New Animation Explains Sherry Turkle’s Theories on Why Social Media Makes Us Lonely

Last fall Sher­ry Turkle, an MIT psy­chol­o­gist who explores how tech­nol­o­gy shapes mod­ern rela­tion­ships, pub­lished Alone Togeth­er: Why We Expect More from Tech­nol­o­gy and Less from Each Oth­er. The third in a tril­o­gy of books, Alone Togeth­er tries to make sense of a para­dox. The more friends and acquain­tances we gath­er on social plat­forms like Face­book and Twit­ter, the more we feel alone. We’re con­nect­ed to oth­er peo­ple more than ever, and yet we feel iso­lat­ed in a new soli­tude. If you’re look­ing for a primer on Turkle’s think­ing, you can watch a new ani­ma­tion (above) cre­at­ed by Shi­mi Cohen. It was made as a final project for a course tak­en at Shenkar Col­lege of Engi­neer­ing and Design in Tel Aviv. Anoth­er way to get up to speed on Turkle’s think­ing is to watch Turkle’s own TED Talk record­ed in Feb­ru­ary, 2012. Find it right below. And, of course, you could always read her book, Alone Togeth­er, in print or dig­i­tal for­mat. A nov­el idea that.

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!

Slick Data Visualization Reveals Scientific Collaborations Taking Place Around the Globe

scientific mapsA few years ago, dig­i­tal human­ists at Stan­ford mapped the Repub­lic of Let­ters, care­ful­ly detail­ing the social net­works that con­nect­ed thinkers dur­ing the Enlight­en­ment of the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry. Now Olivi­er Beauch­esne, a data sci­en­tist in Cana­da, has used data visu­al­iza­tion tech­niques to map out a more mod­ern set of rela­tion­ships — col­lab­o­ra­tions tak­ing place among sci­en­tists across the globe.

science metrix visualization

What’s an exam­ple of such a col­lab­o­ra­tion? Beauch­esne writes: “If a UCLA researcher pub­lished a paper with a col­league at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Tokyo, this would cre­ate an instance of col­lab­o­ra­tion between Los Ange­les and Tokyo.” By check­ing out this cool zoomable map, you can see thou­sands of these col­lab­o­ra­tions tak­ing place world­wide between 2005 and 2009, and pret­ty soon you real­ize the extent to which mod­ern sci­ence is an inter­na­tion­al affair. The data was pulled from Sci­ence-Metrix data­base.

H/T Pavel

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Data Visu­al­iza­tion: How to Tell Com­plex Sto­ries Through Smart Design

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy Visu­al­ized

Visu­al­iz­ing WiFi Sig­nals with Light

New MOOC Intro­duces You to the Won­der­ful World of Info­graph­ics & Data Visu­al­iza­tion

Watch a Cool and Creepy Visu­al­iza­tion of U.S. Births & Deaths in Real-Time

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Documentary Viva Joe Strummer: The Story of the Clash Surveys the Career of Rock’s Beloved Frontman

I vivid­ly remem­ber learn­ing the first song my high school garage band cov­ered, The Clash’s “Clash City Rock­ers.” We spent hours deci­pher­ing the lyrics, and nev­er got them right. This was, if you can believe it, a pre-Google age. While the exer­cise was frus­trat­ing, I nev­er resent­ed Joe Strummer’s slurred, grav­el­ly vocals for mak­ing us work hard at get­ting his mean­ing. For one thing, I loved his voice, and as a stu­dent of the blues and Dylan, nev­er real­ly cared if rock singers could actu­al­ly sing. For anoth­er, Strum­mer nev­er seemed to care much him­self if you could under­stand him, though his lyrics blast­ed through moun­tains of BS. This is not because he was an ego­tist but quite the oppo­site: he pas­sion­ate­ly hat­ed rock clichés and wasn’t mak­ing pop records.

The first scene in the doc­u­men­tary above, Viva Joe Strum­mer (lat­er released as Get Up, Stand Up), gives us The Clash front­man decon­struct­ing the genre. “Well, hi every­body, ain’t it groovy,” he says to a cheer­ing crowd, fol­lowed by, “ain’t you sick of hear­ing that for the last 150 years?” The documentary’s nar­ra­tor describes Strum­mer as “the man who put cred­i­ble rock and roll into the bas­tard cul­tur­al orphan that was called punk,” but this seems an inac­cu­rate descrip­tion.

For one thing, rock and roll is itself a bas­tard genre, some­thing Strum­mer always rec­og­nized, and for anoth­er The Clash, fueled by Strummer’s ecu­meni­cal inter­est in world cul­tures, drew lib­er­al­ly from oth­er kinds of music and stuck their mid­dle fin­gers up at estab­lish­ment rock and every­thing it came to rep­re­sent.

Viva Joe Strum­mer gives us loads of con­cert footage and inter­views with band mem­bers and close friends like the Sex Pis­tols’ Glen Mat­lock. The focus remains on Strum­mer, a front­man with tremen­dous charis­ma but also, para­dox­i­cal­ly, with a tremen­dous amount of humil­i­ty. One review­er of the film says as much:

Joe Strum­mer always pro­ject­ed him­self as a hum­ble man. Even at the height of The Clash‘s mega­lo­ma­nia, when he fired gui­tarist Mick Jones, Strum­mer came across like a bet­ter read, more world­ly Bruce Spring­steen. The every­man image has made eulo­giz­ing the singer dif­fi­cult.

This sug­gests that Strummer’s every­man per­sona may have been part of his show­man­ship, but even so, he was respect­ed and admired by near­ly every­one who knew him. And his pro­le­tar­i­an pol­i­tics were gen­uine. As one inter­vie­wee says above, “he always had a cor­ner to fight in. He always had some­one to stick up for.”

The orig­i­nal DVD includ­ed a CD with inter­view clips from 1979 to 2001, such as the 1981 Tom Sny­der Show inter­view above. Viva Joe Strum­mer lacks the pow­er­ful dra­mat­ic arc and tight direc­tion of Julian Temple’s 2007 The Future is Unwrit­ten, but it’s still well worth watch­ing for inter­view footage you won’t see any­where else. Despite the film’s orig­i­nal sub­ti­tle, The Sto­ry of The Clash, the doc­u­men­tary fol­lows Strummer’s career all the way through the dis­so­lu­tion of the band that made him famous and through his suc­ces­sive musi­cal endeav­ors with Joe Strum­mer and the Mescaleros. And it doc­u­ments the reac­tions to his sud­den, trag­ic death in 2002. I still remem­ber get­ting the news. I hap­pened, odd­ly enough, to be drink­ing at the bar where the Joe Strum­mer mur­al would go up in New York’s East Vil­lage in 2003. I walked out­side and lit a cig­a­rette, put on my head­phones, cued up “Clash City Rock­ers,” and shed a tear for the punk rock every­man who every­body loved.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Joe Strummer’s Lon­don Call­ing”: All Eight Episodes of Strummer’s UK Radio Show Free Online

Remem­ber­ing The Clash’s Front­man Joe Strum­mer on His 60th Birth­day

The Clash Live in Tokyo, 1982: Watch the Com­plete Con­cert

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

What Can Philosophy Do For You? Higher Test Scores, Better Jobs, Bigger Pay (Among Other Things)

rodin-thinkerWhat can phi­los­o­phy do for you? The ques­tion is per­haps bet­ter asked this way. What can’t it do for you?

Head over to this web site cre­at­ed by Tomás Bog­a­r­dus, a phi­los­o­phy pro­fes­sor at Pep­per­dine, and you’ll learn why phi­los­o­phy can answer big ques­tions (we all know that), but also improve your test scores on the LSATGRE and GMAT, and then make you more employ­able and bet­ter com­pen­sat­ed in the work­place. Yes, rig­or­ous think­ing can do that.

If you’re won­der­ing which phi­los­o­phy grads have actu­al­ly made a dent in the world, here’s a list of play­ers and yet anoth­er list. They include names like: George Soros, the Karl Pop­per dis­ci­ple who sin­gle­hand­ed­ly broke the Bank of Eng­land (missed the course on ethics, I guess); Phil Jack­son, the zen mas­ter who  led 11 bas­ket­ball teams to NBA cham­pi­onships; Car­ly Fio­r­i­na, the first woman to become the CEO of a For­tune 20 com­pa­ny; and Vaclav Hav­el, the play­wright who lat­er became pres­i­dent of Czecho­slo­va­kia.

If you want to start liv­ing the exam­ined life too, we’d sug­gest get­ting start­ed with our col­lec­tion of 90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es, and oth­er­wise explor­ing relat­ed cours­es in our col­lec­tion of 750 Free Cours­es Online.

via Leit­er Reports

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take First-Class Phi­los­o­phy Lec­tures Any­where with Free Oxford Pod­casts

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy … With­out Any Gaps

The His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy, from 600 B.C.E. to 1935, Visu­al­ized in Two Mas­sive, 44-Foot High Dia­grams

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Eric Clapton’s Favorite Guitar Solo: Duane Allman on Wilson Pickett’s 1968 Cover of the Beatles’ ‘Hey Jude’

Ask a group of gui­tarists to name their favorite gui­tar solo, and there’s a pret­ty good chance some­one will men­tion Eric Clap­ton’s solo on the live record­ing of “Cross­roads,” from Cream’s 1968 Wheel’s of Fire album. So then, whose solo does Eric Clap­ton like? On more than one occa­sion he has sin­gled out Duane All­man’s break­through per­for­mance on Wil­son Pick­et­t’s R & B cov­er of the Bea­t­les’ “Hey Jude.”

In late 1968 All­man was about 22 years old and had not yet formed the All­man Broth­ers Band. Eager to make a name for him­self, he showed up at Rick Hal­l’s now-leg­endary FAME Stu­dios in Mus­cle Shoals, Alaba­ma, to offer his ser­vices as a ses­sion gui­tarist. Hall told All­man he already had more gui­tar play­ers than he could use. All­man asked if he could just hang around the stu­dio and help out if the need should ever arise. “I mean, this was Duane,” Hall said to All­man’s biog­ra­ph­er Randy Poe. “He was hell-bent for star­dom and noth­ing was going to stop him.”

Hall let the young gui­tarist hang around, and before long he was play­ing on a few ses­sions with Clarence Carter.  Hall liked what he heard, and All­man’s cru­cial moment arrived short­ly after­ward, when the for­mer Stax record­ing artist Wil­son Pick­ett showed up at the stu­dio unex­pect­ed­ly. As Poe writes in his book Sky­dog: The Duane All­man Sto­ry,

“Pick­ett came into the stu­dio,” says Hall, “and I said, ‘We don’t have any­thing to cut.’ We did­n’t have a song. Duane was there, and he came up with an idea. By this time he’d kind of bro­ken the ice and become my guy. So Duane said, ‘Why don’t we cut “Hey Jude”?’ I said, ‘That’s the most pre­pos­ter­ous thing I ever heard. It’s insan­i­ty. We’re gonna cov­er the Bea­t­les? That’s crazy!’ And Pick­ett said, ‘No, we’re not gonna do it.’ I said, ‘Their sin­gle’s gonna be Num­ber 1. I mean, this is the biggest group in the world!’ And Duane said, ‘That’s exact­ly why we should do it — because [the Bea­t­les sin­gle] will be Num­ber 1 and they’re so big. The fact that we would cut the song with a black artist will get so much atten­tion, it’ll be an auto­mat­ic smash.’ That made all the sense in the world to me. So I said, ‘Well, okay. Let’s do it.’

The orig­i­nal Bea­t­les ver­sion of “Hey Jude” is over sev­en min­utes long. Pick­ett was deter­mined to keep his ver­sion short­er, to make it suit­able for radio play. At four min­utes long, it was still more than a minute longer than the aver­age pop­u­lar song from that era. Most of the extra time is tak­en up by All­man’s explo­sive rock and roll-style gui­tar solo. “From the moment Duane plays the first lick ten sec­onds into the coda,” writes Poe, “until the song fades out over a minute lat­er, it is entire­ly his show. The back­ground vocal­ists are singing those famil­iar ‘na-na-na-na’s’ — but it’s all for naught. Rick Hall has pushed them so far down in the mix, they are mere­ly ambiance. Absolute­ly noth­ing mat­ters but Duane’s gui­tar.” When it was over, every­one rushed to hear the play­back. Hall was so excit­ed he picked up the tele­phone and called Atlantic Records pro­duc­er and exec­u­tive Jer­ry Wexler, who had sent Pick­ett to Mus­cle Shoals. Writes Poe:

Hall cranked up the vol­ume, held the receiv­er near the speak­ers, and played the record­ing all the way through. The gui­tar play­er, nat­u­ral­ly, blew Jer­ry Wexler away. “Who is he?” Wexler asked. Hall told Wexler that Pick­ett called him Sky Man. He said that Sky Man was a hip­pie from Flori­da who had talked Pick­ett into cut­ting the tune. Wexler per­sist­ed. “Who the hell is he?” “Name’s Duane All­man,” Rick replied.

Before Pick­ett chris­tened All­man “Sky Man,” the gui­tarist already had a nick­name he was fond of: “Dog.” In keep­ing with it, he always wore a dog col­lar wrapped around his right boot, like a spur. So the two nick­names were com­bined, and All­man was known there­after as “Sky­dog.”

Although Pick­ett record­ed “Hey Jude” against his will, he liked the result so much he made it the title song of his next album. And right about the time the Bea­t­les’ ver­sion was com­ing down after nine weeks at num­ber one on the Amer­i­can charts, Pick­et­t’s ver­sion start­ed going up. It peaked at num­ber 15 on the R & B chart and num­ber 23 on the pop chart. When Clap­ton first heard All­man’s solo on his car radio, he report­ed­ly pulled over to the side of the road to lis­ten. “I drove home and called Atlantic Records imme­di­ate­ly,” Clap­ton said. “I had to know who that was play­ing gui­tar and I had to know now.”

Lis­ten to the full song:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Here Comes The Sun: The Lost Gui­tar Solo by George Har­ri­son

Eric Clapton’s Iso­lat­ed Gui­tar Track From the Clas­sic Bea­t­les Song, ‘While My Gui­tar Gen­tly Weeps’ (1968)

Gui­tar Sto­ries: Mark Knopfler on the Six Gui­tars That Shaped His Career

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

tarkovsky filming

Those who find their way into the rich emo­tion­al and aes­thet­ic realm of Russ­ian film­mak­er Andrei Tarkovsky (see our col­lec­tion of Free Tarkovsky movies online) might at first assume that nobody can put the expe­ri­en­tial appeal of his cin­e­ma into words. The well-known writer and Tarkovsky fan Geoff Dyer demon­strat­ed this, in a sense, with his high­ly enter­tain­ing book Zona: A Book About a Film About a Jour­ney to a Room, which osten­si­bly describes the direc­tor’s acclaimed Stalk­er but actu­al­ly heads off in a thou­sand dif­fer­ent digres­sive direc­tions, all of them dri­ven by the writer’s appre­ci­a­tion for the movie. Pic­tures like Stalk­er, Solaris, Nos­tal­ghia, or The Mir­ror may set off with­in you a range of reac­tions to film you’d nev­er thought pos­si­ble, but would­n’t that only make them more dif­fi­cult to talk about? Rarely do the much-dis­cussed musi­cal rather than intel­lec­tu­al prop­er­ties of cin­e­ma as an art form seem as rel­e­vant as when you watch Tarkovsky; the old line com­par­ing writ­ing about music to danc­ing about archi­tec­ture comes to mind.

But Tarkovsky him­self thought of film as sculp­ture, as he explains in the posthu­mous­ly pub­lished trea­tise on his craft Sculpt­ing in Time. The book has much to teach about the unique artis­tic poten­tial of the medi­um as this mas­ter under­stood it, and it reveals that, indeed, one can speak cogent­ly about Tarkovsky, and nobody can do it more cogent­ly than Tarkovsky him­self. This abil­i­ty he also dis­plays in the doc­u­men­tary Voy­age in Time, from which we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured a clip of his advice to young film­mak­ers. Here we have a less-seen por­trait, but one that makes a sim­i­lar­ly thor­ough exam­i­na­tion, with inter­views, drama­ti­za­tions, and his­tor­i­cal footage, of the auteur’s real­i­ty: Donatel­la Baglivo’s 1983 Tarkovsky: A Poet in Cin­e­ma. (Watch it online here.) From Baglivo’s short but choice prompts, Tarkovsky expounds on not just his life and work but the essen­tial impor­tance of fight­ing, the con­cep­tu­al nonex­is­tence of hap­pi­ness, what child­hood deter­mines about us, wartime’s impact on fan­tasies, and the salu­tary effects of a year labor­ing in Siberia — all in the first fif­teen min­utes of this 140-minute argu­ment that film, at its most pow­er­ful, does­n’t just get you talk­ing about film; it demands that you talk about exis­tence itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Tarkovsky Films Now Free Online

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

Tarkovsky’s Solaris Revis­it­ed

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Very First Films: Three Stu­dent Films, 1956–1960

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Getty Puts 4600 Art Images Into the Public Domain (and There’s More to Come)

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Not long ago, I went over to the Get­ty to see the J. Paul Get­ty Trust’s Pres­i­dent and CEO James Cuno in live con­ver­sa­tion with Pico Iyer, one of his favorite writ­ers as well as one of mine. Cuno, him­self the author of books like Whose Cul­ture?: The Promise of Muse­ums and the Debate over Antiq­ui­ties and Muse­ums Mat­ter: In Praise of the Ency­clo­pe­dic Muse­um, impressed me not only with his choice of inter­locu­tors but with the open, for­ward-think­ing nature he revealed dur­ing the talk. On Mon­day, he demon­strat­ed it again by pub­lish­ing anoth­er piece of writ­ing, very brief but unde­ni­ably impor­tant: his announce­ment of the Get­ty’s Open Con­tent Pro­gram, which has just made avail­able over 4600 high-res­o­lu­tion images of the muse­um’s col­lec­tion freely avail­able in the pub­lic domain. You can down­load them, mod­i­fy them, dis­trib­ute them — do what you please with them.

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“Why open con­tent? Why now?” Cuno writes. “The Get­ty was found­ed on the con­vic­tion that under­stand­ing art makes the world a bet­ter place, and shar­ing our dig­i­tal resources is the nat­ur­al exten­sion of that belief. This move is also an edu­ca­tion­al imper­a­tive. Artists, stu­dents, teach­ers, writ­ers, and count­less oth­ers rely on art­work images to learn, tell sto­ries, exchange ideas, and feed their own cre­ativ­i­ty.” If you enjoy engag­ing in any of these pur­suits — which, as an Open Cul­ture habitué‎, I assume you do — begin by brows­ing all the Open Con­tent Pro­gram’s cur­rent­ly avail­able images, or check for down­load links on indi­vid­ual Get­ty col­lec­tion pages. This post includes three images straight from the Get­ty: Rem­brandt’s The Abduc­tion of Europa, Walk­er Evans’ A Bench in the Bronx on Sun­day, and a hel­met of Chal­cid­i­an type cir­ca 350–300 B.C. Cuno promis­es many more images to come, and mate­r­i­al from oth­er sources like the Get­ty’s inter­na­tion­al field projects. He’s got my antic­i­pa­tion.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

40,000 Art­works from 250 Muse­ums, Now View­able for Free at the Redesigned Google Art Project

LA Coun­ty Muse­um Makes 20,000 Artis­tic Images Avail­able for Free Down­load

The Rijksmu­se­um Puts 125,000 Dutch Mas­ter­pieces Online, and Lets You Remix Its Art

Art.sy Rolls Out Huge Archive of Fine-Art Images and an Intel­li­gent Art Appre­ci­a­tion Guide

Free: The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art and the Guggen­heim Offer 474 Free Art Books Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Jimi Hendrix Live at Woodstock: Historic Concert Captured on Film


By the time Jimi Hen­drix arrived onstage at the Wood­stock Fes­ti­val on the morn­ing of August 18, 1969, the crowd of near­ly 500,000 peo­ple had dwin­dled to few­er than 40,000. Much of Max Yas­gur’s farm looked des­o­late. Lit­ter was strewn every­where and — hard as it may be to imag­ine — scores of peo­ple were stream­ing out as Hen­drix played.

The fes­ti­val was billed as “3 Days of Peace & Music,” but rain and oth­er prob­lems delayed Hen­drix’s fes­ti­val-clos­ing per­for­mance until 8:30 on the morn­ing of the fourth day, a Mon­day. The peo­ple who remained were exhaust­ed and wet and just wak­ing up. As fes­ti­val orga­niz­er Michael Lang writes in The Road to Wood­stock:

The mas­sive stage was sparse­ly pop­u­lat­ed com­pared to how packed it had been all week­end with musi­cians, crew, and friends. Jimi, a red scarf around his head and wear­ing a white fringed and bead­ed leather shirt, looked almost like a mys­ti­cal holy man in med­i­ta­tion. His eyes closed, his head back, he’d merged with his music, his Strat — played upside down since he’s a lefty — his mag­ic wand. Though he was sur­round­ed by his band, he pro­ject­ed the feel­ing he was all alone.

As he almost rev­er­ent­ly start­ed the nation­al anthem, the bedrag­gled audi­ence, worn out and mud­dy, moved clos­er togeth­er. Those of us who’d bare­ly slept in three days were awak­ened, exhil­a­rat­ed by Jim­i’s song. One minute he was chord­ing the well-worn melody, the next he was reen­act­ing “bombs burst­ing in air” with feed­back and dis­tor­tion. It was bril­liant. A mes­sage of joy and love of coun­try, while at the same time an under­stand­ing of all the con­flict and tur­moil that’s torn Amer­i­ca apart.

The Jimi Hen­drix Expe­ri­ence had bro­ken up a few weeks ear­li­er, with the depar­ture of bassist Noel Red­ding. At the fes­ti­val, Hen­drix and drum­mer Mitch Mitchell were joined by two musi­cians Hen­drix had worked with before he was famous — bassist Bil­ly Cox and gui­tarist Lar­ry Lee — along with con­ga play­ers Juma Sul­tan and Jer­ry Velez. The group had rehearsed for less than two weeks in Hen­drix’s rent­ed house near Wood­stock. They called them­selves “Gyp­sy Sun & Rain­bows,” or “Band of Gyp­sys” for short.

Hen­drix’s psy­che­del­ic per­for­mance of “The Star-Span­gled Ban­ner” was immor­tal­ized in Michael Wadleigh’s Acad­e­my Award-win­ning 1970 film, Wood­stock. A two-disc DVD cap­tur­ing most of Hen­drix’s near­ly two-hour set, called Jimi Hen­drix Live at Wood­stock, was released in 1999. The 57-minute film above is an abridged ver­sion. It begins with an excerpt from “Mes­sage to Love” (the song Hen­drix opened with) played over gen­er­al scenes of the fes­ti­val. It goes on to show Hen­drix onstage, play­ing the fol­low­ing songs:

  1. “Fire”
  2. “Izabel­la”
  3. “Red House”
  4. “Jam Back at the House”
  5. “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)”
  6. “Star-Span­gled Ban­ner”
  7. “Pur­ple Haze”
  8. “Wood­stock Impro­vi­sa­tion”
  9. “Vil­lano­va Junc­tion”

The songs in the film are not pre­sent­ed in the order Hen­drix played them in, and some have been omit­ted. Sec­ond gui­tarist Lar­ry Lee (who can be heard solo­ing in “Jam Back at the House”) sang lead vocals on “Mas­ter­mind” and “Gyp­sy Woman/Aware of Love,” but those songs have been cut from this ver­sion. Also left out are “Span­ish Cas­tle Mag­ic,” “Hear My Train a Comin’,” “Lover Man,” “Foxy Lady,” “Step­ping Stone,” and an encore of “Hey Joe.” Despite the omis­sions, this abridged ver­sion of Jimi Hen­drix Live at Wood­stock is a fas­ci­nat­ing and enjoy­able look at one of the great moments in rock and roll his­to­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

In 1969 Telegram, Jimi Hen­drix Invites Paul McCart­ney to Join a Super Group with Miles Davis

See Jimi Hendrix’s First TV Appear­ance, and His Last as a Back­ing Musi­cian (1965)

Watch Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Chile’ Per­formed on a Gayageum, a Tra­di­tion­al Kore­an Instru­ment

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