Fear of a Female Planet: Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth) on Why Russia and the US Need a Pussy Riot

Coura­geous fem­i­nist punk band Pussy Riot has received more pub­lic expo­sure than they ever could have hoped for since three mem­bers were arrest­ed after a Feb­ru­ary 21st per­for­mance at Moscow’s Christ the Sav­ior Cathe­dral and charged with “hooli­gan­ism.” The band formed last Sep­tem­ber in direct response to Vladimir Putin’s deci­sion to seek the pres­i­den­cy again in March 2012, and they have demon­strat­ed against his rule ever since, stag­ing con­fronta­tion­al, but non-vio­lent, protest per­for­mances in Red Square and oth­er Russ­ian land­marks. They draw much of their ener­gy and inspi­ra­tion from work­ing-class British Oi! bands of the 80s, the Amer­i­can fem­i­nist punk of the 90s Riot Grrrl move­ment, and from the stal­wart Son­ic Youth, whose three decade run has put singer/bassist Kim Gor­don in the spot­light as a musi­cian, artist, and icon.

In the video inter­view above from Explod­ed View, Gor­don offers her take on Pussy Riot’s sig­nif­i­cance and their rel­e­vance to the polit­i­cal strug­gles of women in the U.S.. Gor­don reads Pussy Riot as “dis­si­dent art… tar­get­ed as a weapon” against a sys­tem, and its author­i­tar­i­an leader, that has wide­ly sup­pressed dis­sent. Like the noto­ri­ous online col­lec­tive Anony­mous and their end­less­ly pro­lif­er­at­ing Guy Fawkes masks, Pussy Riot eschews the trap­pings of indi­vid­ual fame, wear­ing bal­a­clavas to obscure their iden­ti­ties. As they state in a Vice Mag­a­zine inter­view before the arrests, “new mem­bers can join the bunch and it does not real­ly mat­ter who takes part in the next act—there can be three of us or eight, like in our last gig on the Red Square, or even 15. Pussy Riot is a pul­sat­ing and grow­ing body.” The band keeps its focus on the body, as a grow­ing col­lec­tive or as a sym­bol of resis­tance to patri­ar­chal con­trol. One mem­ber explains the band’s name in the Vice inter­view:

A female sex organ, which is sup­posed to be receiv­ing and shape­less, sud­den­ly starts a rad­i­cal rebel­lion against the cul­tur­al order, which tries to con­stant­ly define it and show its appro­pri­ate place. Sex­ists have cer­tain ideas about how a woman should behave, and Putin, by the way, also has a cou­ple thoughts on how Rus­sians should live. Fight­ing against all that—that’s Pussy Riot.

The choice of name—which has forced dozens of news­cast­ers to say the word “pussy” with a straight face—is, in all seri­ous­ness, a point­ed ref­er­ence to what Gor­don calls a “fear of women,” which may explain what near­ly every­one who has an opin­ion on the case char­ac­ter­izes as an extreme­ly dis­pro­por­tion­ate sen­tence for the three con­vict­ed mem­bers. As Gor­don says above, “Clear­ly Putin is afraid.” Relat­ing the events in Rus­sia to the back­lash against women’s leg­isla­tive gains in this coun­try, Gor­don says, “what’s going on in Wash­ing­ton is real­ly indica­tive of that [fear],” and she won­ders “why there aren’t more men who aren’t con­cerned about it or bring­ing it up. It’s beyond a women’s issue.” Nev­er­the­less, she strong­ly implies that the U.S. is ripe for a “pussy riot”—a new punk-rock women’s movement—since “women make nat­ur­al anar­chists and rev­o­lu­tion­ar­ies because they’ve always been sec­ond-class cit­i­zens and had to claw their way up.”

Pussy Riot has cit­ed Son­ic Youth’s “Kool Thing” (above) as an influ­ence, a taunt­ing fem­i­nist retort to male come-ons that asks its tar­get “are you gonna lib­er­ate us girls / From male white cor­po­rate oppres­sion?” The unstat­ed answer is, no, he isn’t. As Gor­don implies above, and as Pussy Riot explain in an inter­view with The Guardian below, the only response to so-called “wars on women” every­where may be a “fem­i­nist whip”:

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

 

Classic Ray Charles Performance: ‘What’d I Say’ Live in Paris, 1968

Late one night in 1958, Ray Charles and his band were near­ing the end of a very long per­for­mance at a dance some­where in the Mid­west when they found them­selves in a jam. They were out of mate­r­i­al. What Charles came up with that night to kill a lit­tle time would wind up mak­ing music his­to­ry.

In his mem­oir Broth­er Ray: Ray Charles’ Own Sto­ry, co-writ­ten with David Ritz, Charles describes the scene:

It was near­ly 1:00 A.M., I remem­ber, and we had played our whole book. There was noth­ing left that I could think of, so I final­ly said to the band and the Raeletts, “Lis­ten, I’m going to fool around and y’all just fol­low me.”

So I began noodling. Just a lit­tle riff which float­ed up into my head. It felt good and I kept on going. One thing led to anoth­er, and sud­den­ly I found myself singing and want­i­ng the girls to repeat after me. So I told ’em, “Now!”

Then I could feel the whole room bounc­ing and shak­ing and car­ry­ing on some­thing fierce. So I kept the thing going, tight­en­ing it up a lit­tle here, adding a dash of Latin rhythm there. When I got through, folk came up and asked where they could buy the record. “Ain’t no record,” I said, “just some­thing I made up to kill a lit­tle time.”

The song, “What’d I Say,” became a hit not only on the rhythm and blues charts, where Charles had already had some suc­cess, but on the pop charts as well. It was Charles’s first cross-over hit, and his first gold record. It was wide­ly cov­ered by oth­er artists and became Charles’s sig­na­ture song, the one he end­ed his con­certs with.

The video above was made almost exact­ly ten years after “What’d I Say” was writ­ten. It’s from one of a pair of con­certs Charles gave on Octo­ber 8 and 9, 1968, at the Salle Pleyel in Paris. The orches­tra was led by Wal­lace Dav­en­port, and the back-up singers, the Raeletts, were: Susaye Greene, Ver­lyn Fle­naugh, Bar­bara Ann Lesure, and Bar­bara Nell Ter­rault.

Despite the even­tu­al tri­umph of “What’d I Say,” the song encoun­tered strong resis­tance when it was first released by Atlantic Records in 1959. Some radio sta­tions banned it. “They said it was sug­ges­tive,” writes Charles. “Well, I agreed. I’m not one to inter­pret my own songs, but if you can’t fig­ure out ‘What I Say,’ then some­thing’s wrong. Either that, or you’re not accus­tomed to the sweet sounds of love.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

‘Willie and the Hand Jive,’ by the Late Great John­ny Otis

The Queen of Soul Con­quers Europe: Aretha Franklin in Ams­ter­dam, 1968

Artists Paint Paris, Berlin and London with High-Tech Video Graffiti

Ear­li­er this year, Blake Shaw and Bruno Levy, two artists who form the mul­ti­me­dia per­for­mance col­lab­o­ra­tion Sweat­shoppe, head­ed to Euro­pean cities (Berlin, Bris­tol, Bel­grade, Lon­don and Paris) and past­ed videos on build­ings, some famous, some not. They call their art “Video Paint­ing,” and it’s all done with cus­tom soft­ware that “tracks the posi­tion of paint rollers and projects video wher­ev­er [the artists] choose to paint.” Every­thing that you see above was shot live, using no actu­al paint or post pro­duc­tion. You can check out more of Sweat­shoppe’s mul­ti­me­dia work here.

via The Atlantic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Prague Mon­u­ment Dou­bles as Artist’s Can­vas

3D Light Show from Ukraine to Your Liv­ing Room

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Michio Kaku Schools a Moon Landing-Conspiracy Believer on His Science Fantastic Podcast

For every major world event, there’s a con­spir­a­cy the­o­ry to go along with it. Skep­tics, kooks and cranks did­n’t wait for the dust to set­tle before they start­ed spec­u­lat­ing on the real dark forces behind the 9/11 attacks. And the same hap­pened decades ear­li­er when Neil Arm­strong took his first steps on the moon. No soon­er had Arm­strong said “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” than con­spir­a­cy the­o­rists start­ed claim­ing that the moon land­ing was real­ly an elab­o­rate pro­duc­tion staged by Stan­ley Kubrick and oth­er Hol­ly­wood film­mak­ers. That strange line of think­ing was explored in William Karel’s 2002 mock­u­men­tary, Dark Side of the Moon. But despite the deri­sion, the moon con­spir­a­cies go on today. Take this exchange for exam­ple. It comes from a May 2011 episode of the Sci­ence Fan­tas­tic pod­cast host­ed by well-known physi­cist Michio Kaku. Amus­ing­ly, the clip walks you through the main claims of the moon land­ing con­spir­a­cy the­o­ry and the rea­son­able rejoin­ders to them.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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:

Michio Kaku Explains the Physics Behind Absolute­ly Every­thing

Michio Kaku: We’re Born Sci­en­tists But Switch to Invest­ment Bank­ing

What Is Déjà Vu? Michio Kaku Won­ders If It’s Trig­gered by Par­al­lel Uni­vers­es

 

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The Comic Biography of Underground Publisher & Political Writer, John Wilcock

He describes him­self as a “peri­patet­ic patri­arch of the free press,” and so he may be. John Wilcock, a British ex-pat who helped found the Vil­lage Voice in 1955 went to work as the New York Times’ trav­el edi­tor. His Europe on $5 a Day was sem­i­nal in the trav­el guide­book pub­lish­ing world. His sub­se­quent Mex­i­co on $5 a Day was a trail­blaz­er.

Wilcock, who lives in Cal­i­for­nia and pub­lish­es the online Ojai Orange, was the ulti­mate gad­fly. His 1971 Auto­bi­og­ra­phy and Sex Life of Andy Warhol includ­ed inter­views with Nico, Lou Reed and oth­er asso­ciates of the enig­mat­ic artist. Wilcock was also a found­ing edi­tor, with Warhol, of Inter­view Mag­a­zine in 1969. He accom­pa­nied Warhol out the night that the Vel­vet Under­ground played its first gig and wrote lin­er notes for Nico.

Pub­lished online in graph­ic nov­el form, John Wilcock: The New York Years chron­i­cles this peri­od in Wilcock­’s life with an exten­sive inter­view and sump­tu­ous car­toon illus­tra­tions by artists Ethan Per­soff and Scott Mar­shall. Chap­ters one and two are deli­cious­ly fun read­ing, as Wilcock recounts his arrival in New York City from Eng­land and his ear­ly inter­views with Leonard Bern­stein, Rock Hud­son and Mil­ton Berle and launch­ing the Vil­lage Voice.

It’s an impres­sive site that cap­tures the Bohemi­an cir­cles Wilcock moved in. Per­soff and Mar­shall have just released chap­ter three, which includes Wilcock’s time edit­ing Nor­man Mail­er and his inter­views with actor Jean Shep­herd and Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe. Stay tuned for more. Chap­ter three brings us up to 1957 so there should be plen­ty more to share.

Kate Rix is free­lance writer. Find more of her work at

O. Henry on the Secrets of Writing Short Stories: Rare Audio Recording

Today is the 150th anniver­sary of the birth of the short sto­ry writer O. Hen­ry. He was born William Syd­ney Porter in Greens­boro North Car­oli­na on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1862, and his life was not easy. He chose the pen name “O. Hen­ry” while he was in the pen­i­ten­tiary.

Trained as a phar­ma­cist, Porter came down with tuber­cu­lo­sis in his ear­ly twen­ties and moved to the dri­er cli­mate of Texas, where he worked as a ranch hand, a drafts­man for the Texas Land Office, and a clerk at the First Nation­al Bank of Austin before strik­ing out on his own as a writer and launch­ing a humor mag­a­zine called The Rolling Stone. When the mag­a­zine fold­ed the fol­low­ing year, Porter took a job as a reporter, colum­nist and car­toon­ist at the Hous­ton Post. Mean­while, though, Fed­er­al inves­ti­ga­tors were look­ing into short­ages in Porter’s accounts from his days at the bank in Austin, and in Feb­ru­ary of 1896, when he was 33 years old and had a wife and a young daugh­ter to sup­port, Porter was arrest­ed and charged with embez­zle­ment.

While being brought to Austin for tri­al, Porter man­aged to elude his cap­tors and hop a train to New Orleans, where he arranged pas­sage on a freighter bound for Hon­duras. Despite the appear­ance of guilt Porter would always main­tain his inno­cence, say­ing that his flight from jus­tice was brought on by pan­ic. He com­pared him­self to the pro­tag­o­nist of one of Joseph Con­rad’s clas­sic nov­els, a sailor who aban­doned a ful­ly loaded pas­sen­ger ship that he thought was sink­ing. “I am like Lord Jim,” he said, “because we both made one fate­ful mis­take at the supreme cri­sis of our lives, a mis­take from which we could not recov­er.”

When Porter got to Cen­tral Amer­i­ca he began mak­ing plans for his fam­i­ly to join him there, but soon learned that his wife was dying of tuber­cu­lo­sis. He returned to Texas and was with his wife when she died. A few months lat­er he was sen­tenced to five years in a fed­er­al pen­i­ten­tiary in Ohio. While behind bars, Porter began writ­ing short sto­ries in earnest. To dis­guise his iden­ti­ty he used a series of pen names, even­tu­al­ly set­tling on “O. Hen­ry.”

Porter was released from prison in 1901, two years ear­ly for good behav­ior. He moved to New York to write sto­ries under his new name for mag­a­zines. From there he sky­rock­et­ed to suc­cess. Between 1904 and his death in 1910, he pub­lished some 300 sto­ries and ten books. “O. Hen­ry worked at whirl­wind speed,” writes Vic­to­ria Blake in the Barnes & Noble Clas­sics edi­tion of Select­ed Sto­ries of O. Hen­ry, “pro­duc­ing more over a short­er peri­od than any oth­er writer of his time and cul­ti­vat­ing a lit­er­ary demand unmatched by any­one, any­where in the his­to­ry of Amer­i­can let­ters.”

Some of the very same ele­ments that made O. Hen­ry’s sto­ries so pop­u­lar in his lifetime–the sen­ti­men­tal­i­ty, the “twist” endings–have caused them to age poor­ly since his death. A few of his sto­ries, like “The Gift of the Magi,” are still wide­ly read, but his rep­u­ta­tion has been sur­passed by more mod­ern writ­ers like Ernest Hem­ing­way, James Joyce and Sher­wood Ander­son. A lit­tle of his for­mer pres­tige is revived every year with the award­ing of the O. Hen­ry Prize for the best short fic­tion.

For his 150th birth­day we bring you what is said to be a rare record­ing of O. Hen­ry’s voice. Although the date and authen­tic­i­ty are an open ques­tion, the record­ing was appar­ent­ly made on an Edi­son cylin­der some­time between 1905 and the writer’s death in 1910. It was includ­ed in the vinyl record The Gold­en Age of Opera: Great Per­son­al­i­ties, 1888–1940. Here is a tran­script:

This is William Syd­ney Porter speak­ing, bet­ter known to you, no doubt, as O. Hen­ry. I’m going to let you in on a few of my secrets in writ­ing a short sto­ry. The most impor­tant thing, at least in my hum­ble opin­ion, is to use char­ac­ters you’ve crossed in your life­time. Truth is indeed stranger than fic­tion. All of my sto­ries are actu­al expe­ri­ences that I have come across dur­ing my trav­els. My char­ac­ters are fac­sim­i­lies of actu­al peo­ple I’ve known. Most authors spend hours, I’m told even days, labor­ing over out­lines of sto­ries that they have in their minds. But not I. In my way of think­ing that’s a waste of good time. I just sit down and let my pen­cil do the rest. Many peo­ple ask me how I man­age to get that final lit­tle twist in my sto­ries. I always tell them that the unusu­al is the ordi­nary rather than the unex­pect­ed. And if you peo­ple lis­ten­ing to me now start think­ing about your own lives, I’m sure you’ll dis­cov­er just as many odd expe­ri­ences as I’ve had. I hope this lit­tle talk will be heard long after I’m gone. I want you all to con­tin­ue read­ing my sto­ries then too. Good­bye, folks.

Relat­ed con­tent:

John Stein­beck­’s Six Tips for the Aspir­ing Writer

James Joyce Reads ‘Anna Livia Plura­belle’ from Finnegans Wake

Rare 1959 Audio: Flan­nery O’Con­nor Reads ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’

Kids Record Audio Tours of NY’s Museum of Modern Art (with Some Silly Results)

In an ear­ly, abortive flir­ta­tion with art school, I learned the tech­nique of saun­ter­ing around a gallery, look­ing alter­nate­ly bored and engrossed in what­ev­er hap­pened to be on the walls, the floor, the ceil­ing, nev­er com­mit­ting to any emo­tion, espe­cial­ly one that might betray my absolute befud­dle­ment with a good bit of mod­ern art. I’m hap­py to look back on that younger self and call him a pre­ten­tious dilet­tante, and hap­pi­er now that I’m old enough not to care if some­one knows that I’m con­fused, irri­tat­ed, or gen­uine­ly bored with some exper­i­men­tal piece that defies my lim­it­ed aes­thet­ic cat­e­gories. One of the things I antic­i­pate most as the father to an already wry and curi­ous one-year-old is hear­ing her unschooled reac­tions to some art­work I once fetishized but nev­er real­ly “got,” since there can often be no bet­ter means of deflat­ing the pompous auras sur­round­ing high cul­ture than let­ting kids have an irrev­er­ent, uncen­sored go at it.

Per­haps this is why Audio Tour Hack decid­ed to har­ness the unvar­nished truths con­tained in “darn­d­est things” with their unau­tho­rized gallery tour enti­tled MOMA Unadul­ter­at­ed (short pre­view above). The “hack,” a clever update on often staid and monot­o­ne gallery audio tours, fea­tures “experts” from kinder­garten to fifth grade pass­ing judg­ment on the work of mod­ern art stars like Andy Warhol, Cy Twombly, and Roy Licht­en­stein. Unadul­ter­at­ed by faux sophis­ti­ca­tion and oner­ous over-edu­cat­ed ref­er­en­tial­i­ty? Yes. A tad bid too cutesy? Per­haps. But even so, still a fun idea, with lots of silli­ness (and if it gets kids inter­est­ed in art, all the bet­ter). At times, the kid crit­ics even drop a bit of adult know­ing­ness into their “any­one could have done this” assess­ment of, say, Jack­son Pol­lack (whom one kid accus­es of “just want­i­ng a lot of mon­ey”). MOMA Unadul­ter­at­ed refers to a per­ma­nent exhib­it and instal­la­tion of paint­ing and sculp­ture on the New York Muse­um of Mod­ern Art’s fourth floor. The tour takes in thir­ty pieces of art, each accom­pa­nied by audio com­men­tary from the kid crit­ics. Vis­it the Audio Tour Hack web­site to lis­ten to the com­men­tary online and see some delight­ful pic­tures of the “unadul­ter­at­ed” com­men­ta­tors.

Cor­rec­tion 9/18/12: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post stat­ed that MOMA Unadul­ter­at­ed was cre­at­ed by the Muse­um of Mod­ern Art. It was not, nor is Audio Tour Hack affil­i­at­ed with MoMA in any way. You can find links to MoMA’s own audio tours (includ­ing tours for kids) here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

MoMA Puts Pol­lock, Rothko & de Koon­ing on Your iPad

Free: The Guggen­heim Puts 65 Mod­ern Art Books Online

Google “Art Project” Brings Great Paint­ings & Muse­ums to You

Jack­son Pol­lock: Lights, Cam­era, Paint! (1951)

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

The Early Days of Animation Preserved in UCLA’s Video Archive

Ani­ma­tion has come so far, explor­ing such ever-expand­ing fron­tiers of elab­o­rate­ness, real­ism, and styl­iza­tion, that tru­ly under­stand­ing the medi­um might require a return to its ear­ly years. Luck­i­ly, the UCLA Film and Tele­vi­sion Archive has made avail­able a selec­tion of pre­served shorts from the silent era, free to watch online. You’ll find the ear­li­est of these, The Enchant­ed Draw­ing from 1900, embed­ded above. But I rec­om­mend watch­ing not this YouTube ver­sion but the one on the Film and Tele­vi­sion archive’s site. There you can select one of four sound­tracks — piano accom­pa­ni­ment, a full score, the preser­va­tion­ist’s com­men­tary, or, of course, silence — and read notes from preser­va­tion­ist Jere Guldin and his­to­ri­an Jer­ry Beck. The Enchant­ed Draw­ing, Beck writes, “is con­sid­ered one of the fore­run­ners of ani­mat­ed films to come. It’s more appro­pri­ate­ly a “trick film,” employ­ing stop-action tech­niques pio­neered by Georges Melies to make a sketched face, cig­ars, a bot­tle of wine, and a hat appear as real objects after being drawn.”

Just below, you can watch the YouTube ver­sion of 1928’s The Wan­der­ing Toy, the most recent film now view­able in this archive of pre­served ani­ma­tion. But again, if you watch it on UCLA’s site, you can enjoy their range of audio options and pro­gram notes. “A size­able amount of the silent fea­tures and short sub­jects still in exis­tence do not sur­vive on the­atri­cal 35mm film gauge but in the small­er 16mm ama­teur and home-movie for­mat,” writes Guldin, shed­ding light on the archive’s rai­son d’être, not­ing that this par­tic­u­lar short “was pre­served from what is thought to be the only 16mm print in exis­tence.”

The Wan­der­ing Toy, as Beck describes it, “com­bines paper cut-out ani­ma­tion mixed with live trav­el­ogue footage of Swe­den, Bavaria, Moroc­co, Hol­land, Mex­i­co, India, and Japan. [ … ] The results are an attrac­tive and unique com­bi­na­tion of trav­el­ogue and car­toon, cer­tain­ly quite dif­fer­ent from the usu­al ani­mat­ed fare at the time” — and, I might add, a world apart from, though a clear antecedent of, the high-tech, high-bud­get, spec­ta­cle-ori­ent­ed ani­ma­tion we see in the­aters today.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Best Ani­mat­ed Films of All Time, Accord­ing to Ter­ry Gilliam

Ger­tie the Dinosaur: The Moth­er of all Car­toon Char­ac­ters

Lots of Free Ani­mat­ed Films in our col­lec­tion of 500 Free Movies Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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