John Lennon Illustrates Two of His Books with Playful Drawings (1964–1965)

LennonVicar

Upon his trag­ic ear­ly death at 40, John Lennon left behind a body of work few pop­u­lar artists could hope to equal. And that’s only the pub­lished stuff. As we point­ed out in a recent post on his home demos, the for­mer Bea­t­le also left hun­dreds of hours of tape record­ings for his fans to sift through, and, as if that weren’t enough, Sotheby’s recent­ly auc­tioned off a store­house of orig­i­nal man­u­scripts and auto­graphed draw­ings for two books Lennon wrote in the mid-six­ties, In His Own Write (1964) and A Spaniard in the Works (1965), a Sher­lock Holmes par­o­dy.

LennonParty

Lennon’s play­ful sense of humor and sur­re­al imag­i­na­tion shine through the sto­ries and poems in both books, as does his more moody broody side. If any­thing, Lennon’s word­play and out-there line draw­ings close­ly resem­ble the work of Shel Sil­ver­stein, who was prob­a­bly not an influ­ence but cer­tain­ly a kin­dred spir­it. Sotheby’s spe­cial­ist Gabriel Heaton cites as Lennon’s influ­ence “the non­sense tra­di­tion of Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture,” and indeed Lewis Car­roll comes to mind when read­ing his work. See, for exam­ple, “About The Awful,” his author’s state­ment for In His Own Write:

I was bored on the 9th of Octover 1940 when, I believe, the Nas­ties were still boom­ing us led by Madolf Heatlump (who only had one). Any­way they did­n’t get me. I attend­ed to vari­cous schools in Lid­dy­pol. And still did­n’t pass — much to my Aun­ties sup­plies. As a mem­ber of the most pub­li­fied Bea­t­les my (P, G, and R’s) records might seem fun­nier to some of you than this book, but as far as I’m con­ceived this cor­rec­tion of short writ­ty is the most won­der­foul larf I’ve every ready.
God help and breed you all.

And then there’s the art­work. At the top, see an unti­tled ink draw­ing of a vic­ar leer­ing at a nude cou­ple (and hold­ing in his hand “That Book”). The draw­ing above shows a clique of naked partiers, with the cap­tion “Puff­ing and glob­ber­ing they drugged they­selves ram­pling or danc­ing with wild abdomen, stub­bing in wild pos­tumes amon­st them­selves…”

LennonBelonely

Recall­ing the art­work in Silverstein’s The Giv­ing Tree, direct­ly above we have a sim­ple illus­tra­tion for a poem called “I Sat Belone­ly,” cap­tioned with the poem’s first two lines: “I Sat Belone­ly Down a Tree, Hum­bled Fat and Small” (read the full poem here).

LennonFlies

Anoth­er Sil­ver­stein­ian draw­ing is titled “A Lot of Flies on His Wife” from a short sto­ry called “No Flies on Frank,” whose title char­ac­ter speaks in an argot right out of James Joyce: “I carn’t not believe this incred­i­ble fact of truth about my very body which has not gained fat since moth­er begat me at child­burn. Yea, though I wart through the valet of thy shad­owy hut I will feed no nor­man. What grate qualm­sy hath tak­en me thus into such a fat­ty hard­buck­le.”

LennonGuitar

Just above, Lennon sketch­es a Picas­so-like four-eyed gui­tarist in this unti­tled draw­ing (notice the tiny cyclist at his feet)—estimated by Sotheby’s between $15,000 and $25,000. The eighty nine lots that went up for auc­tion includ­ed many oth­er draw­ings (see more here) and some hand­writ­ten notes from Paul McCart­ney. All told, the sale net­ted close to $3 mil­lion, though for Lennon devo­tees, these arti­facts are price­less. .

via The Dai­ly Beast

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear John Lennon Sing Home Demo Ver­sions of “She Said, She Said,” “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er,” and “Don’t Let Me Down”

John Lennon Plays Bas­ket­ball with Miles Davis and Hangs Out with Allen Gins­berg & Friends

The Last Time Lennon & McCart­ney Played Togeth­er Cap­tured in the Boot­leg A Toot And a Snore in ’74

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

Sound Effects Genius Michael Winslow Performs the Sounds of 32 Typewriters (1898–1983)

“When forced to leave my house for an extend­ed peri­od of time, I take my type­writer with me,” once wrote essay­ist-humorist David Sedaris. “Togeth­er we endure the wretched­ness of pass­ing through the X‑ray scan­ner. The lap­tops roll mer­ri­ly down the belt, while I’m instruct­ed to stand aside and open my bag. To me it seems like a nor­mal enough thing to be car­ry­ing, but the typewriter’s declin­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty arous­es sus­pi­cion and I wind up elic­it­ing the sort of reac­tion one might expect when trav­el­ing with a can­non. ‘It’s a type­writer,’ I say. ‘You use it to write angry let­ters to air­port secu­ri­ty.’ ” But Sedaris, one of the last high-pro­file hold-outs against elec­tron­ic word pro­cess­ing, wrote those words almost fif­teen years ago — even before air­port secu­ri­ty real­ly cracked down in our post‑9/11 real­i­ty. Sure­ly he has since picked up and pre­sum­ably learned to use a com­put­er. We now find our­selves in an age when type­writer usage has tran­scend­ed the sta­tus of an act of nos­tal­gia and attained the sta­tus of an act of rebel­lion; if you insist on using a clas­sic old Under­wood Rem­ing­ton, or an Invic­ta, or a Con­ti­nen­tal Stan­dard, or Olympia Moni­ka Deluxe, well, you must real­ly have a state­ment to make.

Yet I dare­say that for all their mechan­i­cal heft, free­dom from inter­net-borne dis­trac­tion, and thor­ough­ly ana­log aes­thet­ic appeal, type­writ­ers bring with them a num­ber of bur­dens. We have their dif­fi­cul­ty in clear­ing TSA lines, yes, but also their thirst for phys­i­cal ink and paper (“I can always look at my loaded wastepa­per bas­ket and tell myself that if I failed,” said Sedaris, “at least I took a few trees down with me”), and their noise — oh my, their noise. You can hear the vary­ing sounds of 32 mod­els belong­ing to many suc­ces­sive type­writer gen­er­a­tions in the video at the top of the post. They don’t come as straight record­ings, but as sounds repro­duced by mouth to per­fec­tion by that one-in-a-mil­lion mim­ic Michael Winslow, best known from the Police Acad­e­my movies as Sergeant Larvell “Motor Mouth” Jones. “The His­to­ry of the Type­writer Recit­ed by Michael Winslow” orig­i­nat­ed in the mind of Span­ish artist Igna­cio Uri­arte, who, accord­ing to Frieze“has employed stan­dard office sup­plies such as Biros, high­lighters and jot­ters,” not to men­tion “the ubiq­ui­tous spread­sheet tool Microsoft Excel, per­haps soon fac­ing its own obso­les­cence.” This pro­duc­tion “telling­ly cul­mi­nates with the sounds of a machine from 1983, the year before the arrival of the first home com­put­er with a graph­i­cal inter­face.” Which leads one to won­der: can Winslow do hard dri­ve nois­es?

We’ll def­i­nite­ly add “The His­to­ry of the Type­writer Recit­ed by Michael Winslow” to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Endur­ing Ana­log Under­world of Gramer­cy Type­writer

Woody Allen’s Type­writer, Scis­sors and Sta­pler: The Great Film­mak­er Shows Us How He Writes

Dis­cov­er Friedrich Nietzsche’s Curi­ous Type­writer, the “Malling-Hansen Writ­ing Ball”

Mark Twain Wrote the First Book Ever Writ­ten With a Type­writer

Dis­rup­tive Tech­nol­o­gy: Stu­dent Brings Type­writer to Class

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.

Study 40+ Languages with Free Lessons from the U.S. Foreign Service Institute

fsijapanese

I spent this after­noon chat­ting with a trav­el writer about how we first allowed our­selves to start learn­ing for­eign lan­guages. That notion may sound a bit odd, espe­cial­ly to those of you liv­ing in coun­tries where every­one grows up trilin­gual. But Amer­i­cans — even Amer­i­can trav­el­ers — have strug­gled with the con­cept of mas­ter­ing lan­guages oth­er than Eng­lish. Some­times it has seemed mere­ly unnec­es­sary; at oth­er times, down­right impos­si­ble. But no mat­ter our nation­al­i­ty, our increas­ing­ly glob­al­ized 21st-cen­tu­ry lives have put to rest any and all excus­es in which we might dress up our lin­guis­tic parochial­ism. Tech­nol­o­gy has also done more than its share, giv­en the ever-grow­ing abun­dance of free and effec­tive lan­guage-learn­ing resources on the inter­net. Take for exam­ple, our pret­ty mas­sive list of Free For­eign Lan­guage Lessons. Or dis­cov­er this trove of lan­guage learn­ing resources from the U.S. For­eign Ser­vice Insti­tute, a gov­ern­ment agency long tasked with teach­ing the widest pos­si­ble vari­ety of tongues to diplo­mats and oth­er offi­cials sta­tioned abroad. Though pro­duced sev­er­al decades ago, the lessons are still rel­e­vant .… and, more impor­tant­ly, they’re in the pub­lic domain.

Most of the down­load­ables avail­able for each of the over 40 lan­guages on the site include include text lessons in PDF form and audio lessons, suit­able for load­ing onto your mobile audio device of choice, in MP3 form. Nat­u­ral­ly, you’ll find a more robust store of FSI resources for the much-spo­ken Chi­nese, Span­ish, and French than you will for, say, Chinyan­ja, Lin­gala, and Sin­hala — but how often do you run across means of learn­ing that lat­ter class of lan­guages at all? I’ve found Japan­ese and Kore­an, my own East Asian lan­guages of choice, decent­ly rep­re­sent­ed; in fact, prepa­ra­tion for an extend­ed trip to South Korea this week has seen me go into study­ing over­drive, mak­ing use of every online resource avail­able. You can find more of them in our full list of free lan­guage lessons, where, if you’d like to learn any of the lan­guages men­tioned here — or maybe Ara­bic, Finnish, Swahili, or many tongues besides — you can get a pain­less start. We live in too big (and too inter­est­ing) a world not to take advan­tage of it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Learn 47 Lan­guages Online for Free: Span­ish, Chi­nese, Eng­lish & More

Learn Latin, Old Eng­lish, San­skrit, Clas­si­cal Greek & Oth­er Ancient Lan­guages in 10 Lessons

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.

1756 TED Talks Listed in a Neat Spreadsheet

TED-Gates

A quick update for TED heads. In ear­ly 2011 we men­tioned that some­one put togeth­er a handy online spread­sheet that lists 875 TED Talks, with handy links to each video. It’s worth men­tion­ing the spread­sheet again because this evolv­ing Google doc now lists 1756 talks. That works out to more than 440 hours of “riv­et­ing talks by remark­able peo­ple.” Because the page gets updat­ed on a reg­u­lar basis, you’ll want to book­mark it and keep tabs on the new addi­tions.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices.

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Glenn Gould: Off and On the Record: Two Short Films About the Life & Music of the Eccentric Musician

Cana­di­an pianist Glenn Gould was one of those child prodi­gies whose spec­tac­u­lar tal­ents were matched by some seri­ous eccen­tric­i­ties. As an infant, Gould report­ed­ly hummed rather than cried, he had per­fect pitch at age 3, and he grad­u­at­ed at the age of 12 from the Roy­al Con­ser­va­to­ry of Music in Toron­to. Unlike just about every oth­er musi­cian on the plan­et, Gould report­ed­ly didn’t seem to need to spend hour upon hour prac­tic­ing his instru­ment. Instead, he had the envi­able abil­i­ty to prac­tice in his head. His inter­pre­ta­tions of Brahms, Beethoven and espe­cial­ly Bach were hailed as genius.

Gould also tend­ed to dress in a win­ter coat and gloves no mat­ter what the tem­per­a­ture was out­side. This result­ed in Gould get­ting arrest­ed in Mia­mi for being a sus­pect­ed vagrant. While per­form­ing, he would fall into some­thing close to an ecsta­t­ic state, shak­ing his head and twist­ing his tor­so in a man­ner that raised more than a few eye­brows in the but­toned-down world of clas­si­cal music. But per­haps his most famous eccen­tric­i­ty was that, like Jazz pianist Thelo­nious Monk, Gould had a habit of hum­ming along as he played.

Wolf Koenig and Roman Kroitor made a pair of gor­geous­ly shot doc­u­men­taries about the pianist in 1959. Glenn Gould – Off the Record, which you can see above, shows Gould relax­ing at his lake­side cot­tage north of Toron­to. In the movie, we see that he leads a soli­tary life — his only com­pan­ions are his piano and his pet dog – where he can focus com­plete­ly on his music.

In Glenn Gould – On the Record, below, Koenig and Kroitor show Gould in the stu­dio try­ing to get a record­ing to match his pre­cise vision. It also focus­es on the har­ried record­ing engi­neers who strug­gle to record the music com­ing out of Gould’s piano and not his mouth. Both films released by the Nation­al Film Board of Cana­da will be added to our list of Free Doc­u­men­taries, part of our larg­er col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Glenn Gould Explains the Genius of Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach (1962)

Glenn Gould Offers a Strik­ing­ly Uncon­ven­tion­al Inter­pre­ta­tion of 1806 Beethoven Com­po­si­tion

The Art of Fugue: Gould Plays Bach

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.

 

Rare Video: Fidel Castro Plays Baseball (1959)

Base­ball has the great capac­i­ty to tran­scend pol­i­tics. Peo­ple on the right love it. (Think George Will, the colum­nist who finds him­self at the cen­ter of a hot con­tro­ver­sy this week). The same holds true for folks on the left. One left­ist with a deep and abid­ing love for base­ball is Fidel Cas­tro. Before he seized pow­er in 1959, Cas­tro spent some time on the dia­mond. Baseball-Reference.com tells us that Fidel like­ly “pitched in intra­mur­al com­pe­ti­tion in col­lege for the Uni­ver­si­ty of Havana law school.” But “he was not good enough to pitch on the col­lege’s var­si­ty team.” Nor is the long-stand­ing myth true that “Cas­tro tried out for either the New York Yan­kees or Wash­ing­ton Sen­a­tors and failed to impress enough to sign a con­tract.” He was nev­er going to have a big league career. That’s for sure. But once Cas­tro actu­al­ly rose to pow­er, no one was going to stop him from hit­ting or pitch­ing in a 1959 char­i­ty game. (Watch above.) As they say, some­times “it’s good to be the king.” Just ask Vladimir Putin, who recent­ly scored 6 goals, and made 5 assists, in a hock­ey game

The 1959 clip above comes from British Pathé, which made an archive of 85,000 his­tor­i­cal films avail­able on YouTube in April. Don’t miss it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bill Murray’s Base­ball Hall of Fame Speech (and Hideous Sports Coat)

The Grate­ful Dead Rock the Nation­al Anthem at Can­dle­stick Park: Open­ing Day, 1993

Free: Watch Jack­ie Robin­son Star in The Jack­ie Robin­son Sto­ry (1950)

Lou Gehrig, Yan­kee Leg­end, Stars in 1938 West­ern Rawhide

The Hobbit: The First Animation & Film Adaptation of Tolkien’s Classic (1966)

If you come to the first film pro­duc­tion of J.R.R. Tolkien’s 1937 nov­el The Hob­bit expect­ing any­thing like a rev­er­ent ren­di­tion of the sto­ry, pre­pare your­self for dis­ap­point­ment. Pro­duced in 1966, the 12-minute ani­mat­ed short takes ele­ments of the clas­sic work of fan­ta­sy and adapts—or corrupts—them to fit a dif­fer­ent sto­ry, one with a drag­on, a hob­bit, a wiz­ard, and an Arken­stone, to be sure, but with a great many odd lib­er­ties tak­en with Tolkien’s world. Instead of the great Smaug, we have a drag­on named “Slag.” Instead of pil­lag­ing The Lone­ly Moun­tain, he steals the trea­sure of the vil­lage of Dale. Instead of a troupe of dwarves, we have one Gen­er­al Oak­en­shield, a princess named “Mika,” and an unnamed watch­man. Trolls and gob­lins become “Groans” and “Grablins,” and Gol­lum appears as “Goloom.”

Is this some off-brand knock-off, you may ask? Not exact­ly. Pro­duc­er William Sny­der became the first per­son to acquire rights to Tolkien’s book, and he orig­i­nal­ly intend­ed a fea­ture length film. The project failed, but when the novel’s pop­u­lar­i­ty soared, Sny­der con­tract­ed Prague-based com­ic illus­tra­tor and ani­ma­tor Gene Deitch to cre­ate the short film you see above. Snyder’s motives, it seems, were mer­ce­nary: he want­ed to extend his license, which he then sold back to Tolkien’s pub­lish­ers for $100,000. But the film itself has a cer­tain charm, despite the nar­ra­tive butch­ery. Deitch hired Czech illus­tra­tor Adolf Born for the project, and he ren­ders the sto­ry in the col­or­ful, folk-art style of East­ern Europe (some of the draw­ings remind me of the lurid car­i­ca­tures of Ger­man artist George Grosz, some of Rocky and Bull­win­kle).

If Deitch’s Hob­bit short fails to move you, con­sid­er it at least a minor entry in the career of a fas­ci­nat­ing char­ac­ter in the world of comics, ani­ma­tion, and folk music. Deitch pro­duced car­toons for Colum­bia, 20th Cen­tu­ry Fox, MGM, and Para­mount (includ­ing some Tom and Jer­ry and Pop­eye shorts) and made record­ings of John Lee Hook­er and Pete Seeger, as well as the recent­ly re-dis­cov­ered won­der Con­nie Con­verse. He also wrote the pop­u­lar guide How to Suc­ceed in Ani­ma­tion and fathered three car­toon­ist sons, the most well-known of whom, Kim Deitch, holds a spe­cial place in the his­to­ry of under­ground comics. But I offer none of this infor­ma­tion to excuse the flaws of Deitch and Snyder’s Hob­bit short. Fans of com­ic art may love it, Tolkien purists not at all. Deitch tells the full sto­ry of the “Hol­ly­wood­ized” short film’s slap­dash mak­ing on his blog, and it is well worth a read. The film itself can be found in the Ani­ma­tion sec­tion of our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

EndlessHobbit

For anoth­er, much more faithful—albeit wordless—illustrated take, see Anna Repp’s End­less Book Project (screen shot above). A Metafil­ter user describes it as “one con­tin­u­ous scroll, with new art­work added almost every week.” Each pan­el has a unique look—some in the intri­cate style of Ger­man Renais­sance engrav­ing, some resem­bling wood­cuts, some inkwash draw­ings. And of course, you can­not go wrong with Tolkien’s own orig­i­nal illus­tra­tions for The Hob­bit, some pub­lished in the first edi­tion, and many more late­ly dis­cov­ered among the author’s papers. See Tolkien’s draw­ing of The Lone­ly Moun­tain at night below, and vis­it Brain­pick­ings for more.

The-Lonely-Mountain-from--001

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“The Tolkien Pro­fes­sor” Presents Three Free Cours­es on The Lord of the Rings

C.S. Lewis’ Pre­scient 1937 Review of The Hob­bit by J.R.R. Tolkien: It “May Well Prove a Clas­sic”

Lis­ten to J.R.R. Tolkien Read a Lengthy Excerpt from The Hob­bit (1952)

Sovi­et-Era Illus­tra­tions Of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hob­bit (1976)

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

Rik Mayall Voices the Animation “Don’t Fear Death” Just Months Before His Untimely Passing

To para­phrase an acquaintance’s trib­ute to Rik May­all (leg­endary British come­di­an who died yes­ter­day at age 56), the cult com­e­dy The Young Ones turned a gen­er­a­tion of Amer­i­can mis­fits into Anglophiles before they’d ever set foot in Britain. I was one of those kids, stay­ing up late to catch the riotous­ly slap­stick show about four slack­er room­mates who mer­ci­less­ly abused each oth­er to insane degrees while attend­ing “Scum­bag Col­lege.” Fea­tur­ing musi­cal appear­ances by British alter­na­tive heroes like Mad­ness, Dexys Mid­night Run­ners, Motör­head, and The Damned, the show only ran for 12 episodes, but it had an enor­mous influ­ence on both sides of the Atlantic as a Mon­ty Python for absur­dist post-punk 80s brats.

May­all co-cre­at­ed and co-wrote the show, and his anar­chic gal­lows humor per­me­at­ed every episode. He lat­er went on to write and/or star in sit­coms Bot­tom and The New States­man, and had a beloved, if brief, role in the Rowan Atkin­son com­e­dy Black­ad­der. Short­ly before his death, May­all voiced the ani­ma­tion above, “Don’t Fear Death,” for Chan­nel 4. Writ­ten and pro­duced by Louis Hud­son and Ian Raven­scroft, this per­fect vehi­cle for Mayall’s snide sen­si­bil­i­ties explores “the ben­e­fits of being dead,” includ­ing nev­er hav­ing to “waste one more sin­gle, soul-crush­ing hour in your mind­less dead-end job.” Luck­i­ly for his fans, May­all avoid­ed that hor­ri­ble fate and instead cre­at­ed some of the most mem­o­rably obnox­ious char­ac­ters in British com­e­dy his­to­ry, although writer Lau­rence Marks tells the BBC he was “the antithe­sis” of those char­ac­ters, “a qui­et, polite, car­ing gen­tle­man.”

See May­all below do an ear­ly ver­sion of his Young Ones char­ac­ter in a clas­sic 80s stand-up rou­tine .

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Ani­mat­ed Film Tells the Life Sto­ry of Mon­ty Python’s Gra­ham Chap­man

John Cleese’s Eulo­gy for Gra­ham Chap­man: ‘Good Rid­dance, the Free-Load­ing Bas­tard, I Hope He Fries’

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

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