Even from just what we’ve posted about Salvador Dalí, you can tell he had a mission to spread his distinctive sensibility far and wide: he made films with Luis Buñuel, collaborated with Walt Disney and Alfred Hitchcock, showed up for Andy Warhol’s “screen tests,” and illustrated some of the best-known texts in western history, like Dante’s Divine Comedy, Lewis Carroll’sAlice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and Shakespeare’s Macbeth. All those projects might seem well suited to the Spanish surrealist’s famous skill at artistically rendering the torn edges of human consciousness, but what would he do when presented with something more psychologically straightforward — Romeo and Juliet, say? You can see the results of just such a project at Twisted Sifter, which presents ten notable illustrations from Dalí’s second Shakespearean project.
These images come from a 1975 Rizzoli and Rizzoli edition consisting of “ten off-set lithographs on heavy paper with 99 pages of bound text contained in a red/burgundy silk slipcase with the lithographs signed in the place.” You can find out more about this book at the site of Plainfield, Illinois’ Lockport Street Gallery, which offers the copy for sale and a warning against all the “fake prints” (inauthentic Dalí having long constituted a robust industry of its own) in circulation. Romeo and Juliet, perhaps due to its tendency to get assigned in high school, can come off as one of Shakespeare’s milder, more familiar plays, and modern interpretations of the material fall flat as often as they rise up to it. But Dalí’s contribution makes the old tale of star-crossed lovers strange and haunting again — exactly the specialty, I suppose, that would attract anybody to him with an offer of collaboration in the first place.
If you want to understand poetry, ask a poet. “What is this?” you ask, “some kind of Zen saying?” Obvious, but subtle? Maybe. What I mean to say is that I have found poetry one of those distinctive practices of which the practitioners themselves—rather than scholars and critics—make the best expositors, even in such seemingly academic subject areas as the history of poetry. Of course, poets, like critics, get things wrong, and not every poet is a natural teacher, but only poets understand poetry from the inside out, as a living, breathing exercise practiced the world over by every culture for all recorded history, linked by common insights into the nature of language and existence. Certainly Allen Ginsberg understood, and taught, poetry this way, in his summer lectures at the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied poetics, which he co-founded with Anne Waldman at Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche’s Naropa University in 1974.
We’ve previously featured some of Ginsberg’s Naropa lectures here at Open Culture, including his 1980 short course on Shakespeare’s The Tempest and his lecture on “Expansive Poetics” from 1981. Today, we bring you several selections from his lengthy series of lectures on the “History of Poetry,” which he delivered in 1975. Currently, thirteen of Ginsberg’s lectures in the series are available online through the Internet Archive, and they are each well worth an attentive listen. Actually, we should say there are twelve Ginsberg lectures available, since Ginsberg’s fellow Beat Gregory Corso led the first class in the series while Ginsberg was ill.
Corso taught the class in a “Socratic” style, allowing students to ask him any questions they liked and describing his own process and his relationships with other Beat poets. You can hear his lectures here. When Ginsberg took over the “History of Poetry” lectures, he began (above) with discussion of another natural poet-educator, the idiosyncratic scholar Ezra Pound, whose formally precise interpretation of the Anglo-Saxon poem “The Seafarer” introduced many modern readers to ancient alliterative Old English poetics. (Poet W.S. Merwin sits in on the lecture and offers occasional laconic commentary and correction.)
Ginsberg references Pound’s pithy text The ABC of Reading and discusses his penchant for “ransack[ing] the world’s literature, looking for usable verse forms.” Pound, says Ginsberg—“the most heroic poet of the century”—taught poetry in his own “cranky and personal” way, and Ginsberg, less cranky, does something similar, teaching “just the poems that I like (or the poems I found in my own ear,” though he is “much less systematic than Pound.” He goes on to discuss 18th and 19th century poetics and sound and rhythm in poetry. One of the personal quirks of Ginsberg’s style is his insistence that his students take meditation classes and his claim that “the English verse that was taught in high school” is very close to the “primary Buddhist understanding of transiency.” But one can leave aside Ginsberg’s Buddhist preoccupations—appropriate to his teaching at a Buddhist university, of course—and still profit greatly from his lectures. Below, find links to eleven more of Ginsberg’s “History of Poetry” lectures, with descriptions from the Internet Archive. Unfortunately, it appears that several of the lecture recordings have not been preserved, or at least haven’t made it to the archive, but there’s more than enough material here for a thorough immersion in Ginsberg’s historical poetics. Also, be sure to see AllenGinsberg.org for transcriptions of his “History of Poetry” lectures. You can find these lectures listed in our collection of Free Literature Courses, part of our larger list, 1,700 Free Online Courses from Top Universities.
Part 3: class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, in a series of classes in the Summer of 1975. Gregory Corso helps teach the class. Percy Bysshe Shelley and Thomas Hood are discussed extensively. The class reads from Shelley, and Ginsberg recites Shelley’s “Ode to the west wind.”
Part 10: A class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, in a series of classes from 1975. Ginsburg discusses William Shakespeare and Ben Johnson in detail. Putting poetry to music, and the poet James Shirley are also discussed.
Part 11: A class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, in a series of classes by Ginsberg in the summer of 1975. Ginsberg discusses the metaphysical poets during the seventeenth century, specifically John Donne and Andrew Marvell. Ginsberg reads and discusses several of Donne’s and Marvell’s poems. There is also a discussion of the metaphysical poets and Gnosticism.
Part 12: [Ginsberg continues his discussion of Gnosticism and talks about Milton and Wordsworth]
Part 14: Second half of a class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, from a series of classes during the summer of 1975. Ginsberg talks about the songs of the poet William Blake. He sings to the class accompanied with his harmonium, performing several selections from Blake’s “Songs of innocence” and “Songs of experience.”
Part 15: First half of a class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg. from a series of classes during the summer of 1975. Ginsberg discusses the 19th century American poet, Walt Whitman, and a French poet of the same period, Arthur Rimbaud. He also discusses the poets’ biographies and their innovative approaches to style and poetics, followed by a reading by Ginsberg of a selection of Whitman’s and Rimbaud’s work.
Part 16: Second half of a class, and first half of the following class, on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, from a class series during the summer of 1975. The first twenty minutes continues a class from the previous recording, on the work and innovation of the American poet Walt Whitman and the French poet Arthur Rimbaud. The remainder of the recording begins an introduction and analysis of the French poet Guillaume Apollinaire.
Part 17: A class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, from a series of classes during the summer of 1975. Ginsberg discusses the poets Guillaume Apollinaire, Vladimir Mayakovsky, and Federico Garcia Lorca. The New York School poet Frank O’Hara is also briefly discussed. Ginsberg reads a selection of poems from the their works, followed by a class discussion.
Part 18: First half of a class about the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, from a series of classes during the summer of 1975. Ginsberg discusses the American poet, and one of his mentors, William Carlos Williams. Ginsberg reads selections from Williams’ work, and discusses his style and background.
Part 19: Second half of a class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, from a series of classes during the summer of 1975. Ginsberg discusses the poets William Carlos Williams, Gregory Corso and Jack Kerouac. He includes several personal anecdotes about the poets and reads selections from their works. A class discussion follows.
Part 20: A snippet of material that may conclude a class on the history of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, from a class series during the summer of 1975. The recording includes three minutes and six seconds of Ginsberg talking about the morality of William Carlos Williams and the subject of poetry and perception
Yesterday, much to their delight, visitors to bobdylan.com discovered that the singer-songwriter had posted a new track — a cover of “Full Moon and Empty Arms,” a song recorded by Frank Sinatra back in 1946. Although details remains scarce, it looks as if the new track will appear on a forthcoming album called Shadows in the Night, for which you can already see some cover art. The new track appears below.
The Andy Warhol-masterminded avant-garde rock group The Velvet Underground brought Lou Reed to the attention of a generation — it and all of Reed’s artistically wide-ranging projects would draw notice from generations thereafter. But such a singular personality couldn’t have simply appeared, fully formed, along with the Velvets. What, then, had he done before that epochal band began playing together in 1965?
The answer, as you can hear in 1962’s “Merry Go Round” and “Your Love,” the pair of singles embedded at the top of the post: doo-wop. Though not released in their day, the songs find a certain “Lewis Reed” laying down his very first lead vocals. Years before, in 1958, the producer of those songs put out a 45 by the The Jades, the high-school band in which Reed had played but not sung. You can hear the doo-wop trio’s “So Blue” below:
“The Jades wasn’t a band, it was just one guitar and two other guys singing,” Reed later said. “I was in the background. I wrote the stuff, I didn’t sing it. We would play shopping malls and some really bad violent places. I was always, like, tremendously under age, which was pretty cool.” You can hear more reminiscences of The Jades’ heyday, such as they had, in this interview with lead singer (and Reed’s high-school classmate) Phil Harris. “One evening, at Lou’s house, we started fooling around with some lyrics and during that evening, both ‘So Blue’ and ‘Leave Her for Me’ were written. In those days, it didn’t take much imagination to come up with something. You just thought of an experience that you might have gone through and wrote it down.” Instead of continuing with music, Harris opted for the U.S. Navy and what he calls “a typical life in the work-a-day world.” His bandmate, on the other hand, went on to a long career that seemed to demand no small amount of imagination: being Lou Reed.
Debuting in 1989, MTV’s Unplugged promised to cure the culture’s slick 80s hangover with acoustic guitars and earnest, coffee-shop intimacy from the 90s biggest stars (Mariah Carey) and a select few classic giants (McCartney, Clapton, Dylan, a reformed Kiss). In a series documenting some iconic last or near-last performances—from 10,000 Maniacs, Alice in Chains—perhaps the most iconic was the November, 1993 appearance of Nirvana (below), whose troubled singer/guitarist overdosed just weeks into the band’s 1994 European tour, then took his life in April of that year. For children of the decade, Nirvana’s Unplugged appearance, though hard to watch in hindsight, perhaps defines the 90s more than any other TV moment. And yet, writes Andrew Wallace Chamings in The Atlantic, “it’s worth considering the performance as a work of music, not mythology. Because as music, it’s incredible.”
You want intimacy? “Parts of the Nirvana set,” writes Chamings, “feel so personal it’s awkward.” Cobain is cranky in between-song banter, hunched over his guitar in his puke green thrift-store cardigan, snapping at his bandmates and the audience. His performances are intense and eerie, particularly his cover of Lead Belly’s “Where Did You Sleep Last Night,” the last song of the evening, which Neil Young described as “unearthly, like a werewolf.” The band never hid behind a pre-fabricated mystique, but their acoustic set highlights just how emotionally invested Cobain was in music—his own and others. Joined by Germs (and later Foo Fighers) guitarist Pat Smear, they mostly eschewed the hits, and played covers by Cobain’s favorite bands: Meat Puppets, Bowie, The Vaselines. You want even more intimacy? Watch the Unplugged rehearsal sessions at the top of the post.
Where the televised Unplugged episode has the loose, informal vibe of band practice with an audience, this rehearsal footage is more of a soundcheck, but with some truly beautiful performances. Cobain tweaks technical details and gets snippy with the engineer. According to several people involved, the rehearsal sessions were especially difficult, with Cobain suffering from withdrawal and generally nervous and unhappy, almost bailing on the show at the last minute. Cobain biographer Charles Cross quotes one observer as saying “There was no joking, no smiles, no fun coming from him.” Cobain’s request that the studio be decorated with black candles and stargazer lilies prompted the producer to ask, “You mean like a funeral?” “Exactly,” he said, “like a funeral.” But it’s the band’s insistence that the show be tailored to their anti-rock star personality that makes the performances so memorable. “We’d seen the other Unpluggeds and didn’t like many of them,” recalled Dave Grohl, “because most bands would treat them like rock shows… except with acoustic guitars.” Nirvana’s Unplugged was something entirely different. A televised swan song that was also, in Chaming’s words, “the prettiest noise the band has ever made.”
Tim Burton started his live-action directing career making Pee-wee’s Big Adventure and went on to direct a string of blockbusters including a CG-heavy version of Alice in Wonderland that featured a lot more sword fighting than Lewis Carroll’s original story. Burton has crafted a couple movies that could be called masterpieces (Ed Wood, Beetlejuice) and alot more that decidedly could not (Hello, Planet of the Apes). Yet whatever project he takes on, his movies always look stunning, distinctive and, well, a bit ghoulish.
Burton started his career studying animation at the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts) – an art school almost as famous for being the training ground of the likes of Burton, John Lasseter and Brad Bird as it is for its clothing-optional swimming pool. You can see fragments of a couple of Burton’s movies he did at CalArts above. One is from a short called King and Octopus and it shows a cephalopod looking quite bored on a king’s throne while a guy (presumably the king) shouts abuse from a dungeon.
The clip is missing its soundtrack so your guess is as good as mine as to what the story is about. The second is Stalk of the Celery Monster, a movie about the worst dentist this side of Marathon Man. Burton’s obsession with the macabre is clearly evident even in these early works, especially Celery Monster, which has the sort of Frankenstein-like mad scientist that would pop up over and over in his later work.
Based off of Celery Monster, Burton was hired by Disney as an animator and he was soon put to work on the very unmacabre feature-length movie The Fox and the Hound (1981). It wasn’t his cup of tea. “At first I thought, ‘Wow, this is incredible,’” he told the Chicago Tribune back in 1992. “But once I got into it, I realized I wasn’t cut out for it. I didn’t have the patience and I didn’t like what they [Disney] was doing.”
Fortunately, Disney let Burton make his own shorts. He ultimately made three movies there including Frankenweenie (1984), which got him the attention of producers in Warner Brothers and which was later adapted into a 2012 feature. The first short he produced, however, was Vincent (1982), a stop-motion animated film about a Calvin-like seven-year-old boy who fantasizes that he’s Vincent Price. Check it out below. It displays all the traits that would come to be known as “Burtonesque.” Many more great animated shorts can be found on our list of Free Animated Films, part of our bigger collection 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.
In his autobiography, Johnny Cash recalled meeting Elvis Presley in Memphis, circa 1954:
The first time I saw Elvis, singing from a flatbed truck at a Katz drugstore opening on Lamar Avenue, two or three hundred people, mostly teenage girls, had come out to see him. With just one single to his credit, he sang those two songs over and over. That’s the first time I met him.
Although the two musicians were “never tight,” they liked one another. Cash admired Presley’s rhythm guitar playing and his showmanship. He writes: “Elvis was so good. Every show I did with him, I never missed the chance to stand in the wings and watch. We all did. He was that charismatic.” Which brings us to the short, completely amusing clip found above.
According to the Pig River Records web site (a “comprehensive guide to music as it was 50 years ago”), this footage dates back to a 1959 tour. Cash was the opening act; Presley, the headliner. And each night, “Cash would impersonate his friend and touring partner, and then Elvis would come out and do the same. Two characters just having a good ol’ time whilst simultaneously creating the genre of rock and roll.”
If you want to spend a little more time at the Cash-Presley nexus, I’d encourage you to listen to Million Dollar Quartet, a recording that captures Cash and Presley’s impromptu jam session with Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis. It was recorded in 1956, at the Sun Record Studios in Memphis.
Finally, if you care to see more Elvis impersonations, you can see how Cash stacks up against Quentin Tarantino and the great Andy Kaufman.
Graduation season is upon us and, last weekend, the great Jimmy Page had a busy weekend at the Berklee College of Music in Boston. The school gave the Led Zeppelin guitarist an honorary doctoral degree in music, before letting him present — or rather “busk” — a short commencement address to nearly 900 hundred graduates at the Agganis Arena. But probably the highlight came the night before, when Berklee students performed for Page, playing renditions of Kashmir,Stairway to Heaven, Dazed and Confused and Whole Lotta Love, among other Led Zeppelin classics. Happily, some footage from that performance has popped up on Facebook. Watch it right below:
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