Bob Dylan Releases a New Cover of Frank Sinatra’s “Full Moon and Empty Arms”

shadows-cover-new

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.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Dylan Reads From T.S. Eliot’s Great Mod­ernist Poem The Waste Land

Bob Dylan and Van Mor­ri­son Sing Togeth­er in Athens, on His­toric Hill Over­look­ing the Acrop­o­lis

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks.

Two Leg­ends Togeth­er: A Young Bob Dylan Talks and Plays on The Studs Terkel Pro­gram, 1963

Teenage Lou Reed Sings Doo-Wop Music (1958–1962)

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.

via Music for Mani­acs

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Red Shirley, Lou Reed’s Short Doc­u­men­tary on His Fas­ci­nat­ing 100-Year-Old Cousin (2010)

Nico, Lou Reed & John Cale Sing the Clas­sic Vel­vet Under­ground Song ‘Femme Fatale’ (Paris, 1972)

Lou Reed Rewrites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” See Read­ings by Reed and Willem Dafoe

Sell­ing Cool: Lou Reed’s Clas­sic Hon­da Scoot­er Com­mer­cial, 1984

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.

The Rehearsal Sessions For Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged Appearance (1993)

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.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nir­vana Plays in a Radio Shack, the Day After Record­ing its First Demo Tape (1988)

Nirvana’s Home Videos: An Inti­mate Look at the Band’s Life Away From the Spot­light (1988)

The First Live Per­for­mance of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” (1991)

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

Tim Burton’s Early Student Films: King and Octopus & Stalk of the Celery Monster

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.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Tim Bur­ton: A Look Inside His Visu­al Imag­i­na­tion

Tim Burton’s The World of Stain­boy: Watch the Com­plete Ani­mat­ed Series

Vin­cent: Tim Burton’s Ear­ly Ani­mat­ed Film

Six Ear­ly Short Films By Tim Bur­ton

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.

Johnny Cash Impersonates Elvis Presley: A Slapstick Version of “Heartbreak Hotel” (1959)

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.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ear­li­est Footage of Elvis Pres­ley, Bud­dy Hol­ly and John­ny Cash (1955)

The First Episode of The John­ny Cash Show, Fea­tur­ing Bob Dylan & Joni Mitchell (1969)

Library Card Signed by 13-Year-Old Elvis Pres­ley, the Ear­li­est Known Sig­na­ture of the King

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

Jimmy Page Gives Commencement Address at Berklee; Students Perform Led Zep Classics for Him

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:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jim­my Page Tells the Sto­ry of “Kash­mir”

Jim­my Page, 13, Plays Gui­tar on BBC Tal­ent Show (1957)

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

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 1 ) |

London Mashed Up: Footage of the City from 1924 Layered Onto Footage from 2013

Great cities are high­ly change­able by nature, though cer­tain sky­line-dom­i­nat­ing land­marks endure. Vis­i­tors and res­i­dents alike roman­ti­cize the Eif­fel Tow­er, the Empire State Build­ing, and the Colos­se­um. (That last one’s got real stay­ing pow­er)

In Won­der­ful Lon­don in 1924 and 2014, above, film­mak­er Simon Smith  goes with the flow estab­lished by his pre­de­ces­sors, Har­ry B. Parkin­son and Frank Miller, who fea­tured St. Paul’s Cathe­dral on the title cards of their short doc­u­men­tary series, “Won­der­ful Lon­don.” That icon­ic dome makes for a love­ly and sen­ti­men­tal view. These days, it can be tak­en in from the Mil­len­ni­um Bridge or 6th floor cafe of the Tate Mod­ern (housed in the for­mer Bank­side Pow­er Sta­tion).

Time has altered all of Parkin­son’s and Miller’s loca­tions over the last 90 years, as Miller’s 2013 footage shows. The icon­ic archi­tec­ture may remain, but Covent Gar­den now caters to tourists, a rack of Boris Bikes flanks the Hay­mar­ket, and the West End reflects the sen­si­bil­i­ties of ladies who dare appear in pub­lic in trousers.

Using Gus­tav Mahler’s Fourth Sym­pho­ny as a sort of son­ic mor­tar, Smith bricks the present day onto the British Film Insti­tute’s recent restora­tion of Parkin­son and Miller’s work. Actu­al­ly, it’s more of a key­hole effect, through which view­ers can peep into the past.

Assum­ing the medi­um (and species) sur­vives, we may one day seem as quaint and the sepia-toned fig­ures bustling through the ear­li­er film. Unthink­able? What will the mod­ern world sur­round­ing our key­hole look like?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Syn­chro­nized, Time­lapse Video Shows Train Trav­el­ing from Lon­don to Brighton in 1953, 1983 & 2013

Prize-Win­ning Ani­ma­tion Lets You Fly Through 17th Cen­tu­ry Lon­don

A Jour­ney Back in Time: Vin­tage Trav­el­ogues

Ayun Hal­l­i­day rec­om­mends the work­ing man’s caff E Pel­li­ci  in Lon­don’s East End the next time you’re in the mood for lunch with a side of his­to­ry. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Jean-Luc Godard Gives a Dramatic Reading of Hannah Arendt’s “On the Nature of Totalitarianism”

If you have watched any movie by Jean-Luc Godard you know that he’s nev­er been one to hide behind the façade of film nar­ra­tive. His movies are per­son­al. Sure they are also intel­lec­tu­al­ly demand­ing, unabashed­ly polit­i­cal, and occa­sion­al­ly impen­e­tra­ble but they are def­i­nite­ly per­son­al. This is a guy, after all, who made Pier­rot le Fou, a film that is, among oth­er things, a painful­ly hon­est inves­ti­ga­tion of the break­down of his mar­riage with Anna Kari­na star­ring Anna Kari­na.

But you wouldn’t think of Godard as a film­mak­er who would read­i­ly step in front of the cam­era like Orson Welles or (regret­tably) Quentin Taran­ti­no. But if you’ve been itch­ing to see Godard per­form an extend­ed mono­logue then check out the video above.

The piece is from the 1997 movie We’re Still Here (Nous sommes tous encore ici), direct­ed Anne-Marie Miéville who is Godard’s long­time cre­ative and roman­tic part­ner, and it shows the rum­pled, unshaven direc­tor quot­ing from Han­nah Arendt’s essay “On the Nature of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism.” The solil­o­quy, pre­sent­ed on a bare stage to an emp­ty the­ater, is about tyran­ny, iso­la­tion and free will and is deliv­ered with a sur­pris­ing amount of skill and emo­tion. You can read along below:

If it were true that eter­nal laws exist­ed, rul­ing every­thing, human in an absolute way and which only required of each human being com­plete obe­di­ence, the free­dom would only be a farce. One man’s wis­dom would be enough. Human con­tacts would no longer have any impor­tance, pre­served per­fect activ­i­ty alone would mat­ter, oper­at­ing with­in the con­text set up by this wis­dom which rec­og­nizes the Law. This is not the con­tent of ide­olo­gies, but the same log­ic which total­i­tar­i­an lead­ers use which pro­duces this famil­iar ground and the cer­tain­ty of the Law with­out excep­tion.

Log­ic, that’s to say pure rea­son with­out regard for facts and expe­ri­ence, is the real vice of soli­tude. But the vices of soli­tude are caused unique­ly by the despair asso­ci­at­ed with iso­la­tion. And the iso­la­tion which exists in our world, where human con­tacts have been bro­ken by the col­lapse of our com­mon home, again fol­low­ing the dis­as­trous con­se­quences of rev­o­lu­tions, them­selves a result of pre­vi­ous col­lapse.

This iso­la­tion has stopped being a psy­cho­log­i­cal ques­tion to which we can do jus­tice with the help of nice expres­sions devoid of mean­ing, like ‘intro­vert­ed’ and ‘extravert­ed’. Iso­la­tion as a result of absence of friends and of alien­ation is, from the point of view of man, the sick­ness which our world is suf­fer­ing from, even if it is true, we can notice few­er and few­er peo­ple than before who cling on to each oth­er with­out the slight­est sup­port. Those peo­ple do not ben­e­fit from com­mu­ni­ca­tion meth­ods offered by a world with com­mon inter­ests. These help us escape togeth­er, from the curse of inhu­man­i­ty, in a soci­ety where every­one seems super­flu­ous and con­sid­ered as such by oth­ers.

Iso­la­tion is not soli­tude. In soli­tude, we are nev­er alone with our­selves. In soli­tude we are always two in one, and we become one, a com­plete indi­vid­ual with rich­ness and the lim­its of its exact fea­tures, only in rela­tion to the oth­ers and in their com­pa­ny. The big meta­phys­i­cal ques­tions, the search for God, lib­er­ty and immor­tal­i­ty, rela­tions between man and the world, being and noth­ing­ness or again between life and death, are always posed in soli­tude, when man is alone with him­self, there­fore, in the vir­tu­al com­pa­ny of all. The fact of being, even for a moment, divert­ed from one’s own indi­vid­u­al­i­ty allows it to for­mu­late mankind’s eter­nal ques­tions, which go beyond the ques­tions posed in dif­fer­ent ways by each indi­vid­ual.

The risk in soli­tude is always of los­ing one­self. It could be said that this is a pro­fes­sion­al risk for the philoso­pher. Since he seeks out truth and pre­oc­cu­pies him­self with ques­tions, which we describe as meta­phys­i­cal but which are indeed the only ques­tions to pre­oc­cu­py every­one. The philosopher’s solu­tion has been to notice that there is appar­ent­ly in the human mind itself one ele­ment capa­ble of com­pelling the oth­er and thus cre­at­ing pow­er. Usu­al­ly we call this fac­ul­ty Log­ic, and it inter­venes each time that we declare that a prin­ci­ple or an utter­ance pos­sess­es in itself a con­vinc­ing force, that is to say a qual­i­ty which real­ly com­pels the per­son to sub­scribe to it.

Recent­ly we real­ized that the tyran­ny, not of rea­son but argu­men­ta­tion, like an immense com­pul­sive force exer­cised on the mind of men can serve specif­i­cal­ly polit­i­cal tyran­ny. But this truth also remains that every end in his­to­ry nec­es­sar­i­ly con­tains a new begin­ning. This begin­ning is the only promise, the only mes­sage which the end can ever give. St Augus­tine said that man was cre­at­ed so that there could be a begin­ning. This begin­ning is guar­an­teed by each new birth, it is, in truth, each man.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Han­nah Arendt Dis­cuss­es Phi­los­o­phy, Pol­i­tics & Eich­mann in Rare 1964 TV Inter­view

Han­nah Arendt’s Orig­i­nal Arti­cles on “the Banal­i­ty of Evil” in the New York­er Archive

A Young Jean-Luc Godard Picks the 10 Best Amer­i­can Films Ever Made (1963)

Jean-Luc Godard’s After-Shave Com­mer­cial for Schick (1971)

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.

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast