were as jan­gled by this prospect as your aver­age iPhone-addict­ed teen, but sur­ren­dered, agree­ing to write by hand, anoth­er anti­quat­ed notion Bar­ry sub­scribes to:

The delete but­ton makes it so that any­thing you’re unsure of you can get rid of, so noth­ing new has a chance. Writ­ing by hand is a rev­e­la­tion for peo­ple. Maybe that’s why they asked me to NASA – I still know how to use my hands… there is a dif­fer­ent way of think­ing that goes along with them.

Barry—who told the Onion’s AV Club that she craft­ed her book What It Is with an eye toward bored read­ers stuck in a Jiffy Lube oil-change wait­ing room—is also a big pro­po­nent of doo­dling, which she views as a cre­ative neu­ro­log­i­cal response to bore­dom:

Bor­ing meet­ing, you have a pen, the usu­al clowns are yakking. Most peo­ple will draw some­thing, even peo­ple who can’t draw. I say “If you’re bored, what do you draw?” And every­body has some­thing they draw. Like “Oh yeah, my lit­tle guy, I draw him.” Or “I draw eye­balls, or palm trees.” … So I asked them “Why do you think you do that? Why do you think you doo­dle dur­ing those meet­ings?” I believe that it’s because it makes hav­ing to endure that par­tic­u­lar sit­u­a­tion more bear­able, by chang­ing our expe­ri­ence of time. It’s so slight. I always say it’s the dif­fer­ence between, if you’re not doo­dling, the min­utes feel like a cheese grater on your face. But if you are doo­dling, it’s more like Bril­lo.  It’s not much bet­ter, but there is a dif­fer­ence. You could han­dle Bril­lo a lit­tle longer than the cheese grater.

Meet­ings and class­rooms are among the few remain­ing venues in which screen-addict­ed moths are expect­ed to force them­selves away from the phone’s invit­ing flame. Oth­er settings—like the Jiffy Lube wait­ing room—require more ini­tia­tive on the user’s part.

Once, we were keen­er stu­dents of minor changes to famil­iar envi­ron­ments, the books strangers were read­ing in the sub­way, and those strangers them­selves. Our sub­se­quent obser­va­tions were known to spark con­ver­sa­tion and some­times ideas that led to cre­ative projects.

Now, many of us let those oppor­tu­ni­ties slide by, as we fill up on such fleet­ing con­fec­tions as fun­ny videos and all-you-can-eat serv­ings of social media.

It’s also tempt­ing to use our phones as defac­to shields any time social anx­i­ety looms. This dodge may pro­vide short term com­fort, espe­cial­ly to younger peo­ple, but remem­ber, Bar­ry and many of her car­toon­ist peers, includ­ing Daniel Clowes, Simon Hansel­mann, and Ariel Schrag, toughed it out by mak­ing art. That’s what got them through the lone­li­ness, uncer­tain­ty, and bore­dom of their mid­dle and high school years.

The book you hold in your hands would not exist had high school been a pleas­ant expe­ri­ence for me… It was on those qui­et week­end nights when even my par­ents were out hav­ing fun that I began mak­ing seri­ous attempts to make sto­ries in comics form.

Adri­an Tomine, intro­duc­tion to 32 Sto­ries

Bar­ry is far from alone in encour­ag­ing adults to peel them­selves away from their phone depen­den­cy for their cre­ative good.

Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Eric Pickersgill’s Removed imag­ines a series of every­day sit­u­a­tions in which phones and oth­er per­son­al devices have been ren­dered invis­i­ble. (It’s worth not­ing that he removed the offend­ing arti­cles from the mod­els’ hands, rather that Pho­to­shop­ping them out lat­er.)

Com­put­er Sci­ence Pro­fes­sor Calvin Newport’s book, Deep Work, posits that all that shal­low phone time is cre­at­ing stress, anx­i­ety, and lost cre­ative oppor­tu­ni­ties, while also doing a num­ber on our per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al lives.

Author Manoush Zomorodi’s TED Talk on how bore­dom can lead to bril­liant ideas, below, details a week­long exper­i­ment in bat­tling smart­phone habits, with lots of sci­en­tif­ic evi­dence to back up her find­ings.

But what if you wipe the slate of dig­i­tal dis­trac­tions only to find that your brain’s just… emp­ty? A once occu­pied room, now devoid of any­thing but dim­ly recalled memes, and gen­er­al­ized dread over the state of the world?

The afore­men­tioned AV Club inter­view with Bar­ry offers both encour­age­ment and some use­ful sug­ges­tions that will get the tem­porar­i­ly par­a­lyzed mov­ing again:

I don’t know what the strip’s going to be about when I start. I nev­er know. I often­times have—I call it the word-bag. Just a bag of words. I’ll just reach in there, and I’ll pull out a word, and it’ll say “ping-pong.” I’ll just have that in my head, and I’ll start draw­ing the pic­tures as if I can… I hear a sen­tence, I just hear it. As soon as I hear even the begin­ning of the first sen­tence, then I just… I write real­ly slow. So I’ll be writ­ing that, and I’ll know what’s going to go at the top of the pan­el. Then, when it gets to the end, usu­al­ly I’ll know what the next one is. By three sen­tences or four in that first pan­el, I stop, and then I say “Now it’s time for the draw­ing.” Then I’ll draw. But then I’ll hear the next one over on anoth­er page! Or when I’m draw­ing Marlys and Arna, I might hear her say some­thing, but then I’ll hear Marlys say some­thing back. So once that first sen­tence is there, I have all kinds of choic­es as to where I put my brush. But if noth­ing is hap­pen­ing, then I just go over to what I call my decoy page. It’s like decoy ducks. I go over there and just start mess­ing around.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Infor­ma­tion Over­load Robs Us of Our Cre­ativ­i­ty: What the Sci­en­tif­ic Research Shows

The Case for Delet­ing Your Social Media Accounts & Doing Valu­able “Deep Work” Instead, Accord­ing to Prof. Cal New­port

Lyn­da Barry’s Illus­trat­ed Syl­labus & Home­work Assign­ments from Her New UW-Madi­son Course, “Mak­ing Comics”

Lyn­da Bar­ry, Car­toon­ist Turned Pro­fes­sor, Gives Her Old Fash­ioned Take on the Future of Edu­ca­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and the­ater mak­er in NYC.

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Watch Jazzy Spies: 1969 Psychedelic Sesame Street Animation, Featuring Grace Slick, Teaches Kids to Count

When asked for their favorite Sesame Street seg­ment, many chil­dren of the 70s and 80s point to Pin­ball Num­ber Count. Psy­che­del­ic ani­ma­tion, the Point­er Sis­ters, odd time signatures—what’s not to love? But for the seri­ous Sesame Street buff, the “Jazz Num­bers” series above deserves the sil­ver medal. It’s got free jazz, Yel­low Sub­ma­rine-style sur­re­al­is­tic ani­ma­tion, and a vocal from Grace Slick of Jef­fer­son Air­plane. How many young par­ents rec­og­nized her dis­tinc­tive voice, I won­der?

Also known as “Jazzy Spies,” this 1969 series of ani­ma­tions was devot­ed to the num­bers 2 through 10 (there was no film for “one” as it is the loneli­est num­ber that you’ll ever do), and was an essen­tial ele­ment in Sesame Street’s first sea­son. High­lights include the dream-like ele­va­tor door sequence of “2,” the Jack­son 5 ref­er­ence in “5,” and the rac­ing fans in “10.”

Slick got involved through her first hus­band, Jer­ry Slick, who pro­duced the seg­ments for San Fran­cis­co-based ani­ma­tion stu­dio Imag­i­na­tion, Inc. Head­ed by ani­ma­tor Jeff Hale, the com­pa­ny also pro­duced the Pin­ball seg­ments, as well as the famous anamor­phic “Type­writer Guy,” the Ring­mas­ter, and the Detec­tive Man. Hale, by the way, has a cameo as Augie “Ben” Dog­gie in the well-loved Lucas par­o­dy Hard­ware Wars.)

The deliri­ous music was com­posed and per­formed by Colum­bia jazz artist Den­ny Zeitlin, who would go on to score the 1979 remake of Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers. Zeitlin plays both piano and clavinet; accom­pa­ny­ing him is Bob­by Natan­son on drums and Mel Graves on bass. Accord­ing to Zeitlin, Grace Slick over­dubbed her vocals lat­er.

This wasn’t Slick’s first encounter with Jim Hen­son. In 1968, she and oth­er mem­bers of Jef­fer­son Air­plane were part of a coun­ter­cul­ture doc­u­men­tary called Youth ’68, the trail­er for which you can groove on here.

Sesame Street, with all its pri­ma­ry col­ors, plas­tic mer­chan­dise, and Elmo infes­ta­tion, may have lost its edge, but these ear­ly works show its rev­o­lu­tion­ary foun­da­tions.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philip Glass Com­pos­es Music for a Sesame Street Ani­ma­tion (1979)

Itzhak Perl­man Appears on Sesame Street and Poignant­ly Shows Kids How to Play the Vio­lin and Push Through Life’s Lim­its (1981)

Watch the First Episode of Sesame Street and 140 Oth­er Free Episodes

A Young Jim Hen­son Teach­es You How to Make Pup­pets with Socks, Ten­nis Balls & Oth­er House­hold Goods (1969)

See Ste­vie Won­der Play “Super­sti­tion” and Ban­ter with Grover on Sesame Street in 1973

Thank You, Mask Man: Lenny Bruce’s Lone Ranger Com­e­dy Rou­tine Becomes a NSFW Ani­mat­ed Film (1968)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts.

Every Known Work by Georgia O’Keeffe Has Been Digitized and Made Available Online

Upon hear­ing the names of Arthur Dove or Mars­den Hart­ley, the sat­u­rat­ed col­ors and organ­i­cal­ly askew lines of those painters’ land­scapes may appear before your mind’s eye. But unless you have a spe­cial inter­est in Amer­i­can mod­ernists of the ear­ly twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, they prob­a­bly don’t. The name Geor­gia O’Ke­effe, by con­trast, can hard­ly fail to bring a few images even to the mind of the strict­ly casu­al art appre­ci­a­tor: New Mex­i­can mesas, ani­mal skulls, and above all flow­ers in extreme close-up. Apart from the artis­tic skill and dis­tinc­tive vision with which she cre­at­ed it, O’Ke­ef­fe’s work per­sists in the wider cul­ture because of how well it hap­pens to repro­duce in a vari­ety of con­texts, includ­ing post­cards, mugs, and even appar­el, such as that sold at her epony­mous muse­um in San­ta Fe.

Keep­ing such prod­ucts around is, of course, no sub­sti­tute for see­ing the real thing; in their phys­i­cal real­i­ty, O’Ke­ef­fe’s paint­ings have a way of rebuff­ing all the inter­pre­ta­tions with which they’ve been freight­ed for more than a cen­tu­ry now. If you can’t make it out to New Mex­i­co, the Geor­gia O’Ke­effe Muse­um has been work­ing to make every sin­gle one of her pieces (includ­ing sculp­tures and pho­tographs) avail­able for view­ing online at a just-launched por­tal called Access O’Ke­effe.

The muse­um describes it as a “user-friend­ly, search­able web­site with high-res­o­lu­tion images, visu­al descrip­tions, exhi­bi­tion his­to­ries, archival mate­ri­als, and research data asso­ci­at­ed with the artist’s two-vol­ume cat­a­logue raison­né.” The site’s vis­i­tors “can browse by col­or, shape, or medi­um, explore the con­text of works cre­at­ed before and after a spe­cif­ic paint­ing, trace his­toric exhi­bi­tions, cre­ate lists of favorites, and down­load images.”

Access O’Ke­effe makes it easy to find the artist’s most famous paint­ings, but also works that may sur­prise view­ers who only know her mesas, skulls, and flow­ers. Take, for exam­ple, such noc­tur­nal­ly themed can­vas­es as her ear­ly Starlight Night, from 1917, or her late Unti­tled (City Night), from the nine­teen-sev­en­ties. O’Ke­ef­fe’s Amer­i­ca, we must remem­ber, isn’t lim­it­ed to the desert: though she did spend most of her near­ly cen­tu­ry-long life’s sec­ond half in New Mex­i­co, it also took her from Wis­con­sin to Vir­ginia to Texas to New York, with stints in South Car­oli­na and Hawaii. Giv­en the impor­tance of under­stand­ing any artist’s con­texts both geo­graph­i­cal and social, Access O’Ke­effe also pro­vides an archive of arti­facts and exhi­bi­tions relat­ed to the peo­ple and orga­ni­za­tions asso­ci­at­ed with her — Arthur Dove and Mars­den Hart­ley includ­ed.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Geor­gia O’Keeffe: A Life in Art, a Short Doc­u­men­tary on the Painter Nar­rat­ed by Gene Hack­man

How Geor­gia O’Keeffe Became Geor­gia O’Keeffe: An Ani­mat­ed Video Tells the Sto­ry

An Intro­duc­tion to the Paint­ing That Changed Geor­gia O’Keeffe’s Career: Ram’s Head, White Hol­ly­hock-Hills

The Real Geor­gia O’Keeffe: The Artist Reveals Her­self in Vin­tage Doc­u­men­tary Clips

Recipes from the Kitchen of Geor­gia O’Keeffe

Alfred Stieglitz: The Elo­quent Eye, a Reveal­ing Look at “The Father of Mod­ern Pho­tog­ra­phy”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Why Smart People Feel Like Frauds: The Psychology of Impostor Syndrome and Its Hidden Benefits

Incom­pe­tent peo­ple tend to see them­selves as not just com­pe­tent, but high­ly com­pe­tent. So, at any rate, holds the the­o­ry of the “Dun­ning-Kruger effect,” pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture. But does the con­verse also hold: do high­ly com­pe­tent peo­ple tend to see them­selves as incom­pe­tent? That would seem to be an impli­ca­tion of what’s been called “impos­tor syn­drome,” a per­sis­tent sense of inad­e­qua­cy rel­a­tive to one’s sta­tus or posi­tion, unsup­port­ed by any objec­tive evi­dence. If you your­self have been afflict­ed with that con­di­tion, it may be a tad hasty to take it as a sign of your own effec­tive­ness, but as the Har­vard Busi­ness School’s Arthur C. Brooks explains in the clip above, it may nonethe­less ben­e­fit you to lean into it.

“What all strivers I’ve ever met have in com­mon is that, the high­er they climb and the more suc­cess they have, the more inse­cure they feel in their own suc­cess because they’re not quite sure that they’ve earned it or deserve it,” Brooks says. Iron­i­cal­ly, in his expe­ri­ence, “peo­ple who deserve suc­cess through hard work and mer­it and per­son­al respon­si­bil­i­ty are not quite sure they deserve it, and the peo­ple who don’t deserve it are often the peo­ple who are actu­al­ly most sure that they do.”

In that last group are pos­ses­sors of the so-called “dark tri­ad” traits: nar­cis­sism, Machi­avel­lian­ism, and psy­chopa­thy. A “good, nor­mal, healthy per­son,” by con­trast, will nat­u­ral­ly won­der if they real­ly mer­it the pro­mo­tions, rewards, and acco­lades they receive, and if they’re tru­ly up to each task ahead.

To com­bat impos­tor syn­drome, Brooks rec­om­mends you “under­stand it, keep up to date with it, and keep try­ing to get bet­ter at the things you’re not good at yet.” Human­i­ty’s gen­er­al neg­a­tiv­i­ty bias may keep most of us sus­pect­ing that we’ve been over­es­ti­mat­ed, but that does­n’t mean we should ignore the oppor­tu­ni­ties for gen­uine self-improve­ment that such feel­ings present. “The truth is, if things are real­ly, real­ly rough for you, you’re not all weak­ness­es, and if things are going real­ly well for you, you’re not all strengths.” It just hap­pens that at some times, every­one focus­es on the for­mer, and at oth­er times, the lat­ter, and what’s impor­tant is not to let your­self be too heav­i­ly influ­enced in either case. Per­haps you can stay ground­ed by bear­ing in mind a cou­ple of trusty old adages: that nobody’s per­fect, and that you do, some­times, have to fake it ’til you make it.

Relat­ed con­tent:

24 Com­mon Cog­ni­tive Bias­es: A Visu­al List of the Psy­cho­log­i­cal Sys­tems Errors That Keep Us From Think­ing Ratio­nal­ly

Why Incom­pe­tent Peo­ple Think They’re Com­pe­tent: The Dun­ning-Kruger Effect, Explained

Why Over­con­fi­dence Is Our Most Dan­ger­ous Cog­ni­tive Bias

John Cleese on How “Stu­pid Peo­ple Have No Idea How Stu­pid They Are” (Oth­er­wise Known as the Dun­ning-Kruger Effect)

There Are Eight Forms of Intel­li­gence, Not Just One: Which Apply to You?

The Sur­pris­ing Pow­er of Bore­dom: It Lets You Con­front Big Ques­tions & Give Life Mean­ing

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.


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