Hardware Wars: The Mother of All Star Wars Fan Films (and the Most Profitable Short Film Ever Made)

Back in 1977, San Fran­cis­co film­mak­er Ernie Fos­selius had the brain­wave to make a spoof of a movie that had just come out. It was a risky move. Nobody had any sense that Star Wars would become the world­wide cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non that it did. And just as George Lucas’s space opera earned stag­ger­ing amounts of mon­ey, so did Fosselius’s par­o­dy, Hard­ware Wars. You can watch it above. Made for a mere eight grand, the 13-minute movie became a pre-inter­net viral hit and a sta­ple on the fes­ti­val cir­cuit, ulti­mate­ly earn­ing over $1,000,000 – an unheard of haul for a short film. In fact, in terms of mon­ey spent ver­sus mon­ey earned, Hard­ware Wars end­ed up being far more prof­itable than Star Wars. And it’s con­sid­ered the most prof­itable short film ever made.

“I think a lot of the charm of that movie is the fact that we didn’t real­ly know what we were doing,” said Scott Math­ews, who donned a blonde wig to play the movie’s lead, Fluke Star­buck­er. The movie’s pro­duc­tion is so glee­ful­ly cheap and half-assed that you can’t help but be charmed by it. Irons, toast­ers, and tape play­ers are used in place of space­ships.

A can­is­ter vac­u­um clean­er stands in for R2D2, and Chew­bac­ca appears to be a Cook­ie Mon­ster pup­pet dyed brown. At one point, while on a desert plan­et of Tatooine, you see a beach-goer saun­ter­ing in the back­ground. And Star Wars’s famous can­ti­na scene is in this movie sim­ply a stroll through a crowd­ed tav­ern. If you know any­thing about the bar scene in 1970s San Fran­cis­co, you know that it was at least as weird as any­thing George Lucas man­aged to put up on the screen.

The often liti­gious Lucas report­ed­ly real­ly liked the movie, called it “cute.” He even invit­ed Fos­selius to voice the incon­solable sobs of Jab­ba the Hut­t’s ani­mal train­er after his beloved Ran­cor gets killed by Luke Sky­walk­er in Return of the Jedi.

Hard­ware Wars end­ed up launch­ing an entire sub­genre of movie – the Star Wars fan film. And with the advent of Youtube and dig­i­tal film­mak­ing tech­nol­o­gy, the abil­i­ty of nerds and mavens to make increas­ing­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed takes on Lucas’s uni­verse became eas­i­er and eas­i­er. One of the bet­ter, and old­er, ones is Troops. A mash up of Star Wars and the real­i­ty TV series Cops, the short shows the chal­lenges and the strug­gles of being an Impe­r­i­al Stormtroop­er. Check it out below.

via Film­mak­erIQ

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Star Wars Bor­rowed From Aki­ra Kurosawa’s Great Samu­rai Films

Frei­heit, George Lucas’ Short Stu­dent Film About a Fatal Run from Com­mu­nism (1966)

Watch the Very First Trail­ers for Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back & Return of the Jedi (1976–83)

Joseph Camp­bell and Bill Moy­ers Break Down Star Wars as an Epic, Uni­ver­sal Myth

Hun­dreds of Fans Col­lec­tive­ly Remade Star Wars; Now They Remake The Empire Strikes Back

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

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

 

Zeppelin Took My Blues Away: An Illustrated History of Zeppelin’s “Copyright Indiscretions”

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Few have gone broke work­ing in copy­right law. Some, how­ev­er, have gone broke break­ing it. Oth­ers have built up enough of a rep­u­ta­tion and for­tune by bend­ing the rules just far enough, though they still run the risk of, if not going finan­cial­ly bank­rupt, then look­ing cre­ative­ly bank­rupt. The Eng­lish rock band Led Zep­pelin seems to have art­ful­ly walked just this line for decades, though their usage of the blues and folk songs that inspired them has more recent­ly under­gone some seri­ous­ly high-pro­file exam­i­na­tion in court. Even their sig­na­ture “Stair­way to Heav­en” had a suit filed against it in May, “brought by the estate of the late musi­cian Randy Cal­i­for­nia against the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of Led Zep­pelin and their record label. The copy­right infringe­ment case alleges that the Zep­pelin song was tak­en from the sin­gle ‘Tau­rus’ by the 1960s band Spir­it, for whom Cal­i­for­nia served as lead gui­tarist.

11.2-Stairway-To-Heaven

Those look­ing to make up their own minds about the rel­e­vant issues of musi­cal author­ship here can look to Zep­pelin Took My Blues Away, an “illus­trat­ed his­to­ry of copy­right indis­cre­tions,” cre­at­ed in trad­ing card for­mat, and fea­tur­ing clips for the pur­pos­es of com­par­i­son and con­trast. In this post, we have the card and clips doc­u­ment­ing the resem­blances between “Stair­way to Heav­en” and “Tau­rus,” Randy Cal­i­for­ni­a’s 1968 song. The series comes to 19 cards in total, includ­ing such per­haps exces­sive­ly Zep­pelin-bor­rowed tunes as Bert Jan­sch’s “Black­wa­ter­side,” Ritchie Valens’ “Ohh, My Head,” Willie Dixon’s “You Need Love,” and Jake Holmes’ “Dazed and Con­fused.” The ques­tion of whether we can call Jim­my Page and Robert Plant reck­less music thieves or sim­ply artists mak­ing use of what came before — as all artists must — has no easy answer. I, for my part, can’t even imag­ine the legal drudgery required for a ver­dict in cas­es like this. Some­thing tells me that noth­ing as fun as trad­ing cards ever gets admit­ted as evi­dence.

LED ZEPPELIN “Stair­way To Heav­en” 1971

SPIRIT “Tau­rus” 1968

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Led Zep­pelin Plays One of Its Ear­li­est Con­certs (Dan­ish TV, 1969)

Whole Lot­ta Led Zep­pelin: Live at the Roy­al Albert Hall and The Song Remains the Same–the Full Shows

Decon­struct­ing Led Zeppelin’s Clas­sic Song ‘Ram­ble On’ Track by Track: Gui­tars, Bass, Drums & Vocals

Hear Led Zeppelin’s Mind-Blow­ing First Record­ed Con­cert Ever (1968)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Animated Films Made During the Cold War Explain Why America is Exceptionally Exceptional

The CIA fought most of the Cold War on the cul­tur­al front, recruit­ing oper­a­tives and plac­ing agents in every pos­si­ble sphere of influ­ence, not only abroad but at home as well. As Fran­cis Ston­er Saun­ders’ book The Cul­tur­al Cold War: the CIA and the World of Arts and Let­ters details, the agency fund­ed intel­lec­tu­als across the polit­i­cal spec­trum as well as pro­duc­ers of radio, TV, and film. A well-financed pro­pa­gan­da cam­paign aimed at the Amer­i­can pub­lic attempt­ed to per­suade the pop­u­lace that their coun­try looked exact­ly like its lead­ers wished to see it, a well-run cap­i­tal­ist machine with equal oppor­tu­ni­ty for all. In addi­tion to the agency’s var­i­ous for­ays into jazz and mod­ern art, the CIA also helped finance and con­sult­ed on the pro­duc­tion of ani­mat­ed films, like the 1954 adap­ta­tion of George Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm we recent­ly fea­tured. We’ve also post­ed on oth­er ani­mat­ed pro­pa­gan­da films made by gov­ern­ment agen­cies, such as A is for Atom, a PR film for nuclear ener­gy, and Duck and Cov­er, a short sug­gest­ing that clean­li­ness may help cit­i­zens sur­vive a nuclear war.

Today we bring you three short ani­ma­tions fund­ed and com­mis­sioned by pri­vate inter­ests. These films were made for Arkansas’ Hard­ing Col­lege (now Hard­ing Uni­ver­si­ty) and financed by long­time Gen­er­al Motors CEO Alfred P. Sloan. The name prob­a­bly sounds famil­iar. Today the Alfred P. Sloan Foun­da­tion gen­er­ous­ly sup­ports pub­lic radio and tele­vi­sion, as well as med­ical research and oth­er altru­is­tic projects. In the post-war years, Sloan, wide­ly con­sid­ered “the father of the mod­ern cor­po­ra­tion,” writes Karl Cohen in a two-part essay for Ani­ma­tion World Net­work, sup­pos­ed­ly took a shine to the boot­strap­ping pres­i­dent of Hard­ing, George S. Ben­son, a Chris­t­ian mis­sion­ary and cru­sad­ing anti-Com­mu­nist who used his posi­tion to pro­mote God, fam­i­ly, and coun­try. Accord­ing to Cohen, Sloan donat­ed sev­er­al hun­dred thou­sand dol­lars to Hard­ing as fund­ing for “edu­ca­tion­al anti-Com­mu­nist, pro-free enter­prise sys­tem films.” Con­tract­ed by the col­lege, pro­duc­er John Suther­land, for­mer Dis­ney writer, made nine films in all. As you’ll see in the title card that opens each short, these were osten­si­bly made “to cre­ate a deep­er under­stand­ing of what has made Amer­i­ca the finest place in the world to live.” At the top, watch 1949’s “Why Play Leap Frog?” and just above, see anoth­er of the Hard­ing films, “Meet King Joe,” also from 1949.

Just above, watch a third of the Hard­ing pro­pa­gan­da films, “Make Mine Free­dom,” from 1948. Each of these films, call­ing them­selves “Fun and Facts about Amer­i­ca,” present sim­plis­tic patri­ot­ic sto­ries with an author­i­ta­tive nar­ra­tor who patient­ly explains the ins and outs of Amer­i­can excep­tion­al­ism. “Why Play Leapfrog?” tells the sto­ry of Joe, a dis­grun­tled doll-fac­to­ry work­er who learns some impor­tant lessons about the sup­ply chain, wages, and prices. He also learns that he’d bet­ter work hard­er to increase his pro­duc­tiv­i­ty (and coop­er­ate with man­age­ment) if he wants to keep up with the ris­ing cost of liv­ing. “Meet King Joe” intro­duces us to the “king of the work­ers of the world,” so called because he can buy more stuff than the poor schlubs in oth­er coun­tries. Joe, “no smarter” and “no stronger than work­ers in oth­er lands” has such advan­tages only because of, you guessed it, the won­ders of cap­i­tal­ism. “Make Mine Free­dom” reminds view­ers of their Con­sti­tu­tion­al rights before intro­duc­ing us to a snake oil char­la­tan sell­ing “ism,” a Com­mie-like ton­ic, to a group of U.S. labor disputants—if only they’ll sign over their rights and prop­er­ty. The assem­bled crowd jumps at the chance, but then along comes John Q. Pub­lic, who won’t give up his free­dom for “some import­ed dou­ble-talk.”

You can read much more about the rela­tion­ship between Sloan and Ben­son and the oth­er films Suther­land pro­duced with Sloan’s mon­ey, in Cohen’s essay, which also includes infor­ma­tion on Cold War ani­mat­ed pro­pa­gan­da films made by Warn­er Broth­ers and Dis­ney.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ani­mal Farm: Watch the Ani­mat­ed Adap­ta­tion of Orwell’s Nov­el Fund­ed by the CIA (1954)

A is for Atom: Vin­tage PR Film for Nuclear Ener­gy

How a Clean, Tidy Home Can Help You Sur­vive the Atom­ic Bomb: A Cold War Film from 1954

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

 

Young Leonard Cohen Reads His Poetry in 1966 (Before His Days as a Musician Began)

Many a singer-song­writer who first rose to promi­nence in the 1960s has tak­en the label of “poet,” usu­al­ly applied by ador­ing fans, no doubt to the objec­tion of a fair few seri­ous poet­ry enthu­si­asts. But who among them could deny Leonard Cohen’s sta­tus as a poet? Though best known as a musi­cian, Cohen has also racked up indis­putable writer­ly cre­den­tials, hav­ing pub­lished not just the nov­els Beau­ti­ful Losers and The Favorite Game but many books of poet­ry includ­ing Death of a Lady’s Man, Let Us Com­pare Mytholo­gies, and Flow­ers for Hitler. Some of them include not just poems writ­ten as poems but song lyrics — or per­haps works that began as songs but became poems. Sure­ly his albums con­tain songs that began as poems. Those inter­est­ed in fig­ur­ing out Cohen’s simul­ta­ne­ous devel­op­ment as a poet and song­writer would do well to lis­ten to his ear­ly poet­ry read­ings, like that of “Prayer for Mes­si­ah” at the top of the post.

Just above, you can hear Cohen read­ing sev­er­al more poems in the hal­lowed halls of New York’s 92nd Street Y in Feb­ru­ary 1966. Below, you can watch a tele­vi­sion clip from that same year in which the famous­ly Cana­di­an Cohen appears (nat­u­ral­ly) on the CBC in a seg­ment “con­sid­er­ing the poet­ic mind.”

He reads more of his verse and offers a bit of insight into his atti­tude toward the lega­cy of his own art — specif­i­cal­ly, that he pays no atten­tion to its lega­cy at all. Per­haps that more than any­thing allows him the free­dom to move as nec­es­sary between fields of cre­ative tex­tu­al endeav­or, retain­ing his inim­itable sen­si­bil­i­ty no mat­ter what shape his work takes at the end of the day. And, in any case, at least for my mon­ey, if pieces of his more mature work like “First We Take Man­hat­tan” don’t tran­scend their form, what does?

You can read a piece where Pico Iyer reflects on Cohen’s 92nd Y poet­ry read­ings here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ladies and Gen­tle­men… Mr. Leonard Cohen: The Poet-Musi­cian Fea­tured in a 1965 Doc­u­men­tary

The Poet­ry of Leonard Cohen Illus­trat­ed by Two Short Films

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Leo Tolstoy’s Family Recipe for Macaroni and Cheese

tolstoyfamilyrecipe

In 1874, Stepan Andree­vich Bers pub­lished The Cook­book and gave it as a gift to his sis­ter, count­ess Sophia Andreev­na Tol­staya, the wife of the great Russ­ian nov­el­ist, Leo Tol­stoy. The book con­tained a col­lec­tion of Tol­stoy fam­i­ly recipes, the dish­es they served to their fam­i­ly and friends, those for­tu­nate souls who belonged to the aris­to­crat­ic rul­ing class of late czarist Rus­sia. Almost 150 years lat­er, this cook­book has been trans­lat­ed and repub­lished by Sergei Bel­tyukov.

Avail­able in an inex­pen­sive Kin­dle for­mat ($3.99), Leo Tol­stoy’s fam­i­ly recipe book fea­tures dozens of recipes, every­thing from Tar­tar Sauce and Spiced Mush­rooms (what’s a Russ­ian kitchen with­out mush­rooms?), to Stuffed Dumplings and Green Beans à la Maître d’Hô­tel, to Cof­fee Cake and Vien­nese Pie. The text comes with a trans­la­tion, too, of Russ­ian weights and mea­sures used dur­ing the peri­od. One recipe Mr. Bel­tyukov pro­vid­ed to us (which I did­n’t see in the book) is for the Tol­stoy’s good ole Mac ‘N’ Cheese dish. It goes some­thing like this:

Bring water to a boil, add salt, then add mac­a­roni and leave boil­ing on light fire until half ten­der; drain water through a colan­der, add but­ter and start putting mac­a­roni back into the pot in lay­ers – lay­er of mac­a­roni, some grat­ed Parme­san and some veg­etable sauce, mac­a­roni again and so on until you run out of mac­a­roni. Put the pot on the edge of the stove, cov­er with a lid and let it rest in light fire until the mac­a­roni are soft and ten­der. Shake the pot occa­sion­al­ly to pre­vent them from burn­ing.

We’ll leave you with bon appétit! — an expres­sion almost cer­tain­ly heard in the homes of those French-speak­ing Russ­ian aris­to­crats.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Record­ing: Leo Tol­stoy Reads From His Last Major Work in Four Lan­guages, 1909

Vin­tage Footage of Leo Tol­stoy: Video Cap­tures the Great Nov­el­ist Dur­ing His Final Days

The Com­plete Works of Leo Tol­stoy Online: New Archive Will Present 90 Vol­umes for Free (in Russ­ian)

Works by Tol­stoy can be found in our col­lec­tions, 800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices and 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

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Jorge Luis Borges: “Soccer is Popular Because Stupidity is Popular”

borges-libray of babel

Image by Grete Stern, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

I will admit it: I’m one of those oft-maligned non-sports peo­ple who becomes a foot­ball (okay, soc­cer) enthu­si­ast every four years, seduced by the col­or­ful pageantry, cos­mopoli­tan air, nos­tal­gia for a game I played as a kid, and an embar­rass­ing­ly sen­ti­men­tal pride in my home coun­try’s team. I don’t lose all my crit­i­cal fac­ul­ties, but I can’t help but love the World Cup even while rec­og­niz­ing the cor­rup­tion, deep­en­ing pover­ty and exploita­tion, and host of oth­er seri­ous sociopo­lit­i­cal issues sur­round­ing it. And as an Amer­i­can, it’s sim­ply much eas­i­er to put some dis­tance between the sport itself and the jin­go­is­tic big­otry and violence—“sentimental hooli­gan­ism,” to use Franklin Foer’s phrase—that very often attend the game in var­i­ous parts of the world.

In Argenti­na, as in many soc­cer-mad coun­tries with deep social divides, gang vio­lence is a rou­tine part of fut­bol, part of what Argen­tine writer Jorge Luis Borges termed a hor­ri­ble “idea of suprema­cy.” Borges found it impos­si­ble to sep­a­rate the fan cul­ture from the game itself, once declar­ing, “soc­cer is pop­u­lar because stu­pid­i­ty is pop­u­lar.” As Shaj Math­ew writes in The New Repub­lic, the author asso­ci­at­ed the mass mania of soc­cer fan­dom with the mass fer­vor of fas­cism or dog­mat­ic nation­al­ism. “Nation­al­ism,” he wrote, “only allows for affir­ma­tions, and every doc­trine that dis­cards doubt, nega­tion, is a form of fanati­cism and stu­pid­i­ty.” As Math­ews points out, nation­al soc­cer teams and stars do often become the tools of author­i­tar­i­an regimes that “take advan­tage of the bond that fans share with their nation­al teams to drum up pop­u­lar sup­port [….] This is what Borges feared—and resented—about the sport.”

There is cer­tain­ly a sense in which Borges’ hatred of soc­cer is also indica­tive of his well-known cul­tur­al elit­ism (despite his roman­ti­ciz­ing of low­er-class gau­cho life and the once-demi­monde tan­go). Out­side of the huge­ly expen­sive World Cup, the class dynam­ics of soc­cer fan­dom in most every coun­try but the U.S. are fair­ly uncom­pli­cat­ed. New Repub­lic edi­tor Foer summed it up suc­cinct­ly in How Soc­cer Explains the World: “In every oth­er part of the world, soccer’s soci­ol­o­gy varies lit­tle: it is the province of the work­ing class.” (The inver­sion of this soc­cer class divide in the U.S., Foer writes, explains Amer­i­cans’ dis­dain for the game in gen­er­al and for elit­ist soc­cer dilet­tantes in par­tic­u­lar, though those atti­tudes are rapid­ly chang­ing). If Borges had been a North, rather than South, Amer­i­can, I imag­ine he would have had sim­i­lar things to say about the NFL, NBA, NHL, or NASCAR.

Nonethe­less, being Jorge Luis Borges, the writer did not sim­ply lodge cranky com­plaints, how­ev­er polit­i­cal­ly astute, about the game. He wrote a spec­u­la­tive sto­ry about it with his close friend and some­time writ­ing part­ner Adol­fo Bioy Casares. In “Esse Est Per­cipi” (“to be is to be per­ceived”), we learn that soc­cer has “ceased to be a sport and entered the realm of spec­ta­cle,” writes Math­ews: “rep­re­sen­ta­tion of sport has replaced actu­al sport.” The phys­i­cal sta­di­ums crum­ble, while the games are per­formed by “a sin­gle man in a booth or by actors in jer­seys before the TV cam­eras.” An eas­i­ly duped pop­u­lace fol­lows “nonex­is­tent games on TV and the radio with­out ques­tion­ing a thing.”

The sto­ry effec­tive­ly illus­trates Borges’ cri­tique of soc­cer as an intrin­sic part of a mass cul­ture that, Math­ews says, “leaves itself open to dem­a­goguery and manip­u­la­tion.” Borges’ own snob­beries aside, his res­olute sus­pi­cion of mass media spec­ta­cle and the coopt­ing of pop­u­lar cul­ture by polit­i­cal forces seems to me still, as it was in his day, a healthy atti­tude. You can read the full sto­ry here, and an excel­lent crit­i­cal essay on Borges’ polit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy here.

via The New Repub­lic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Borges: Pro­file of a Writer Presents the Life and Writ­ings of Argentina’s Favorite Son, Jorge Luis Borges

Jorge Luis Borges’ 1967–8 Nor­ton Lec­tures On Poet­ry (And Every­thing Else Lit­er­ary)

Jorge Luis Borges’ Favorite Short Sto­ries (Read 7 Free Online)

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

Soviets Bootlegged Western Pop Music on Discarded X‑Rays: Hear Original Audio Samples

bonemusic1

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 a recent 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 below, see 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 sam­ple of Bill Haley & His Comets from a “bone music” album, 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.”

But they weren’t all cru­el cen­sor’s jokes. Thanks to a com­pa­ny called Wan­der­er Records, you can own a piece of this odd cul­tur­al his­to­ry. Roent­g­e­niz­dat records, like the scratchy Bill Haley or the Tony Ben­nett “Lul­la­by of Broad­way” disc sam­pled above, go for some­where between one and two hun­dred bucks a piece—fair prices, I’d say, for such unusu­al arti­facts, though of course wild­ly inflat­ed from their Cold War street val­ue.

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

via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

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

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

Listen to Audio Arts: The 1970s Tape Cassette Arts Magazine Featuring Andy Warhol, Marcel Duchamp & Many Others

audio_arts_cassette_0

As a pod­cast­er, I’ve long since grown used to the idea of peri­od­i­cal­ly issu­ing audio con­tent. But the con­ve­nient record­ing, inter­net, and com­put­er, and mobile lis­ten­ing tech­nolo­gies that made such a medi­um pos­si­ble only real­ly con­verged in the ear­ly 2000s. How would I have gone about it had I want­ed to put out a “pod­cast,” say, 40 years ear­li­er? We have one such exam­ple in Audio Arts, a British con­tem­po­rary art “sound mag­a­zine” dis­trib­uted through the mail on audio cas­settes. “The sev­en­ties were the years of con­cep­tu­al art with text adding val­ue to the actu­al works,” co-cre­ator William Fur­long once said in an inter­view. “As an artist I was more inter­est­ed in ‘dis­cus­sion,’ the idea of lan­guage and the peo­ple that already worked in con­cep­tu­al fields in Great Britain. Soon I realised there weren’t mag­a­zines capa­ble of report­ing such mate­r­i­al inspired by con­ver­sa­tion, sounds and dis­cus­sions. The evoca­tive force of a voice is lost with the writ­ten word as it will only ever be a writ­ten voice.

Fur­long, a sculp­tor, and Bar­ry Bark­er, a gal­lerist, began pub­lish­ing Audio Arts in 1973. Its run last­ed until, aston­ish­ing­ly, 2006, by which time its archives had come to 25 vol­umes of four issues each. Its list of sub­scribers includ­ed the for­mi­da­ble Tate, such fans that they actu­al­ly acquired the mag­a­zine’s mas­ter tapes, dig­i­tized them, and made them all pub­licly avail­able on their web site. No longer must you seek out nth-gen­er­a­tion dupli­cat­ed ana­log cas­settes and dig out your Walk­man; now you can sim­ply stream on your media play­er of choice every issue from Jan­u­ary 1973, “four cas­settes with con­tri­bu­tions from Car­o­line Tis­dall, Noam Chom­sky, James Joyce and W.B. Yeats,” to Jan­u­ary 2006, which caps every­thing off with con­tri­bu­tions by Gilbert & George and Jake and Dinos Chap­man. Oth­er notable artis­tic pres­ences include Mar­cel Duchamp in Vol­ume 2, Philip Glass in Vol­ume 6, and Andy Warhol in Vol­ume 8. Help­ful­ly, Tate has also put togeth­er a sec­tion with tools to explore Audio Arts’ high­lights — some­thing more than a few mod­ern-day pod­casts could no doubt use.

via @WFMU

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Andy Warhol Inter­views Alfred Hitch­cock (1974)

Lis­ten to John Cage’s 5 Hour Art Piece: Diary: How To Improve The World (You Will Only Make Mat­ters Worse) 

Library of Con­gress Releas­es Audio Archive of Inter­views with Rock ‘n’ Roll Icons

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.